In the Land of the Few – A short story

In the Land of the Few

It is Wednesday. I love Wednesdays. On Wednesday we can put the heating on for an hour. It melts the ice on the windows. You can still see your breath though!

I bet I know what we’re having for dinner today; potato stew!! I know that’s what it is because we have it every day. Dad bought a sack of potatoes. We don’t peel them like we used to because Mum says that the skin contains all the goodness.

Mummy is very naughty. She swears a lot. She says naughty things about Liz Truss. I don’t know what she is talking about. Liz Truss is our new Prime Minister. I don’t think mummy likes her. She says she’s worse than Boris. Mummy says she’s a cross between the Ice-Queen and Attila the Hun. I know who the Ice Queen is. She was not nice at all. I don’t know who Attila the Hun is though. Daddy won’t tell me. He says ‘Just ignore her’. It’s hard to ignore her when she swears such a lot.

Daddy says he would like Boris back. Mummy says he’s an effing moron! I thought Boris was funny. I liked it when he got stuck on that zip wire waving those Union Jacks. Mummy said that he should stick those flags where the suns don’t shine. There’s lots of places where the sun doesn’t shine so I don’t really know what she means.

Mummy says that ‘Fat Cat energy bosses getting £15 million bonuses while people freeze is obscene’. Daddy says Boris would have sorted it. Mummy says she doesn’t know what possessed her to marry someone without a single brain cell in his head.

Daddy says that Liz Truss will sort the cost of living crisis. Mummy suggests that killing off half the population through hypo … hypotermites, or starvation is not exactly sorting the problem. Daddy says she’s daft. The Tories know what they are doing. Mummy says she knows what they are doing too. She says they are giving tax cuts and bonuses to the effing rich. They are a bunch of cnuts. I don’t really know what that word means and daddy won’t tell me. I think it’s very bad and that Mummy is very naughty. If she’d said that in school Mrs Iverson would have sent her to the Headmistress. I’m trying hard to remember all these words Mummy says about Liz Truss because Billy thinks I’m really cool when I repeat them to him at break-time.

Anyway, Mummy and Daddy seem to know a lot about politics. Mummy says that it’s Boris Johnson who gives us potato stew but I think it’s Daddy. She doesn’t always get it right.

Mummy and Daddy don’t agree about Boris or Liz Truss. Mum says that if she had to choose between the pair of them and a bucket of shit she’d choose the bucket of shit any day – at least it’s good for the roses.

He Exits in Disgrace and Stupidly makes Comparisons to Roman Tyrant!

Very apt for the greedy, inept buffoon. He mentions Cincinnatus who was a Roman military leader who came out of retirement to lead the Romans in ousting an invasion, as if he is himself looking to come out of this imposed retirement to lead us again. I bloody hope not! We’ll call him next time the country has need for an inveterate liar, a lazy idler, or an incompetent buffoon. Until then he can ruffle up his hair and shamble around his three million pound estate and work on shovelling hay into his loft until he catches up with the likes of Cameron and Osborne.

He forgets to mention that Cincinnatus was considered a virtuous man. The very opposite of the philandering clown who brings dishonour to everything he touches and has lived a life of dishonesty and gluttony.

He maybe has something in common with Cincinnatus though. The man was a prime elitist runt who believed that he had a right to live in luxury while the plebs were kept in their place! – Cincinnatus was an opponent of the rights of the plebeians (the common citizens) who fell into poverty because of his son Caeso Quinctius‘s violent opposition to their desire for a written code of equally enforced laws.

So glad to be rid of this incompetent, dishonourable, liar in chief.


It’s incredible the level of sleaze we’ve become accustomed too under this Tory government.


‘I’ll take £45 million if you please’.

Hello, hello, it’s the return of sleaze!

For the wealthy it’s all good will

Snouts in the trough of Green Swill.

Public servants and the poor can go to hell.

For politicians revolving doors are working well.

Millions for cronies and profiteers

For everyone else it’s a vale of tears.

‘We’re all in it together!’ Was the call,

But the unequal rewards says it all.

Cuts for the teachers and nurses

For chums they open the public purses.

Lining their pockets to stuff offshore,

The mantra of ministers is more! More! More!

Pretending to be all hale and hearty

The jolly Tories are the nasty party!

Opher – 15.4.2021

With Cameron putting pressure on his chums in office to prop up Greensill so that he could make his £45 Million we are getting a mere glimpse of the way things work. The politicians and civil servants have a revolving door out of office into lucrative contracts.

A piece of scum, like George Osborne, runs the exchequer and then, straight away, gets a job with firms telling them how to use tax loopholes to avoid paying taxes. He makes hundreds of thousands and they avoid paying millions in taxes – effectively robbing the British people.

