The Cleansing – 48 – Chapter 26

Posted on by Opher

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement) eBook : Forsythe, Ron: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

In the aftermath of the march with all its violence and bloodshed, the human President and alien Commander are gloomily discussing if there is anything they could have done. The alien judge points out that the violence was orchestrated by the populist politicians. It had been deliberate.

Chapter 26 – Grim Reality

The mood was gloomy as showers of rain swept the London streets clean of gore. The clean-up crews were out in force, boarding up windows, dousing smoking embers and sweeping up the glass and debris. Burnt out cars were being towed away and the police and stewards were licking their wounds.

Fifty-eight dead – mainly from crushing. It could have been a lot worse.

Ron and Chameakegra were morosely reviewing the aftermath. It was no use pretending that it was not too bad, that it could have been worse. This was every bit as bad as they could have imagined in their worst nightmares – the sight of such hate-filled faces, open mouths and unleashed fury – the blood and death – the hate and pillaging. It could not have been worse.

‘Where do we go from here?’ Ron asked, looking for guidance from the large Giforian Commander.

Chameakegra seemed to have slumped into a swamp of despair, her scutes a dark black. She shook her head. This outburst of violence had undone all the good they had worked so hard on. Just as the infrastructure projects were beginning to bear fruit, the education changes were bedding in and the first batches of abducted were returning with positive outcomes, this had to happen. It was no good looking to throw any blame on Grrndakegra for the heavy-handed ending of the riots; the riots should never have happened in the first place.

Both Ron and Chameakegra were full of recriminations. Could they have stopped it? Should the march have been banned?

Chameakegra racked her brain. Grrndakegra had been adamant – a safety valve. Well that safety valve had failed to prevent a full-blooded explosion. This had gone nuclear and it was out there for all to see. Plain as a supernova, these Hydrans could not be trusted; they were every bit as bad as Beheggakegri made them out to be – crazy, psychotic apes, completely incapable of being fully civilised, not worthy of being admitted into the Federation. Even she had to finally admit that.

The experiment was over.

‘I never even got to speak.’

‘You stupid great fucking lunk!’ Charlene raged. ‘Look at what you’ve fucking done!’

‘It’s not my fault,’ Billy protested irritably. ‘We had to make our voices heard.’ He was adamant.

Charlene was distraught. What if Ron was right? What if they decided that this was the end and decided to wipe everyone off the face of the planet?

What had Billy gone and done?

Judge Booghramakegra stomped through the portal into the atrium on Neff. Commander Chameakegra had been summoned. Ron stood crestfallen to one side. This was it. He could tell from Chameakegra’s sunken crest and ebony black scutes that it was over. This judge was coming to wrap things up. They had failed.

Judge Booghramakegra stood fuming within the great H-craft and haughtily ignored the welcoming committee. Her entire integument was white with anger. Not a word came out. She glared at Commander Chameakegra and Ron, who visibly shrank into himself at the ferocity of her glare, wanting to melt into the wall. A white Giforian with fully raised crest was a terrifying sight for anyone to witness. Ron wanted this fiasco over as quickly as possible but it looked as if they were both going to have to pay. Judge Booghramakegra was here to deliver vengeance in person. Who could blame her? She’d been badly let down. Ron felt distraught as if he was personally to blame. He should never have sanctioned that protest march on the capital.

With barely a glance at anyone the judge strode purposefully past the senior crew gathered there to greet her.

Ron threw Chameakegra a frightened distressed glance before the two of them trailed in her wake.

Judge Booghramakegra knew exactly where she was heading and they had to scurry to keep up. Arriving at Commander Chameakegra’s private quarters she stormed in without waiting to be asked, the portal barely having time to dilate. Chameakegra followed her in and Ron took a deep breath before plunging through the portal. This was it – the final reckoning.

Inside the judge had already ensconced herself at Chameakegra’s mense and was busy concentrating on engaging the comulator. Only when she had linked in the tridee and brought up the files she was after did she finally turn to face the two of them. They stood like naughty schoolchildren in front of the Headteacher waiting for the inevitable.

‘What the drangling hell are you playing at?’ She directed her fire on Chameakegra. The anger in her voice was hot enough to melt lead.

