Our candidates are like lambs to the slaughter
Is it safe to come out yet? No, of course not.
Just when you thought politics was about to be given the boot for a few months, Maggie May’s cock up on the old campaign front means we’re still being ruled by Laura Kuenssberg, while Jeremy Corbyn is rubbing his eyes in disbelief that he’s still leading the Labour Party, let alone now capable of getting normal people to vote for him as well.
Here in the constituency of Llanyllanllan Central, we’re still coming to terms with the woeful lack of representation. With a population of four and a half, we’re clearly the few, not the many. And the only thing strong and stable is the stone outbuilding that the horses live in. But worse than that, every party seemed to be bending over backwards for “ordinary, hard-working families”. Just who are these people?
It left Mrs Sheep and I staring at each other in confusion. What about oddball, bone-idle couples whose only dependents run about on four legs, we pondered. Who are we gonna vote for?
Come the day, we felt it our duty to trouble the counting officer all the same, and took the Mutt with us to help us decide. If she turned left on arrival at the cowshed that doubles as a polling station on such occasions, we’d vote Labour, we agreed. But if she turned right, we’d vote Conservative. If she stopped and just sniffed, we’d vote Lib Dem. And if she relieved herself on an English rose, well, we’d go for Plaid Cymru, naturally.
What we hadn’t banked on was the great eccentricity that is British politics. My, how visiting Americans must think they’ve wandered onto the set of The Twilight Zone when their holidays coincide with Election Night in the UK. For so it was that Bleating Lord Lamb from the Woolly Monster Loony Party got both our votes.
He lost his deposit, of course. But they all do round here.
You may also like