A Story by Peter Rogerson

A few pertinent observations


There’s a weird kind of immunity sweeping across our land and it’s got nothing to do with viruses, vaccines or any of the other torments that the natural world sees fit to throw at us.

It’s to do with credibility.

Here are a couple of scenes. Imagine that I’ve created a drama to equal anything that Shakespeare saw fit to pen, and these are scenes ripped from it.

Scene One. Public house, circa 1961, old man in baggy pants and smoking a gnarled old pipe holding forth, his face a mask of righteous anger because there’s been something on the news that he didn’t like.

Old man speaks. “They think they can get away with it, and I’m telling you I won’t let them! Politicians! They reckon they know everything, and they know nowt! Send a politician down a mine and he wouldn’t know one side of a coal seam from another!”

And his equally outraged mate nods his head, gives an enormous drag on his own acrid pipe, sips at length from a foaming pint of dark beer. and agrees. “We need a strike!” he confirms, “down tools and do nothing till they learn to toe the line!”

No mention of what the two are agreeing about or what a politician has done to upset them, just that they’re not going to stand for it, and that’s got to be that. They’re out on strike, for ever if need be, and let the knobs in Westminster put that in their pipes and suck on it. It’s the power of the people, all right.

Now for the second scene. Two elderly men sitting in the same pub and vaping invisibly as if there’s not going to be any tomorrow.

That bloody prime minister ought to go,” mutters the first elderly man, sipping his gin and tonic appreciatively.

Nowt we can do about it though. Just pay the price and remember when we get the next chance to vote.” retorts his chum.

If we can be bothered,” nods the first old man, “I couldn’t last time. They’re all the bloody same. Politicians. Liars the lot of them. But what can we do, with the rent to be paid and the kids needing uni?”

Stuffed, we are,” agreed his mate gloomily.

The two scenes end in disparate clouds of acrid smoke and toxic vape gas.

The world carries on. We have a third scene.

In Parliament the Prime Minister stands to answer questions from the leader of the opposition.

I’m happy to announce,” he said in his best Churchillian voice, “that I personally am making provision for a free go on the National Lottery for every man, woman and child in the country. And, sir, you will no doubt be happy to congratulate me on the conception of my dozenth child…”

Is this true?” gasps the gullible leader of the opposition.

As true as I’m flying here,” grunted the Prime Minister as he farted.

Now Gentlemen!” roared the speaker, “we only speak the truth in this chamber!”

And pigs can fly!” sniggered the Leader of the Opposition.

Lovely,” sighed the Home Secretary, trying to look intelligent, and failing, “positively lovely.”

The national press has a field day when it discusses the free lottery ticket question and the first winner on a free ticket finds that not everything is what it seems to be because as nobody paid for any tickets the accumulated prize fund is nothing plus expenses, and he has to pay a fortnight’s pension towards corporate costs for the joy of winning.

The Prime Minister’s secret mistress miscarries for a third time in as many weeks and, on the quiet, a health company from America agrees to buy the National Health Service and turn the Prime Ministers forty new hospitals into a couple of hotels for the rich and famous.

And two old men forget to vote on election day.

A sign is erected on the beautiful Jurassic Coast announcing to one and all who are floating on the might ocean that they’re welcome to Plague Island, but please wipe your feet…

© Peter Rogerson 21.07.21


© 2021 Peter Rogerson

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Added on July 21, 2021
Last Updated on July 21, 2021
Tags: elections, fraud, lottery, lies, truth


Peter Rogerson
Peter Rogerson

Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, United Kingdom

I am 79 years old, but as a single dad with four children that I had sole responsibility for I found myself driving insanity away by writing. At first it was short stories (all lost now, unfortunately.. more..