The Melted Continent: Travels through Post-Soviet Europe

29th May: Glasgow
The Melted Continent: Travels through Post-Soviet Europe
By Cassandra Yates

Originally Published on New American Horizons
Netsite/:US/bus/NewAmericanHorizon

Reprinted with the author’s permission by Bolt451




29th May Twenty Fourteen


My flight from Idlewild had been uneventful. My budget didn’t cover anything beyond Pan-Am’s premium standard class. This entailed a slight incline to my seat and the ability to move my legs without kicking the person in front. I probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep but luckily I hadn’t wanted to. We’d taken off from New York at half seven and it was roughly eight now, local time. I wasn’t looking forward to my inevitable jet lag but I had a few interesting bars earmarked if I so wanted a sleeping aid. I had forgone overpriced airline coffee and was feeling quite tired but it was hard to tell if this was caffeine withdrawal or not.


The plane tilted and I looked out the window and I noted we quite weren’t there yet. What I’d later discover was the mouth of the Clyde drifted lazily past the window as I figured we were in a holding pattern. I lost and found countless towns in amongst the patchy cloud. After a while I noticed the towns were merging together, forming the outer edges of North Britain’s largest city. After twenty minutes of circling we straightened out and began our approach into Glasgow Mountbatten Airport. Our plane lined up with the left of the two runways and we touched down just as it was starting to cloud over. I waited as various other passengers lined up to get off the plane first, despite the doors not opening. Once there was room stowed my computer into my hand luggage and made my way off the plane.


Glasgow Mountbatten’s Terminal One is a fantastic example of Cold War British Americaphile. Terminals Two is much more subdued in its seventies austere but One is a monument to Anglo-American Reconstruction. Construction began under the presidency of its namesake but was eventually opened by his successor (statues of the former in the spacious entrance hall and I’d encounter a statue of President Eden in the City Centre. Even the terminal piers to the planes look more like they should be connecting to a Titan Rocket instead of a Lockheed Jet with their metallic supports and stylised window frames. As I looked out the round-cornered windows of the pier I can see the terminal building itself. Its roof swoops outwards and upwards with metallic detailing like the tails of my grandpa’s huge land yacht. The framework of the windows is in this same shining silver and while I got the impression that it was probably horribly dated in the eyes of Glaswegians, North Brits and probably a lot of Americans too but I was rather fond of it. Every inch seems to scream in Thomas Dewey’s voice “America is here to be your ally!” and “Did we mention we’re building jets and rockets because we totally are!” (It turns out there’s a statue of President Dewey in the entrance hall too, go figure). It’s a style I’d come across a few other times in my travels, it seems it was quite popular amongst the more Atlanticist elements of the Conservative Governments of the fifties and sixties both during and after reconstruction


My fellow passengers were all waiting by the luggage conveyor and I took a moment to people watch. It was early evening on a Thursday and the flight seems to have favoured tourists over business types, the latter having taken an overnight or some similar redeye. A family to my left are clearly local, speaking loudly in what I’d soon discover is not only Scottish but Glaswegian too. The children wore matching Statue of Liberty T-shirts while their parents wore matching expressions of exhaustion. If I had to guess they’d just gotten over their jet lag in time to come back to British Summer Time. Our bags appeared and we silently filed out as animated signs welcomed us to The Republic of Great Britain. The British-North American trade agreement smiled on me and I was only given minimal crap at customs compared to if I’d been travelling from Europe. My fellow countrymen having given me the lion’s share of customs hassle back in New York. Luckily I’d avoided the full cavity search as they’d only asked about my aims while in the North. From all angles, tourist videos played a mix of natural scenes from the Scottish Highlands and the lake district mixed in with shots of castles, the Presidential residence and countless other sights from across the RGB. I don’t know if there were less adverts than the US or travelling around hand rendered me immune to their sights and sounds.


