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there I was last year sitting in front of the television, listening
to the various parliamentary seats being declared across Britain
in the General Election.

was three in the morning and I was getting tired and somewhat bored
as it became apparent who was going to win. But time after time
came this statement from the television: "I hereby declare
that so-and-so is duly elected to serve in this constituency…".

serve, serve, washed over and over again as my tired mind offered
no resistance. Josef Goebells said that if something was repeated
enough times, it would soon be believed. My soporific, malleable
mind almost began to believe it – they’re here to serve us needy

I watched the various neophyte politicians punch the air victoriously
at gaining their parliamentary seat, I wondered if the joy coursing
through their bodies sprung from the inward thought of "I am
so pleased at this opportunity to serve you all!" or was it
nearer to "I am so pleased to be on the political career ladder,
next stop a junior minister position!". I won’t judge those
particular individuals but let me relate to you one story I was
told recently regarding the psyche of the politician when the media
mask is removed.

attended a gathering recently in honour of some worthy person and
was fortunate enough to be placed in the company of a retired banker.
Being a well travelled man, he had a good store of anecdotes to
call upon and as the conversation turned in a political direction,
he was minded to tell us of his experience with one rather obnoxious
politician whose name we were all familiar with.

was at this point that he uttered that timeless derogative "All
politicians are gits!". A quick glance around the table confirmed
that this statement was not received with incredulity. Being a modest
christian soul, I would not be given to putting the boot in so viciously
and, after all, not all politicians are gits. Indeed, the Good Book
enjoins me to pray for all those in authority; and we all know what
that prayer is: "Lord, please turn them all into Libertarians.

I digress, our raconteur continued.

I ploughed my haddock gougon into the tartare sauce, he related
to a time past when he and his business associate would head down
to London on the plane for their weekly HQ meeting. As it happened,
this was also the day that a certain gaggle of politicians from
a certain party would also travel to conduct any business at Westminster.

he disenchantedly observed these Statists during those flights,
it became apparent that one of them was particularly unappealing
as he always headed to the front to claim a specific seat which
he had obviously claimed as his own. If some unfortunate was already
sitting on this favoured seat, then they were requested to give
it up for the honourable member of a certain constituency. All seemed
to sheepishly give in to this egotist.

to teach this fellow a lesson our banker said. Before the next flight,
our friends booked the favoured seat as well as the next seat beside
it. The administrator at the other end of the phone, knowing the
history of that seat, was hesitant, but he had his way. So, on that
fateful day, our self-important politician boarded the plane and
headed for his eternally booked seat. There was someone already
there, but that was no problem to someone used to getting his own

storyteller began to chortle more, and I could almost swear the
pomme de frites tasted better as we were told that the occupant
of the seat refused to budge. The stewardess was called to back
up the politician’s illegitimate property rights, but our friend
valiantly held out and explained his position thusly:

I have legitimately booked this seat. Furthermore, my bank is an
investor in your airline company and he is only a politician!"

this statement of truth, the statist face turned red and the air
turned blue. Midst the torrent of expletives, he made a move for
the second booked seat but found it a bastion of personal liberty
as well as all assaults were repulsed. Thus humbled, our Member
of Parliament was forced to take a back seat and generally make
a childish nuisance of himself by looking over our heroes’ sides
throughout the flight.

all was not over. The flight touched down at Heathrow and the train
was caught for central London. Our bankers were close enough to
the politicians’ first class compartment to hear the wounded ego
rant on about the scum they were letting on planes these days as
the ticket inspector came in.

politician had a second class ticket but this was obviously not
a problem for the privileged political class as he insisted he would
not pay for the upgrade. He was last seen being taken away by the
railway police and we can now declare a final result of Capitalists
1 Politicians 0.

this abuser an isolated case? Obviously, he thought he had come
to be served rather than serve and his ilk are unfortunately too
many by far. So, don’t forget, respected reader, that power corrupts
and the less power they get the better.


Watson [send him
] writes from Edinburgh, Scotland.


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