8 days to go until the UK has a thrilling new government full of promises just waiting to be broken.
I have had the most extraordinary day! A colleague and I were discussing how we’d like to talk to a really experienced politician to get their take on the current demolition of everything we hold dear.
We tossed a few names around and eventually decided on a pretty sensible looking Psychic Clairvoyant. Madam Chocolat. So named as most people love chocolate so it has the feel good factor. She even gave us a chocolate lolly each. Nice woman.
The aim was to hope for Churchill, second choice Thatcher, Harold Wilson at a push, or a member of the 1966 England team for advice on how to kick a ball. Apparently you can’t guarantee who might come through so we hedged our bets.
Churchill did come through but he said he knew how to win a war but not how to sort this lot out.
Thatcher said that any politician without a handbag wasn’t to be taken seriously so don’t vote for any of them.
Wilson came through but choked on his pipe when we asked what he thought of Starmer! He asked for a more interesting question. He also commented that the country makes neither footballers nor politicians like they used to in the 60s.
Lord Paddy Ashdown is apparently suffering from shock at the moment and wasn’t available to speak. All he kept muttering was “that wetsuit” and sobbing gently.
The last we heard Wilson and Thatcher were arguing over the 60s versus the 80s. Wilson favoured the 60s because of the mini skirts, and she favoured the 80s because she was in charge.
No help so far.
The Charlton brothers popped through with a few friends, and after a considerable exchange of views and blows, they concluded that all England footballers since the 1960s have been over-pretty and over-paid. Apparently they’re not hungry enough. They couldn’t afford food in the 1960s so were inspired to win by the promise of a decent meal.
The overall conclusion on everything was that the 1960s were a groundbreaking decade filled with fascinating people, iconic cars, and music, and mini skirts, and everything since has been rubbish.
When asked who they’d vote for they said definitely Harold Wilson.
So there you have it, go to the polls, write Harold Wilson on the voting form, and make the only decent football team we’ve ever had happy.
Apparently Starmer was a bit too modern-sensitive for them, and he definitely shouldn’t wear a mini skirt.
I think they’d been drinking.
So there you go. Helpful…not, but a lot more fun than the election.
Clarence
Deb Hawken - Amorah 