The entrance hall of Terminal One is the same streamlined chrome would-be moonbase style as the rest of the building with only the shopfronts to tell me its two thousand and fourteen. Even the signs, long since updated, have been made with a nod to the building’s post-war nuclear Americana. I pulled my bag across the entrance hall towards the escalators down to the terminal’s metro station. I considered getting a taxi or a bus but the gathering clouds outside looked ominous. I briefly checked where


Pulling my suitcase behind me I made my way towards the Airport train station. The travelator that took me there was lined with screens that showed adverts that travelled along with you.. In amongst familiar brands like Coke and Ford I saw adverts for Barr’s Soda and Tunnock’s Chocolates just to remind myself I wasn’t at Idlewild or McKeithen. I checked the map and made sure I was on the right like but as it turned out I was at the terminus station that served only one line. The train was uneventful and familiar to anyone who has been Every city’s train system has a different smell and none of them nice. Glasgow didn’t disappoint.


I got off at Glasgow South, the main terminus station that had trains heading south to Carlisle, Liverpool, York and, I noted, south of the border to Birmingham. This last service went from its own separate, cordoned off platform. Central Glasgow felt like central San Francisco, but the grid lines slid down to the Clyde instead of the Bay. On my flight over hear I read that this layout existed more or less before the war but after the cities almost total destruction at the hands of the Luftwaffe, the Heer and then somewhat unfortunately, the Anglo-American Reconquista, this grid was expanded further. My hotel was of a similar style to the airport, as it turned out but more Art Deco than Reconstruction Americana. Unfortunately beyond the entrance hall it could’ve been just another Best Western or Apollo anywhere in America. The staff were welcoming and cheerful and lead me up to my room, where I’m now sat as I type this. My desire to sleep at a reasonable time has lost out to my caffeine withdrawal headache and my expectations of Jetlag.



29th May, continued.

(the following was written the following morning and is brought to you by the molecule, caffeine)

Glasgow is fairly well known for its Queer scene. The vagaries of a handful of arrests lead to a reaction that formed a Queer scene bigger than Manchester or even the Capital. On my travels across America I’ve attended my fair mix of Queer Celebration Marches and gotten drunk in a mix of Queer friendly bars, (mostly in Greenwich, NY) so I owed it to myself to go for at least one at the Famous Beau Brummell pub. The building now labelled the Brummel Rebuilt twice, once after the war and once after it was burned down in 1986 its has been restored to its old Victorian façade, lavishly painted in deep reds. As it happened this was a mistake as every Queer tourist and probably a fair few heteros too all had the same idea. Still it was nice to have visited the focal point of the British Queer Protests of the eighties and nineties (although an argument can be made for both Manchester and the capital, of course). The bar’s front, in fact the whole street was the scene of various iconic photos of Drag Queens facing down riot police and lesbians in buzzcuts performing first aid on dudes in crop tops. Walking on these famous streets that’d been painted with water cannons, blood and glitter I now knew how tourists felt around Greenwich in places I took for granted.


After assessing the four deep queue for the bar I decided to hop back to the other side of South station to Lily’s, a less famous but still suitably friendly Queer bar with enough women in militaria couture and sharp formal wear for my liking. While there I read that Lily’s also played a part in the Glasgow Protest scene, albeit under a different name, a reasonably friendly pub chosen almost at random by Glasgow’s Sapphic community and then stuck with their patronage since. I caught the pub’s kitchen just before it closed and they forgave my jet lagged sensibilities. I ordered food and While I could’ve gotten a bourbon and coke I like to make an effort to try local booze. In this case it was ale, something fairly corporate discussed as a small family business based in Newcastle. Based on my experiences with American beers I was sceptical. Very quickly however I fell in love with it I drank my first pint before my food had arrived and soon enough I was fairly a welcome sleepy. I polished off my piece of steak pie and another pint of ale before shuffling back to my hotel as jetlag caught up with me.
 