He directly uses his inside knowledge for personal gain to rob us all!

It’s treasonous!

The politicians and civil servants use their positions to gain contacts in order to feather their own nest later. Running the country is just a stepping stone to huge personal gain.

44 members of Cameron’s cabinet have moved on to lucrative jobs in the very fields they were responsible for.

Since imposing pay cuts for the poor and civil servants, under the lying mantra that ‘We’re all in it together’. People such as Cameron and Osborne have gone to make a fortune – earning millions a year.

Is it really working? To have lunch with people and use your position to put pressure on so you can walk away with £45 million?? Is that what these people call work?

‘All in it together?’ Try telling that to the nurses, teachers and those on welfare who have suffered the cuts for over a decade and are living on scraps.

No wonder they don’t sort out the tax loopholes – they are all using them to stuff their loot abroad.

The whole system is corrupt.

Sleaze, cronyism and criminality is rife!!

Corruption rules OK!!

Alright now! Right where we want to be!

Alright Now!

‘Wallop’ he chortled as he swaggered into the room, hair looking as if he’d just emerged from a wind tunnel, swinging an imaginary bat as if hitting a six. ‘I say, by Jove, did you jolly well see that?? Nailed it! I couldn’t have been more bally contrite if I err errr tried! Ha. I was bally trying!! Yaaah!’ He beamed around at them.

‘Bravura performance!’ Nadine was quick to say, flashing her lashes at him, her face glowing fit to swoon.

‘Yes, excellent,’ Raab agreed less enthusiastically. Everyone else nodded with feigned eagerness. It was proving hard to summon up the required enthusiasm. The smiles looked a trifle forced. The team had been gloomily studying the latest polling. It wasn’t looking good. Six points down with more bad news to come, as the fines and reports worked their way through the system. ‘But, er, I think we’d better discuss tactics. The polls are not looking good.’

Johnson gurned and shrugged. ‘Yaah, who cares about ruddy polls! We’ll, err hmmm, blast them to bally bits!’

‘It is the council elections. This couldn’t have come at a worse time.’

Johnson, seating himself, puffed his cheeks out and looked down at the table as if seeking inspiration. Finally raising his eyes and sighing with an anguished exhalation, ‘Look guys,’ he muttered more soberly, tilting his head on the side, ‘it’s mid-term blues, yeah, that’s all. We’ve got this dang-well nailed down.’

All eyes were fixed on him.

Johnson’s face broke into a big grin. ‘Face it guys, ya, we’re up against Starmer. He’s got as much charisma as a wet rag in a bucket of urine. Couldn’t think up a headline if, err, err, his soggy little brain was on fire! We’ve got two years yet,’ he reminded them. ‘It’s all err hmmmph, coming good.’ They did not look convinced. His eyes roved around the assembled crew. He sighed again.

‘OK, ya, dooh,’ he raised his eyes to the heavens, sighed, showed his palms and shrugged. He could see that the crew needed a boost.

The clownish persona evaporated, morphing into the shrewd, cynical tactician that lurked inside.

‘We’re two years out from an election. All this will pass. The heat has already gone out of it. We have everyone singing from the same hymn sheet. The parties were trivial – the fines on a par with a parking ticket. All will be forgotten. It’s the goldfish syndrome. Let the snowflakes howl, who cares? We don’t need them. As long as our base comes on board – and they will.’

The clownish act had melted away. The delivery was forceful and exact, no hint of the stumbling fool.

Johnson nodded slowly, meeting eyes with them one after another, clasping his hands together, face set.

‘The mid-terms mean nothing. We have a year to make hay and a year to pull the plan together. Right now things are where they need to be. It’s alright now!’

‘But the redwall are jittery,’ Kwasi had the courage to point out; daring to say what the others were thinking.

Johnson leaned back, interlaced his fingers and fixed his piercing blue eyes on Kwarteng’s, like two electric epees. ‘Nobody expected to hang on to those seats,’ he intoned solemnly, finger-tips gently coming together. ‘That was Brexit. Brexit is over. We can afford to shed twenty or thirty seats as long as we hang on to a majority of ten to twenty we’ll be fine.’

‘Naddy,’ he said, turning his attention to Dorries. ‘How’s the plan going?’

Dorries, eager to please, was quick to summarise. ‘BBC board loaded. Already the trouble-makers are jumping ship – Maitlis and co. We’re still going for Channel 4. I’ve had meetings with Gary Jones, Lord Rothermere, Victoria Newton, the Barclay Brothers and John Witherow. We’ve got support from all sides.’ She looked up, wagging her tail like a little puppy dog.