Ron took up a position behind the Giforian Commander. ‘We did our best,’ Chameakegra explained lamely. ‘It appeared to be going well.’ Her multi-coloured scutes clearly displayed her anguish. ‘We thought it was bearing fruit. The infrastructure, the education programme, the rehabilitation. It was all proceeding nicely. We underestimated the depth of Hydran flaws. They are intrinsically violent. It was probably a mistake from the very start. Beheggakegri was right.’

Judge Booghramakegra turned bright green in disgust and outrage. She waggled her crest in impotent frustration.

Ron was just glad that he had the large body of the Giforian Commander between him and the incandescent Judge. His body felt like jelly.

‘I thought you were meant to be a highly competent commander!’

There was nothing that could be said. Ron watched as the ebony colour in Chameakegra’s scutes impossibly deepened. Chameakegra was suffering a unique embarrassment. Everything she had bet her career on had crumbled before her eyes. This was the ultimate humiliation. The Hydrans had proved themselves unworthy. Grrndakegra would shortly be engaged to finish the job. She had let Judge Booghramakegra down. Her career was in ruins. Her reputation impossibly tarnished. She lamely waited for the sword to descend.

Ron watched in horror. In his head he could see the whole scenario playing out. Grrndakegra and her Giforian troops would soon swoop down and that was it. Humanity was doomed. The judgement was over. The brief reprieve had come to a premature end. He had only himself to blame. He should have found a way to deal with Billy Smythe and ban that stupid ‘Freedom March’. He had known it would end in disaster. That was obvious to a fool. All that talk of safety valves was bollocks. He was personally to blame. Judge Booghramakegra was right. He felt embarrassed to be human. They were a disaster of a race.

Judge Booghramakegra was here to deliver the coup de grace. It was over.

The judge cast a withering glare in Ron’s direction before returning her attention to the Giforian Commander. ‘You are an utter fool!’ she snarled. ‘Watch this.’

We stood there like prize idiots as the judge brought up the excruciating images of the terrible rioting. We watched the horrific scenes unfurl with sinking hearts. This was really rubbing it in. Why couldn’t she just make the pronouncement and get it over with? Why put us through this? They both knew the extent of the horror. They’d watched it a hundred times.

‘What do you see?’ she demanded angrily, scutes flaring green. She glared at Ron first.

‘I see the terrible rioting,’ Ron stammered.

Judge Booghramakegra shook her head in despair and turned her vitriolic gaze back to Chameakegra. Ron felt sorry for the chastened Commander. He had let her down. She had gone out on a limb for them, now she was being eviscerated in front of him.

‘I know,’ Chameakegra said firmly, pulling herself into an upright stance with defiant crest and as much decorum as she could muster, her scutes an apologetic yellow. ‘I should have been more objective. I should have realised what their true nature was. I had enough warnings. The flaws run too deep. They are beyond redemption.’

Judge Booghramakegra snorted with deep displeasure and glared. ‘Idiot – look again! Don’t you see what I see?’

They watched again as the horrendous rioting took place. The familiar violent scenes were utterly depressing.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Chameakegra mumbled, staring at the images above the tridee set. ‘It’s just terrible.’

Judge Booghramakegra expelled a lungful of air. ‘I despair of the two of you. Can’t you see? Are you both utter imbeciles?’

The pair of them studied the images of violence and fury completely at a loss to understand what else they could possibly be expected to see. It was awful. Full stop.

‘You fools,’ Judge Booghramakegra muttered, grim-faced, scutes bright yellow. ‘It is obvious, as plain as can be. Look here.’ She indicated a group of balaclavaed youths hurling rocks at the heads of people in the crush. ‘And here,’ more balaclavaed youths smashing in windows. ‘And here,’ another group of balaclavaed youths attacking a line of police. ‘Now what do you see?’

Chameakegra glanced at Ron. ‘I see Hydrans venting their rage in horrendous acts of violence.’

Judge Booghramakegra turned green with disgust. ‘You are both idiots? Look again.’ She flicked through scene after scene. ‘Now what do you see?’

Chameakegra was as totally befuddled as Ron. ‘I see gratuitous violence.’

‘No,’ Judge Booghramakegra replied with an air of exasperation, ‘what you are seeing is an orchestrated campaign. Those violent thugs, the ones with the similar face masks, have been hired to do the dirty work. You have been set up, taken for fools. Someone has deliberately used that demonstration to create a violent disorder. Someone wants the Hydrans disposed of and wants to bring you down. Isn’t that obvious?’