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30th May: Glasgow
30th May Twenty Fourteen


My hangover was mercifully minimal but my body, still convinced I was in New york was screaming for a few more hours sleep. I decided to stick to my plans and headed down to the hotel bar for breakfast and as much coffee as they’d serve me. While my arteries wouldn’t forgive me if I did it every day, just this once I had the "British Fry" at least once. For those of you unaware this involves fried bacon, sausages, beans in tomato sauce, black pudding grill tomato and mushrooms, toast or fried bread, fried eggs and haggis. A hangover from when people were doing far more physical work during the day of late it has a bit of a symbol in the North of capitalist luxury and freedom compared to the more austere South



My body was convinced it was Five AM, and Eastern so by the time I got down to the breakfast area most of the tables were packed. I found one table with only one occupant, a broad set man in his 50s or 60s reading his new. “Mind if I sit here” I asked


“Not at all,” he said in a soft Scottish accent. I took a seat, and noted the man briefly. He had a black side parting greying at the temples. He had a stern face which initially I took for a bad mood but I soon realised that was just his resting expression. I also noted the Dog Collar around his neck.


“Thank you, I know I’m a bit late getting my breakfast,” I said apologetically.


“Jet lag still hitting you?” he said calmly, not smiling but he had a reasonably welcoming tone. I frowned for a second.


“Oh! The accent!” I smiled “Yeah, I landed yesterday and my internal clock is still making its way across the Atlantic,”


“Whereabouts from? If you don’t mind me asking,” the priest asked.


“New York,” I offered a hand across the title, “Cassie Yates,” He shook my hand firmly.


“Jim Brown, I’ve been to Boston and California but never New York, I should someday” he remarked “Well welcome to the Republic of Great Britain, but I’m sure someones already said that,”


“Not directly, just lots of ads at the airport,”


“Oh aye, gives me a headache, what brings you across the Atlantic?” he asked


“Travelling, I’m a journalist and travel writer of sorts,” he remarked me with a familiar look that was always “will I end up in your book?”


“The RGB? Or the South too?” he asked, looking back at his newspaper.


“The whole continent, hopefully, but yes, the South, then onto France and slowly eastward, probably,”


“Oh aye, well good luck,” he said with a force, slightly awkward smile. I started on my meal. I heard the man grumbling at something in the paper.


“Anything interesting?” I said, making conversation.


“Oh, just Andrew Dunlop, the Conservative chap who’s hoping to follow Bill Hague into the presidency,”


“Not a fan?” I asked with a polite smile


“His talk of “streamlining” the British government, basically code for welfare cuts, its not very” he paused “Christian,” I nodded and smiled.


“Well, quite, though be careful saying that amongst some American Christians,”


“Well quite,” he said with a small smile, “luckily I’m a Presbyterian”


“So you’re going to vote Progressive?” he thought on this


“As a member of the Presbyterian clergy I couldn’t possibly comment,” he said with a smirk and I smiled back. We carried on eating our food. Eventually he finished, folded his paper and stood. “Well, good luck on your travels Cassie,” he said, with the same slightly awkward smile. I thought it at first to be forced but in hindsight that was just his smile.


“Thank you,” I smiled “Take care,”



My cholesterol suitably raised I set out for my first planned destination and this was very much a personal indulgence but in hindsight it perhaps framed a lot of the other things I’d see on my travels. My maternal grandfather and his little brother were both in the 101st Airborne Division and I’ve arguably retraced their steps so far. He landed at the RAF airfield which would later become Mountbatten Airport and made his way forward into the city which at the time of the US-Commonwealth landing was still being fought over by the British and Axis forces. This was the beginning of the slow march south where they’d eventually meet with the Red Army marching North. My Great uncle died three days into the 101st’s efforts to retake the city. Like most US soldiers he was taken back to Albany and buried along with his pa and eventually his big brother. My first stop was the War Memorial George square where sure enough, I located, in tiny carved writing “Pvt William Johnson” and while I’m not religious I still took a moment think on how he and my grandpa must’ve felt.



