Inside the head of Minibus Milliband

The minister for trams. The clam of chowdertown. The big cheese. Chief Monkey of Golden Triangle. Elvis of our hearts. Princess of our jaffa cakes. The raisin of our dreams. King. Of. Cheese. A grin for all seasons.

Ok. So a long day being mildly tingled by politickery. And obnov, feeling a teensy bit old. I haven’t held political office for ooh, 16 years. My last campaign was based on Dirty Harry. And revolved around how little I wanted to do the job. Naturellement, this being England, I won. Ok, I didn’t win the last election, but I was elected on the same platform previously.

I got to play at being in the West Wing for approximately 3 nano-seconds this morning. Real politics is nothing like as fun as it is portrayed. It’s like looking at your feet through binoculars. Familiar, yet not as fun as spying on your neighbours. You know. If that’s the kind of thing you like to do. Perhaps Milliband could be made a minister for it. Ah yes, my mistake, Mssrs Straw and Long are already in charge of that.

Sigh. Politics. Poli-tics. Many mannerisms. Multiple parrots. Long day.

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