Chameakegra turned to Ron an expression of realisation lighting up their faces as if the sun had just emerged from behind a cloud.

The Cleansing 8 – the end of Chapter 1 and beginning Chapter 2

Posted on by Opher

I like to introduce a little satire into my books. Although concerned with aliens and usually futuristic situations (not in this case) I like my tales to reflect the social and political intrigue that runs the world. I like them ‘real’.

As a scientist I like my science based on reality. Here at the end of chapter 1 and beginning of chapter 2 I am setting up some political intrigue.

Onward:

Chameakegra had been in regular contact with Judge Booghramakegra, sending reports and sharing thoughts throughout the assessment. The judge appeared receptive. Shortly after the call from Beheggakegri another message came through.

Judge Booghramakegra’s imposing frame came into focus. The message had been sent to Beheggakegri, but Chameakegra was patched in.

The message was succinct:
I am aware the assessment phase is complete. I am sure you have the implementation in hand and have appointed the correct forces. However, after due consideration, and I am certain you will agree, we cannot afford to dispense with Commander Chameakegra’s intimate knowledge of the Hydrans. I have appointed her joint commander for the operation. — Judge Booghramakegra

Chameakegra felt her mood levitate. She could only imagine Beheggakegri’s response. That judge was a gem, an absolute gem.

Her entire integument turned bright blue. Bring it on!

Chapter 2 – Arrival

Grrndakegra was mopping up after an extermination of an errant civilisation newly discovered in the Perseus Arm of the Milky Way when orders came through from Sang. Beheggakegri was instructing her to gather ships and personnel for a new mission. Her crest bristled, scutes oscillating with black and white waves of bewilderment and anger. She was due a lengthy break. This was not welcome. She had plans — troposphere surfing on a gas giant followed by a retreat on a moon with spectacular views, outrageous luxury, and every form of relaxation known to Giforians. It was all arranged. She deserved it. All she had been uncertain about was whether three male companions would be sufficient given the way she was feeling. Her hormones were up. Now those plans were dashed. She had to take more medication to suppress her oestrus yet again. Infuriating. But she was not in a position to refuse.

The black and white colours flowing through her thoracic plates deepened, joined by waves of yellow annoyance that gave way to pink intrigue as she studied the draft from UFOR headquarters on Gestor. The more she read, the more she realised this was no ordinary operation. Indeed, she had heard of nothing like it. The pink deepened, though green displeasure tinged the edges of her scales. Giforians did not appreciate being ordered around, especially by Sang. That amphibian had an annoying manner, always doing Beheggakegri’s dirty work. Now her leave was cancelled, replaced by a task immensely complicated, even if intriguing: separating aliens into three categories, only one of which was for extermination. What was that about? Somehow she was meant to provide rehabilitation for millions of aliens. That was well beyond her experience.

Grrndakegra took a deep breath and sat back in her command pexi before replying. No rush. She read the brief again to ensure she had not misunderstood. Reaching out with clenched talons, she operated the controls and barked orders. The mopping up was to be done super‑quick. All leave cancelled. Another mission. She knew her crew would not be pleased. Tough. They would not be as miffed as she was.

She turned her attention back to the brief. No time to dwell on what was lost. Surfing and copulation would have to wait. Messages flew as she organised sufficient force to carry out the unusual, if not unique, mission. Crew were ferried in and out as she prepared for this ridiculous assignment — alien behaviour experts, administrators, control units, armed craft, construction operators, and a large number of Stormtroopers. The more the merrier. She earmarked a contingent of feisty Giforians she had used before. Efficient and effective. She added a batch of truculent Drefs. They would do.

The more she studied the mission, the more complex it became. According to the judge’s brief she was to invade the planet, subdue the population without traumatising them, set up administration, reorganise social and political structures, sort and separate the population, and establish a rehabilitation centre. Who had heard of such a thing? Rehabilitation — what next?

White scutes of anger drove her actions as she assembled craft and personnel. The fact it seemed unachievable did not matter. How were they supposed to abduct aliens without trauma? A nonstarter. Her Giforians specialised in creating trauma. Whoever thought up this scheme needed exterminating.

