Here’s Bridget. She’s a fox. She came to my little block yesterday, but I missed her by 5 minutes. Instead, a bespectacled bearded guy in his 50s, wearing freshly laundered cream corduroy trousers, but who frankly nonetheless smelled a little stale, knocked on the door, and I chatted with him. I wish I had recorded the conversation – he was a stereotypical Liberal with a big
He told me he was a painter – I believed him – and asked what I was, so I said, I am a writer. He said he had done some writing, asked me how I made money. I said, writing songs. He looked confused. I said, writing articles, copy. He still looked puzzled. I said, I used to work for the government providing children with drugs literature, harm reduction material. He looked somewhat disappointed, so I pinned him to the spot with a cool stare and said,
| “When the muse strikes, it is though I can hear, see, feel nothing else It flows through me and resides in me, and I am but a slave to its whims I write almost unaware of my actions, a conduit, a vessel I am carried endlessly within, and yet travel further out than any man can go This world becomes temporarily a pale imitation of the real world, which is inspiration The next world loses all fear for me, for I am lucky enough to have dwelt there even in this one” |
His eyebrows (which were both gloriously expressive and rather delicate) raised to reveal soft eyes twinkling in surprise at my passion. He nodded slowly, I see, I see…
Anyway, this gentleman, though not someone I would stand next to for over 5 minutes, unless I was in a pub and anaesthetised by beer and the resident redolent honk of cleaning agents, stale piss and old tobacco, was courteous and seemingly genuinely interested in my plea for access to the candidate. He took my card (yes, I have a card, which says: I AM THE SECRET AND INVISIBLE AVAILABLE IN ALL COLOURS) and telephone number, and assured me that Bridget would get in touch.
In local government, the Liberals do well here, but to they will have to overturn a 26% majority to win this parliamentary seat from Labour. The Conservatives haven’t chance in this constituency, I am glad to say, and I am not letting them or their representatives, sorry, apologists, anywhere near my new supplies of chocolate.
NB: Fear not, dear foreign readers, several of whom have requested some enlightenment regarding the arcane British political system. This will come. You’ll all soon be eagerly queuing to emigrate here, just for the glory of voting for the Mother of all Parliaments.
One Comment
Did you really write all that before 8:01am? Jeez I’m really out of my depth here.