Here at Americana-UK Towers we are nothing if not democrats (that’s a small ‘d’ for our American friends). Every year we hold an election to vote in our glorious leader and every year The Editor wins. We have no issue with this because (a) we have gone through the motions and (b) everybody gets to live – so that’s a winner for us.
Far be it from we humble folk to liken our small-scale plebiscite to that of The Blues current travails but at lunchtime we were all talking about the fact that a (very) very small number of people were going to get to pick the next Prime Minister. Not just any small number of people mind you but the grassroots membership of The Blues. We were minded, en masse, to use certain internet telephony devices in order to see who these folks might be and, shucks, it turns out that they are (or could well be) around the age of fifty-seven, white and male. Obviously the results varied depending on which mobile telephony device we used at what point but the striking thing was that it almost exactly referenced our own demographic. We guffawed heartily and then realised that, as a group (per se), we couldn’t be further removed.
Now it’s clear that we have a constitutional monarchy in this country and that we don’t vote for a president or similar titular head of state but we’d have thought that it would only be sporting for those ‘in power’ to give us a say in this thing. Y’know – picking the one that his/her finger on the nuclear button. But apparently not. The candidates have mostly pledged to carry on regardless (even that opium smoking geezer who looks a little deflated the whole time and that coke snorting geezer who has spectacles that don’t fit and that hash smoking tart whose claim to the top spot is that she has children ). Crucially none of them has promised an election involving the hoi-poloi because “That would be bad for the country”. So, yep, they all get our vote. Or they would if we had one…
