Dearest Peeps
What a wonderful day! No one is allowed to campaign. The media are not allowed to say anything about the election for fear of swaying our opinions. Opinions that have mainly been made up since the dawn of time, absorbed at our mother’s knees. Unless of course we’re undecided and the media are unlikely to change that.
The Conservative media are still hopeful, still stubbornly thinking they have a leg to stand on, or a point to make. The Labour Media are selling freedom from something, a new start, which will look approximately like the other new starts that have been starting on and off every five years, unless one lot manages to superglue themselves to the government benches with good sounding words.
Then we will return to “Oh joy, oh bliss, they’re all idiots.” Those who moaned about the Conservatives will have to listen to those who now moan about their lot. Revenge is sweet as they say. As to the LibDems….who knows. Would be nice to think we’d have a new voice to get fed up with on the opposition benches, we will have to wait and see.
As for myself, I am going to stay on in this role and cover anything in the news, including the extremely fascinating American elections. They make Europe look a bit lame with all the excitement they have going on. Or whatever it is.
I will continue to oversee the England football games. Then there’s the Olympics, although that doesn’t really have many opportunities to poke fun, unless an 86 year old Queen throws herself out of a helicopter with James Bond. That wasn’t fun though, that was sheer genius. As was the Marmalade Sandwich of the Platinum Jubilee.
For those not in the know, the Late Queen Elizabeth II always carried a black handbag that no one ever saw open, nothing ever came out of it. There was much speculation as to what was in it. To mark 70 years on the throne she did a sketch with Paddington Bear, who kept a marmalade sandwich under his hat. He offered it to Her Majesty, who piped up with the cheekiest smile and sparkling eyes, “That’s quite alright, I keep mine in here.” Opened the bag and pulled out a marmalade sandwich. Mystery solved, God bless her.
Anyway, I typed this earlier and now I’m off to the local pub which has no TV, I will be ‘surprised’ by the results tomorrow.
Yours Clarence
P.S. I forgot to hit the buttony thing earlier to make this missive fly through the ether to your computational devices. I’ve been in the pub since…very early…and I’ve celebrationed a bit with my mates. We’ve drunken to every Prime Minister since Pitt the Younger, who was PM like…not even last century I think. You can visualisation the state we’re in. We in fact don’t know as we decided, while we could still see, to get a taxi to an aeroplane taking off place and go and have a break. But as a lot of people have governments, and we’re not fond of them at the moment, or ever, we decided instead to go somewhere else and drink some more. In saying ‘state’ I’m a bit worried that we did get on a flying virus machine and may be in Americanism which is not England, but we’re not certain and the beer is good. They do keep slamming their beer glasses down, here, so we may also be in Germanish or Australia next door. I will keep you posted of my positional when I know presumably where it is, and write again when I get home, always assuming I need to come home, I’m not exactly sure. I could be anywhere including the German bar in Clacton. Of course I don’t write I tripe, but you knew that and that’s like the resolution of this erection, oblivious.
P.P.S. My wife is gonna be crooooosssssss!
Deb Hawken - Amorah 