‘He who controls the news controls the minds,’ Johnson stated, drumming his fingers on the table. ‘We’ve been oiling the right channels.’

The mood of the room was warming.

‘Now,’ Johnson said, his voice steely and face stern. ‘Rishi has been sorting out the treasure chest. We’ll have a year of agony and miraculously we will start zooming out of recession. Rishi will splash the cash, the energy crisis and the oil/petrol crisis will simply fade away. Prices will come tumbling down. The cost of living crisis will be a thing of the past. Moggy will highlight all the wonders of Brexit. Govey will at least have a pretence of levelling up. We’ll have made a fortune out of selling arms to Ukraine, long may that cash cow last, and Priti will have shut down the borders by putting the fear of the devil into all those who could end up in those concentration camps in Rwanda.’

He focussed his attention on Rishi who was trying his damnedest to look enthusiastic. Rishi knew that it had been Johnson who had stuck the knife in, using his contacts to reveal his Green Card and Akshata’s Non-Dom status. He’d been well and truly skewered but at least the Rwanda contract was a peace offering. He’d make a few million out of that and he was well-aware that his future depended on Johnson’s success. For now he’d keep his powder dry.

‘The Energy Companies and Oil Companies have never had it so good,’ Rishi grudgingly gushed, playing along with the game. His race was run and he knew it. Johnson was a formidable opponent. ‘They’ll put plenty cash and impetus into our campaign.’

Johnson smiled, re-laced his hands and looked pleased. ‘Add all that to the cash from the Ruskies.’ He sat back in his seat smug as a warlord on the battlefield, surveying the room. His eyes lingered on Javid who looked uncomfortable. He too had that past Green Card hanging over him. ‘Make sure we make inroads into that backlog,’ he said, but the underlying subliminal message was transparent in the expression on his face. Johnson needed him to know.

The secret to an efficient, smooth-running cabinet was to know whose buttons to press and where all the skeletons were.

‘In a year’s time we’ll be riding a wave, see if we won’t. I’ll be the one who got Brexit done, beat covid, mastered the cost of living and helped put Russia back in its box. They’ve got the intelligence of gnats. We’ll have another four years to stuff our faces. I tell you – it’s alright now! We’re exactly where we need to be!’

Poetry – Empires Turn to Dust

Empires Turn to Dust

Mrs Wibbly Wobbly sits amid the ruins as her empire turns to dust.

Contemplating madness as her government goes bust.

With resignations flying as the frenzy feeds the sharks

While the public hold up zeroes as they go assessing the marks.

Power before people, party before country, ideology before sense;

They are selling us down the river for a pocket full of pence.

Nothing seems to matter to those who climb the tower.

Who cares what happens to anyone so long as they gain power.

They tell us lies; they promise gold and a new shiny dawn.

But the reality is that they offer us the same old dreary morn.

They scare us with their stories of horrors and great fears,

But all of it is just a game and will only end in tears.

So as the government implodes and the rabid nutters reign

Mrs Wibbly Wobbly sells the country down the drain.

She appeases all the lunatics who are now running the circus show.

Clinging on with fingernails as the madness grows and grows.

All the clocks are melting in this silly surreal race

But Mrs Wibbly Wobbly is still doing up her lace.

In or out, hard or soft, they really can’t decide.

All they succeed in doing is widening the divide.

The nation teeters on the brink as stupidity holds court.

While clowns and mad extremists endlessly find fault.

She pressed the button to start the race before she knew where we were going

So where we’ll end up running to – there is no way of knowing!!

Opher – 17.7.2018

The stupidity of how this was all carried out is beyond all measure of reason.

A Brexit vote.

Promised by Cameron and Osbourne, to throw meat to the rabid extremist nationalists, who had already brought down governments with their ideological claptrap, to keep them quiet during the election.

A promised vote with expectations of a coalition and not having to deliver.

An unexpected win.

The vote then carried out with complacency. Nobody believed the population would be that stupid as to cut off the hand that feeds them.

The vote and chaos, resignations and dementia!

May seizing control after the blood bath and siding with the extreme Brexiteers in order to hang on to power and stupidly pressing the button without getting any agreement of what sort of Brexit was required. None other than a silly ploy to try to unite her party that failed miserably.

Chaos and infighting in the Tories as they pulled themselves inside out and time flits by with nothing achieved.

What should have been done with something this momentous is a cross-party group to thrash out what was required before pressing the button – followed by a negotiation from strength.

What we have is time running out and a dog’s dinner served up by a bunch of lying lunatic ideologues like Rees-Mogg and Boris and passed off as a banquet.

What an utter mess. The Tories have sold the country down the river in their quest for power!!

They want their arses kicked!!