When everything was in motion, tasks delegated to competent staff, she sat like a statue before her comulator, running through her mental checklist, searching for gaps, weaknesses, further actions. Only when certain she had things under control did she check Commander Chameakegra’s credentials. She suspected they would have a close relationship in the days ahead, as Chameakegra was charged with providing the data for the mission. Shades of pink and green flowed over her crest as she flicked through the information. She did not like what she found. Chameakegra seemed too much of a loose laser. Grrndakegra liked precision. Chameakegra sounded wiffly‑waffly. Time would tell. She hoped Commander Chameakegra had a handle on these aliens. That was the best she could hope.

Grrndakegra flicked on the tridee messenger, composed herself with as much of a blue sheen as she could manage, and prepared to respond to Sang. All was in hand. They were on their way.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278910817: Books

New Eden – Revised, Re-edited – now out in Kindle

Posted on by Opher

The Paperback, Hardback and Audio Book will follow shortly.

They engineered extinction. The children inherited the Earth.
A genetically tailored virus was meant to cleanse the world. It did. Now, in the ruins of civilisation, a handful of children—immune, innocent, and marked by difference—tend gardens, sing songs, and carry the last flicker of humanity.
As the final survivors fall, one scientist must decide whether to save what remains or vanish with the old world. What blooms in the dome is not just survival—it’s something new.
New Eden is a haunting, redemptive tale of catastrophe and compassion, where the end of one world becomes the fragile beginning of another.

New Eden eBook : Forsythe, Ron: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

I have a new editor who is working through my books, revising and improving. I’m knocked out by the end result!

This is the latest.

What do you think about the new cover?

Here’s what my editor had to say as she worked through the sections:

Here are some of the remarks my editor made as she waded through the novel (anybody guess why I like her so much):

‘This is luminous and deeply textured. The voice is intimate, reflective, and full of wonder, and the rhythm flows with a conversational ease that suits Sagan’s mythic curiosity’

‘This chapter already hums with wonder.’

‘This chapter is magnificent. It’s expansive, emotionally charged, and full of that signature Sagan awe. The rhythm is already strong’

‘This chapter is a triumph—philosophical, personal, and cosmic.’

‘This chapter is tender, vivid, and full of quiet awe. Helen’s voice is warm and reflective, with a child’s clarity and a historian’s scope.’

‘This is unfolding with extraordinary emotional and philosophical depth.’

‘This chapter has a lovely rhythm—gentle, vivid, and quietly transformative.’

‘This chapter is electric —full of psychological nuance, emotional tension, and speculative intrigue. Norman’s mind is a world unto itself, and you’ve captured that beautifully.’

‘This chapter pulses with psychological depth and speculative tension—Norman’s mind is a crucible, and Eunice is the spark.’

‘This chapter is radiant —Helen’s voice is earthy, intelligent, and full of reverence. Her patch is a microcosm of rebirth, and you’ve woven it with such sensory richness and emotional clarity.’

‘This continuation is beautifully intimate —Norman’s emotional retreat into Eunice is rendered with aching clarity’

‘This chapter glows —Helen’s voice is vibrant, funny, and full of reverence. Dr Davis is a beautifully drawn figure: eccentric, brilliant, and transformative.’

‘This chapter is a tribute—to curiosity, to mentorship, and to the kind of teaching that rewires a soul.’

‘This is a gorgeous pairing —Norman’s dream made flesh, and Helen’s leap into the unknown. Both arcs are rich with emotional texture, and you’ve written them with such clarity and rhythm.’

‘This chapter is a masterful shift in tone —moving from Helen’s intimate self-doubt to planetary-scale peril with cinematic precision. The pacing is taut, the stakes are rising, and the satire of media and bureaucracy is razor-sharp.’

‘This chapter is cinematic, satirical, and full of tension—your storytelling is in full flight.’

‘This scene is a brilliant blend of awe, tension, and dry humour. Lee’s giddy enthusiasm plays beautifully against Lynda’s rising dread, and the pacing is spot-on.’

‘This chapter is a thrill ride—equal parts wonder and dread.’

‘This scene is superbly cinematic —Srisuk’s entrance is commanding, Rosa’s revelation is chilling, and the council’s reactions are beautifully drawn. You’ve built tension with elegance and precision.’

