Isn’t it always the way. You’re just tucking into the TV dinner, something interesting is on the telly……. Then the door-bell goes. The dog went mental barking his head off. He’s obviously a very good judge of character as I just made out Mr Creep through the glass as I walk towards the front door.
"Hello, can I leave this leaflet with you? It explains just what the Labour Party are doing for you in this area and….…"
"Whoa there matey. Who are you representing?"
"The local candidate for the Labour Party"
"No, who’s your head honcho – Tony Blair?"
"OK, firstly, you can take this leaflet, fold it up into a big pointy painful shape and post it where the Sun don’t shine. Then you can tell me why I had to pay for 2 prescriptions I’ve just picked up from the Chemist, when not 20 miles down the road in Wales they’re already under a fiver – and from next year they’ll be free, gratis and for nothing for every single one of them!!!!"
"Errrr, OK, so you’re not a fan of Tony then?"
"Not a fan? Not a ‘kin fan? The man’s a war criminal, a fraud, a serial liar, a control freak, a fantasist and a rubbish excuse for a man. The man wouldn't look out of place wearing a full length Gestapo leather coat and whistling Lily Marlene as he plans another invasion into another country as designated by Dubbya Bush. Blair is a bloody disgrace - he should be put down along with his Scottish mate in number 11"….
Sensing my vote may not be going to the local NuLabour candidate, Mr Creep started to back away down the path.
I trawled him back - a rabbit in my headlights, and anyway, my 15 year old son was walking up the path behind him… Manna from heaven. I grabbed him as he tried to squeeze past me.
"And what about this kid? He wants to go to Uni’ – but how the hell can he afford it – do you think it’s right that an English teenager should be lumbering himself with thousands of pounds worth of debt? But not to worry, not to sodding well worry because just a hundred miles up the M6, in Tony ‘kin Blair’s home country, it’s all ‘kin paid for, for their kids, no debt for them, courtesy of me and people like me down here paying for it all"…..
It was at that moment, I realised I had more than just a tight grip on my Son’s arm. It was going purple.
It was at that moment, I realised I had advanced down the path and was shouting and swearing and glottaling about an inch from this annoying little NuLabour man’s face.
It was at that moment, I realised why I had got the two prescriptions earlier that day. A wicked infection in my lungs leaving me with a ton of phlegm havering up and down inside me every time I breathed.
But not any more. The wheezing had gone, the phlegm had all but been expectorated to atmosphere….. and all over Mr Creep’s dripping features…
As he sloped away with his damp leaflets for Mrs Dull, my NuLabour poodle candidate in his hand, I helpfully reminded him that the impending virulent infection I had just passed onto him was going to cost him the neck end of 13 quid to get shut of….
So there you have it. Next time you feel a bit wheezy, just go and find yourself a NuLabour foot soldier to have a go at. It works better than antibiotics – and it saves on Kleenex and the prescription fee as well…. Unless you live in Wales and Scotland though, obviously……