promoted 3 years 1 week ago, posted 3 years 2 weeks ago
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Politic stuff and what-not's etc.
A few days have passed, we have had our fun, and the hang-over has only just subsided. The headache may be away, but the body shakes are in full swing and that cold tingly feeling that shudders outwards from your stomach is only around the corner. And the problem with that great anticipation is you can't quite see around corners now can you. One 'kingmaker' says a few words and everything unfolds and uncoils just a tad. My mouth fills up with saliva.
Only in a universe such as ours where choas and order, good and bad, conscience and consequence are invariably intertwined would you let a system reach so far only when it's at breaking point. Surely we have to have voting reform, they cry. But we must do it through the one we are presently in, they whimper. Did it really have to come to this - it's the ignorance of man though, isn't it. No way would it have been passed through the House of Lords without some good old fashioned rabble, indeterminable fight and confusing brouhaha. We people of the British persuasion crave excitement, for we rarely get it. Although our hearts are not like any other nation-folk - no - we get our tingles from repressed tribal fervour where the cutting off of heads has been replaced with a payslip and a petty vote, the fear of a dystopian world in which lies a deep-seeded inward fight between 'that French' existentialism and in 'the hanging on in quiet desperation'. I swallow that wad of saliva as my face grimaces.
Take him for all he's worth Cleggy boy. But then, what's this - the Conservatives won't do any deal involving voting reform? Party members are now urging Nick to do a deal with Labour? A calm lethargic peace comes over me - just don't move too quickly - and I inch further to that all revealing corner. Late Sunday morning and negotiating teams are packed into a small room, blues one side, yellows in the other, all ready to fart out more proposals, all ready to come out thinking they're the victor. Back up there - Sunday morning! - shouldn't Cameron be in church? Nevermind!, that's not important.
I can just imagine it now. Curtains drawn, thick achrid cigar smoke making eyes watery and red, sleeves rolled up and brows beaden with sweat. I'll give you Whitehall and Fleet Street for Park Lane, Cameron would say brazenly. Nick in his usual manner would seem confident and full of guile, but inwardly nonplussed by his opponent's actions. Only a slight quiver from the side of the mouth would show Cameron any hesitiation. I've got you now you little weasel, he would say to himself. Nick would chirp up; I must say David, your rouse doesn't tempt me in the slightest. This is about the British people, money is no contest, this is about policy and ethics and everyday things. Okay, Cameron would respond gainly, I'll give you the Water and Gas Utilities. A muffled drone and whispering sounds from behind Nick's seat. Nick looks into the mesmeric eyes of Cameron, trying not to look too deep in fear of something being taken. The mouth quivers rapidly now, Cameron's eyes open wide, a smile appears. The heat of the light above burns into Nick's forehead, his eyes glaze over with sweat, though unable to wipe his face or make any sudden movements which suggest submission. 'Deal', is the final response.
What will come of it - who knows! According to Nick, the Con-Men being the biggesty party have the right to seek to form a government first. That's right Nick, and you being the leader of the losing party have the right to choose what government. It's a funny old world. It's an even funnier world now that some balsy Scots think they can cosy up to either main parties in exchange for reduced import tax on tartan and the ending of ridicule to Inverness for being the inbred capital of Britain.
My mouth fills up with saliva again. I can't bear this any longer. My head spins. My head bows down in compliance to what I know my body is about to do. I can't take it anymore. But I'm not yet at the corner. What is around there? I need to know. I try to run but my body won't let me. My lungs expel all the vast air out of me, my stomach is sucked inward as my whole body wretches and convulses but nothing comes out. My face reddens, then just as it began it ends abruptly, and my body collapses on all fours in exhaustion and panting.
I look up and see the corner of the wall. Three heads can be seen. One - a young fellow with a cap on, a second - a middle aged man with a gaunt face, a third - an old woman, her lucid skin showing the frail bones underneath. All three have one thing in common; they all look lifeless, the eyes dull and the faces drawn and unresponsive. I feel it coming back; that tingling feeling in the side of your mouth - that first sign something unwanted is going to happen very soon. My body wretches again, the stomach inward, muscles tighten, air expelled, face reddens. It all so violent my eyes shut close. Then I feel it arrive eventually, a huge mass of stinking bile is suddenly projected from my mouth. I hear it splashing on the cold hard ground below me but still cannot see - but I do feel - as it splashes up on my face again, the force of it being so. Again it comes, and then again, until there is no more left to spew. I catch my breath back as I repeatedly spit the taste out of my mouth. I wipe my mouth and tears away, and slowly open my eyes to the disgusting picture before me. There are reds and blues and yellows and greens. All mixed together to form this foul smelling portrait that was all too sweet and sickening for my delicate guttiwuts.