We (the missus and me) got a letter this morning asking us what kind of country we want to live in. It came from Mr. Nick Clegg, a member of Her Majesty's secret, and unelected, government, the Privy Council.
Now I always assume that the role of a Privy Councillor is to maintain the status quo and defend it by any means necessary, so I expect nothing to my advantage form that direction.
Mr. Clegg always reminds me of a PR type, or someone out of an advertising agency, skilled in peddling detergent to the unwashed masses. So knowing nothing of his form I looked him up on wikipedia; he's not an adman after all.
"Nick Clegg was born in Chalfont St Giles, Buckinghamshire in 1967, the third of four children. His half-Russian father, Nicholas, was a banker, and is a trustee (and former chairman) of The Daiwa Anglo-Japanese Foundation. His great-great-grandfather, the Russian nobleman Ignaty Zakrevsky, was Attorney General of Senate in Imperial Russia. His great-great aunt was the writer Baroness Moura Budberg."
"Clegg was educated at Caldicott in South Buckinghamshire, then Westminster School in London ..."
"In 2008 it was reported that while at university, Clegg had joined the Cambridge University Conservative Association between 1986 and 1987, with contemporary membership records citing an "N Clegg" of Robinson College. (At the time, Clegg was the only person of that name at Robinson.) However, Clegg himself later maintained he had 'no recollection of that whatsoever'." [The ubiquitous politian's amnesia]
A leaflet accompanying the Clegg communiqué shows a soldier in combat gear with the line "They are putting their lives on the line for us". No they're not Cleggie, they are fighting for the American Empire. So you think that by lying to us you'll garner votes - nothing changes at Westminster.
I wasn't crazy about Charlie Kennedy, a bit of a mountebank, but at least he wasn't a product of the Blair Academy for Lying Bastards. He had to go because he led his party in opposition to the Iraq misadventure. As you were - he had to go because he was overfond of the booze. Funny, so was Thatcher, so was Churchill; how come they didn't get the heave-ho? I think I'll stick to the Iraq line.
Thank you, Daisy McAndrew, you treacherous cow. Know any more drunken politicos? No? Old Chas must have been the only one.