Sheffield, May 7th 2015
Prime Minister Nick Clegg was on all fours begging for mercy. The cartoonists would have had a field day but his young children didn't care. They were on holiday and Daddy was home early.
Miriam told them in Spanish to leave their father alone and go upstairs as the noise of the family at play was audible to the group of advisers sitting in the lounge on the other side of the house.
Nick got up and walked through the large house where he had spent hardly any time in the past five years and mentally composed himself as he walked toward the large lounge area where a group of familiar and not-so-familiar faces were in animted conversation.
Stopping at the large mirroe in the hall to ensure he didn't look too "Daddy", he mused as to where this life might take him next. The last five years had been manic ever since that conversation with David when the latter had deferred on the choice of Prime Minister.
He had spoken to David three days before - the campaign had been difficult for everyone, new parties and a new voting system throwing a boulder of chaos into the pond of uncertainty that had enveloped politics.
David had his problems - the TPA primarily as well as his backbenchers - and Nick had his - defending five years of Government. The debates had been shambolic - too many voices, more heat than light but he felt the interviews had gone well.
The economy was improving albeit slowly and unevenly and he had done as much as the Parliamentary numbers would allow to get the Liberal Democrat agenda enacted and, to be fair, David M had been a big help at times. After a rocky start, he had warmed to the Labour leader even through the schism and the creation of the Socialist Labour Party, or the Party of Mr & Mrs Balls as it was widely called with Ed Balls leading and Yvette Cooper as Deputy. Nick wondered how they would all survive the new political world.
He would miss the world stage - he had got to admire Barack and even Angela up to a point. Miriam and Michelle had bonded but in a way so little had been accomplished. The Islamic State was rampant, threatening Kirkuk, Aleppo and Baghdad all at once. There was no appetite for further foreign adventures but the price of freedom was indeed eternal vigilence.
As for Europe, he had tried to act as mediator between Greece and the Eurozone - Alexis Tsipras was a political idiot and would pay the price for his foolishness but Francois and Nick had failed to persuade Angela to be lenient - talking to her was, as Francois had jokingly said, like talking to your bank manager.
How would it go ? The polls were confused and confusing - the first preference numbers looked moderate but the second and third preferences were much more encouraging. His advisers had told him a deal with Labour and perhaps the Greens was possible - the SNP would do well in Scotland on first preferences but with very few second or third votes.
The other option was Conservative-TPA though the antipathy between David and Matthew Elliott (an odious individual, Nick mused) was palpable.
He looked across - his Chief of Staff was looking anxiously from the lounge.
As Nick walked in, the stentorian tones of David Dimbleby cut the air:
"Good Evening, It's 10pm and we have our exclusive exit poll from this unique British General Election - the first held under a Single Transferrable Vote System and the sensational news it that it appears.."
Prime Minister Nick Clegg was on all fours begging for mercy. The cartoonists would have had a field day but his young children didn't care. They were on holiday and Daddy was home early.
Miriam told them in Spanish to leave their father alone and go upstairs as the noise of the family at play was audible to the group of advisers sitting in the lounge on the other side of the house.
Nick got up and walked through the large house where he had spent hardly any time in the past five years and mentally composed himself as he walked toward the large lounge area where a group of familiar and not-so-familiar faces were in animted conversation.
Stopping at the large mirroe in the hall to ensure he didn't look too "Daddy", he mused as to where this life might take him next. The last five years had been manic ever since that conversation with David when the latter had deferred on the choice of Prime Minister.
He had spoken to David three days before - the campaign had been difficult for everyone, new parties and a new voting system throwing a boulder of chaos into the pond of uncertainty that had enveloped politics.
David had his problems - the TPA primarily as well as his backbenchers - and Nick had his - defending five years of Government. The debates had been shambolic - too many voices, more heat than light but he felt the interviews had gone well.
The economy was improving albeit slowly and unevenly and he had done as much as the Parliamentary numbers would allow to get the Liberal Democrat agenda enacted and, to be fair, David M had been a big help at times. After a rocky start, he had warmed to the Labour leader even through the schism and the creation of the Socialist Labour Party, or the Party of Mr & Mrs Balls as it was widely called with Ed Balls leading and Yvette Cooper as Deputy. Nick wondered how they would all survive the new political world.
He would miss the world stage - he had got to admire Barack and even Angela up to a point. Miriam and Michelle had bonded but in a way so little had been accomplished. The Islamic State was rampant, threatening Kirkuk, Aleppo and Baghdad all at once. There was no appetite for further foreign adventures but the price of freedom was indeed eternal vigilence.
As for Europe, he had tried to act as mediator between Greece and the Eurozone - Alexis Tsipras was a political idiot and would pay the price for his foolishness but Francois and Nick had failed to persuade Angela to be lenient - talking to her was, as Francois had jokingly said, like talking to your bank manager.
How would it go ? The polls were confused and confusing - the first preference numbers looked moderate but the second and third preferences were much more encouraging. His advisers had told him a deal with Labour and perhaps the Greens was possible - the SNP would do well in Scotland on first preferences but with very few second or third votes.
The other option was Conservative-TPA though the antipathy between David and Matthew Elliott (an odious individual, Nick mused) was palpable.
He looked across - his Chief of Staff was looking anxiously from the lounge.
As Nick walked in, the stentorian tones of David Dimbleby cut the air:
"Good Evening, It's 10pm and we have our exclusive exit poll from this unique British General Election - the first held under a Single Transferrable Vote System and the sensational news it that it appears.."
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