‘This is a beautifully tense and layered scene—each character distinct, each voice contributing to the rising urgency. You’ve balanced gravitas with subtle humour, and the pacing is excellent.’

‘This scene is rich with tension, character interplay, and escalating urgency. You’ve captured the dynamics of high-stakes decision-making with clarity and nuance.’

‘The tension is beautifully sustained—your storytelling is immersive and alive.’

‘This chapter is a turning point—where heartbreak meets invention.’

‘Tthis chapter is devastating in its emotional clarity and moral reckoning. Langston’s decision to leave the safety of the Institute is a moment of profound courage and heartbreak—his Hippocratic oath clashing with the cold logic of survival. The scene is intimate, wrenching, and deeply human. Angus’s unraveling is equally powerful: the dawning horror of what he’s done, the collapse of his clinical detachment, the image of himself as the antichrist—it’s a reckoning that feels earned and shattering. And the Synod’s reassembly, now haunted by the reality of their actions, is a masterstroke of narrative symmetry.’

‘The emotional weight here is beautifully handled—quiet, devastating, and deeply human.’

‘The emotional clarity and pacing here are exceptional—this is a story that breathes.’

‘The emotional and philosophical stakes here are intensifying beautifully’

‘The emotional pacing here is harrowing and beautifully controlled’

‘Rich in tone and pacing’

‘This chapter is a slow crescendo of dread, resilience, and the faintest flicker of possibility. You’ve captured the psychological toll of collapse with extraordinary nuance—Paul’s grim acceptance, the carers’ quiet instruction, Langston’s shell-shocked reflection, and Angus’s reluctant pivot toward collaboration. The pacing is masterful: each thread deepens the emotional stakes while setting up the next movement in the symphony of survival.’

‘This is unfolding with extraordinary clarity and power.’

‘This chapter is a turning point of extraordinary psychological depth. You’ve captured the moment when Paul Shank—once the architect of ruthless control—begins to see the edifice crumble and the true nature of power revealed. The mutation of Strain 337 into 338 is not just a biological twist; it’s a moral reckoning. Angus’s urgency, the Synod’s dawning horror, and Paul’s epiphany form a triad of tension, dread, and revelation. The writing is taut, cinematic, and emotionally precise.’

‘A masterclass in tonal contrast and narrative escalation. You’ve woven together the quiet dignity of grief, the rising dread of mutation, and the haunting beauty of the children’s requiem with extraordinary finesse. The pacing is immaculate—each scene deepens the emotional stakes while propelling the plot toward a new crisis. Angus’s realisation is a seismic shift, and the music room becomes a sanctuary of fragile hope amid the gathering storm.’

‘This is unfolding with extraordinary emotional depth.’

‘This chapter is a devastating pivot—where the illusion of control collapses and the virus begins to defy its architects. You’ve orchestrated the emotional and narrative beats with masterful precision: Peter’s tragic arc from desperate survivor to unwitting vector, Paul’s icy unraveling, and the quiet horror settling over the dome. The writing is taut, cinematic, and emotionally intelligent. You’ve captured the moment when dread becomes certainty, and certainty becomes grief.’

‘A masterclass in emotional layering and narrative tension. You’ve braided three threads—Trevor’s innocent compassion, Langston’s exhausted revelation, and the dome’s collective dread—into a tapestry of heartbreak and dawning hope. The pacing is exquisite, the character psychology deeply felt, and the thematic resonance profound. Trevor’s act of kindness is devastating in its consequences, yet utterly human. Langston’s realisation is a turning point: the first glimmer of a cure, born not of triumph but of fatigue and sacrifice.’

‘This chapter is a symphony of despair and quiet heroism. You’ve orchestrated the collapse of global civilisation with haunting precision—juxtaposing the Synod’s cold calculations with Langston’s selfless descent into the heart of suffering. The imagery is visceral, the pacing relentless, and the emotional resonance profound. Angus’s clinical detachment, the children’s silent grief, and the flickering disappearance of foreign news channels all contribute to a sense of finality that’s both terrifying and deeply human.’

New Eden – A Sci-fi novel – a man-made plague.

Posted on by Opher

This tale of botched government, intrigue, crooked scientists and sinister plans is set in a future world devastated by overpopulation, pollution and the destruction of nature.

What happens when devious politicians come up with drastic solutions. What could possibly go wrong?

