So there’s going to be a ruddy election in the UK in a few months. And surprise, surprise… Dead people can’t vote. Which means that I am disenfranchised, just because I have stopped ruddy breathing. And there’s not a lot I can do about it either. There’s no use throwing myself under a horse at the Derby, it wouldn’t do me any harm, I am dead already, and besides, probably nobody would notice, apart from the horse, and I wouldn’t want to startle a horse. It must be stressful enough running the ruddy Derby with a man on your back shouting giddy up at the top of his voice and whacking you on the flanks with a whip, without me putting my two pennorth in.
So the only way that I could possibly influence the outcome of the election is through my posthumous blog, written by possessing the body of my Nephew Michael. It’s not as if he puts it to any good use anyway. Come to think of it, I might actually manifest myself through him on Election Day. That way I’ll get a vote after all, and just you think on. If I go to all that trouble, bridging the gap between the realms of the living and the dead, then you ought to make the effort to walk down to the ruddy polling station and make your mark. As long as its not for the ruddy Tories, or UKIP, or any of them other parties that are only interested in feathering their own nests and white supremacy and nonsense like that.
Any road. Talking about nonsense. That David Cameroon fellow is trying to turn the ruddy clocks back to the 1930s. What he wants is all his toff makes firmly in control and raking in all the cash for themselves, just like they used to before the war. The Lord alone knows what the stuck up so and so would have achieved if he was a proper prime minister instead of just the leader of a coalition, and I for one wouldn’t want to find out.
He has already closed down half the libraries and bus routes and cancelled the subsidised bus fares for old people on the routes that there are left. He might try and kid you on that it is Labour councils that have done that, but that’s because he won’t give them the ruddy money to pay for those things. I pity the poor old souls who used to get a bus to the local library once a week to borrow a few Agatha Christies. Now they have to pay full fare for two buses into town and back and pay through the ruddy nose for them at WH Smiths or somewhere.
And he has sold the Post Office to his pals at cut price too and is working on doing the same with the National Health Service.
But the other day he was on the radio talking about Welfare caps for the unemployed. “I just don’t think it’s fair” he said “That ordinary hard working people who have to get out of bed in the morning and do the decent thing, working to put food on the table for their families should be indistinguishable from those who are on welfare. Therefore I propose a welfare cap which will penalise those who choose not to work, by making them look stupid and perhaps shame them into pulling their fingers out and taking one of the many low paid jobs my government has created to make employers more wealth by removing the need for them to pay a reasonable wage.”
If Cameroon wins the forthcoming election, he proposed to make anyone receiving state benefits wear the caps, fashioned on 1930s dunces’ caps, by law. He claims that the scheme is fully costed, and will not cost the taxpayer a penny, because the caps will be made by the sick and infirm on zero hours contracts in private hospitals run by Group 4 Security. Any shortfall in funding will be met by having rummage sales, tombolas, and stalls for bric a brac and used paperback books, bringing it in line with the modern National Health Service.