I promised myself that I wouldn’t spend Election Day like last time, passed out drunk behind the television with no pants on. This time I would vote and contribute to this wonderful democratic process that’s the envy of one or two Third World countries.
It’s tough to decide which way to vote since British politics is so incredibly boring. It’s the opposite of coffee. It comes on the television and you slump into a minor coma until it goes away. I can’t listen to the radio whilst driving anymore in case a political programme comes on and it causes me to go catatonic and crash. All the parties are basically saying the same thing; we’ve ran out of cash sometime ago and wouldn’t it be nice if we all had jobs. They are all re-arranging deck chairs on the Titanic after the lifeboats have all gone. And it’s under water.
So who to choose? In situations like this when I am genuinely in need of advice or guidance, I seek a higher authority. In this case our patron saint Lloyd Knibb of The Skatalites.
Here’s a photo of us. I’m the one on the right.
I spoke to him the other day.
“Scottio, how’s it hanging? Still hitting that guitar?”
“Aye very funny Lloyd. At least I don’t have to write my name on my guitar to remember what it looks like.”
“Shut it! How’s the band?”
“Numerous and sweaty, just like you guys”
“Glad to hear it. So what’s on your mind today youngster”?
“Well Lloyd, it’s the Election, I can’t decide who to vote for. All the parties look pretty similar. Not much of a choice really. I’d vote for one that would pull the troops out of Afghanistan but the only party who’ll do that are the fucking BNP. Fuck that”.
“Yeah, fuck those guys. Ok Scottio, I can help you but it’s going to cost you my usual fee. Up front.”
“Aye Lloyd, I remember. A thousand cans of Red Stripe and enough weed for a decent size number.”
So I got him his carry out and the green, which needless to say he didn’t even thank me for, and after puffing thoughtfully on it for a minute he said, “Which country are we talking about again?”
“Come on, Lloyd. Concentrate. It’s Britain”, I said.
“Ah yes. Former colonial power with the world’s sixth largest economy but struggling with a national debt at 60% of GDP. Economy dominated predominantly with financial services, tourism, and Coldplay. Didn’t you guys use to make things?” He asked.
“That’s right. Cars, ships, planes, steel, coal; all sorts of things. Then in the Eighties we realised it was cheaper to get slaves in the Far East to make those things. Now we mainly buy and sell houses or work for Tescos.”
“That’s right, I remember now. And the choice is either more of Gordon Brown, or vote for the party of Margaret Thatcher, or vote for Mister Bean and the Liberal Democrats? What about fatty boom batty in the Scottish party?”
“You see my problem, Lloyd. They’re all pretty fucking awful. So what’s the answer, old timer?” I asked. “Which one gets my vote?”
“Simple,” he said. “None of the above”.