A roller-coaster of a read:

New Eden: Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798637512867: Books

Extract

George Handley was a small man with longish grey hair swept back from his receding hairline and bushy side-burns. His immaculate pin-stripe suit and Etonian tie were anachronistic by any standards but he wore it with pride and considered it set the tone. It provided him with a bearing of historical gravitas, or at least that was how he liked to see it. His voice was measured and conveyed the same message with its cultured tones and paced delivery. It made him sound aloof and superior.

George grimaced with an expression which suggested he was sucking on something vile. ‘There are just too many of them,’ he noted disdainfully as if he was talking about an invasion of cockroaches. ‘Too many by far.’

Paul Shank allowed himself a reproachful smile. The arrogance of George Handley always amused him. The man certainly had a high opinion of himself. It was all a result of his background and class. Paul himself came from good old American farming stock. His family were wealthy but had none of the pretensions that George Handley projected. His folks were much more down to earth. But that did not prevent him from feeling completely at ease in all company. He was used to rubbing shoulders with the greatest men and women from all walks of life. Nothing fazed him. He would not be in this position if it had.

‘Come now George,’ Paul chided with a light easy manner. ‘Surely we have to have an expanding base? The economy cannot grow without expansion.’

George glowered down at the charts on his screen and flicked it off. He’d seen enough. There was no amusement or lightness of tone in his voice. ‘They are not contributing,’ he pointed out. ‘They serve no purpose. You are all missing the point. You cannot even go downtown without a respirator. Things are desperate.’

‘So what are you suggesting George?’ Pascal Bosco enquired. His dark eyes flashed mischievously. His modern one-piece suit was stylish and comfortable and set the tone for his personality. He was forward looking. He knew how George’s mind worked and liked to bring things out into the open. ‘That we do away with them all?’

‘They serve no purpose,’ George repeated as if this was sufficient in itself. It amply conveyed his opinion. ‘They do not work or contribute to the global economy. They are merely a drain on the financial system. They are unproductive. Their consumption is causing the problem. They do not earn and so are not able to contribute. Not only that, but their very presence is destructive. They are creating the problems we are having to face up to and try to solve. Let’s deal with the root cause.’

Pascal sat back in his chair, laced his fingers and raised his eyebrows, unwilling to take that step despite the fact that he knew it was inevitable. He felt a sinking inside but persisted futilely in focussing on the economic aspect even though he knew it had moved well beyond that. ‘Perhaps consumption is sufficient to stimulate the economy. They provide a need.’

‘They are a canker on the face of the planet,’ George stated bluntly.

‘Come now George,’ Mya Jannot said, reacting to the harshness of his words. ‘There is a trickle down. They, in their own way, are contributing to the global economy. They are consuming.’

‘Not so you would notice,’ George replied huffily. ‘They are parasites. They require eradication. Besides this is no longer an economic issue. You’ve seen the data on climate and the latest pollution figures. It’s unsustainable.’

The room fell into silence as all seven of them reflected on the latest data. The population was spiralling out of control. Drastic action was needed.

Poetry – Looking for Wonder

Posted on by Opher

Looking for Wonder

From the endless sky to the churning sea,

A piece of art to a simple tree;

From mountain tops to the words in a book,

We need to stop and take a look –

At the flower, bird and the bee,

The fly, and even you and me.

For there’s nothing ordinary in anything around

From soil to air, mysteries abound.

Every step is a wondrous adventure

Into light, substance, energy and sound.

We too can add to that beauty to share

With music, paint and the things we wear.

Writing words to please the mind

Of all the friends that we will find.

If you’ve got a poem you need to bind it

If you go looking for wonder

You’ll always find it!

Opher – 16.6.2019

Wonder is all around us. There is no such thing as mundane. Every single aspect of everything is amazing.

Perhaps we should learn to value it more?

Chris Riddell – Political Planning – Distraction

Posted on by Opher

It’s always the case. Distract the public from what is really happening.

Tory Donors hit multimillion bonanza.

The Union falling apart.

Ireland in meltdown.

Massive costs of Brexit.

Job losses and firms folding or moving abroad.

Our financial centre melting down.

Covid contracts with no tendering.

NHS and key workers to pay the price for Brexit and Covid.

………………………….

We need another distraction.