I then made my way to the City museum where amongst the sections commemorating things like the industrial revolution and the post WWI protests of “Red Clydeside” there was the section on World War Two. The section was dominated by an RAF Mustang that had been fished out of the Clyde after the war and lovingly restored. The exhibition actually covered the period from just before the war up until its end. It was quite cold in its tone. Simple cabinets of artefacts and plainly labelled photos describing horrific experiences and terrible loss. They began with photos of George Lansbury, a pacifist and who became an object of ridicule, arguably by simple virtue of when he came to power. He oversaw widespread disarmament of British forces when Germany was doing the exact opposite and at another time in history might’ve been admirable and praised in his aims. Next came Clement Atlee and his deputy then successor, Neville Chamberlain, Britain’s two wartime Prime Ministers, the latter was shown posing for photos outside Downing Street, the now Presidential Residence in Edinburgh and his final stop in Belfast just before the Reconquista began. Manequins showed uniforms of British, German, American and Canadian soldiers as well as cabinets full of weaponry ranging from rifles like my grandpa carried to Home-made Fuller Bombs. I’d heard the term before and seen them thrown in riots on the news but only now did I discover they’d been named for JFC Fuller, the head of the Nazi Collaborationist government in Wartime London.



Countless photos compared pre and post war streets. The Victorian legacy of Glasgow and countless other British cities destroyed first by air raids and then shifting battle lines on the ground. Other photos were of towns almost wiped off the map by the war and I began to realise why American tourists sang the virtues of Scotland and Northern Ireland over the North’s parts of England. I make a note to try and head further north to see some of the towns relatively untouched by the war. I noted they had pictures of British Army and Militia posing with US Paras but to my disappointment none of them were of my grandpa. Still I took photos of the uniforms, weapons and medals to send to my pop.



Other areas of the museum were dedicated to the rebuilding of the city as mentioned above. The new airport city hall and various other buildings being opened by Presidents I’d heard of but my ignorant American brain would struggle to put a face to and one I could as I saw a newspaper with the oft reprinted image of Georges McKeithen and Jellicoe greeting crowds in Glasgow on the 25th anniversary of the War’s end. Two mannequins displaced the clothes variously of a South British spy and a defector from the Worker’s Republic who had drifted north for days before finally washing up at the mouth of the Clyde. Finally like a palette cleanser there was the pieces on how wonderful and vibrant modern Glasgow was which I found quite strange. They didn’t have to win us over! We were already here! Photos of the Queer Glasgow Queer Celebrations (while frustratingly glossing over the protests that lead to them) then onto the inevitable gift shop. I bought one of the Mustang to send back to my mom and pop, who as an old Airforce man himself would appreciate the plane.



By the time I walked out it was mid-afternoon and my feet were aching. I withdrew to a nearby coffee shop to write up some notes. The chain itself claimed to serve “the finest Italian coffee” but it was about as Italian as I was, meaning maybe, several centuries ago. It was at least a home grown British Coffee Chain. They had a screen showing BBC news and I read the subtitles for a bit. Their lead story was the impending election. Unlike Americans who spread elections out over many Novembers the North British get their national elections over and done with in one go and vote their president and parliament all at once so the Progressives and the Conservatives were battling for not only the house of commons but the Presidency too and with Bill Hague’s two terms up there would be a new President. Being the would-be hyperpower of the World the USA had the second story. The Washington Statehood protests had started up again as the citizens of the Capital demanded democratic representation in congress and I was treated to scenes of 52 star and unofficial 53 star flags being paraded past the Capitol building. The ever smug face of House Minority leader James Miliband said something polite and noncommittal about the issue, probably still banking on people’s hatred of President Thompson would win them both houses come November. I digress. This book isn’t about US politics. The news rolled onto more local events. A car crash on a motorway, a train had broken down and there was celebrity gossip. Life was fairly normal.



I left the coffee shop and did a bit of sightseeing. Glasgow’s Art Deco City Hall reminded me of Buffalo’s City Hall and a stroll along the Clyde was refreshing. I’d considered spending a couple of days being a normal tourist before heading off on my travels but I soon found myself Heading back to the hotel to read the news. I got out my laptop and checked my NetMail. Sure enough there was a personal post inviting me to Liverpool with the bold title “Come see the Future President”. I read it, re-read it then checked my schedule. I’d planned to start my journey on the Second but this bold claim was too good to pass up and besides, I was technically on company time.




I cancelled my hotel stay tonight and booked a ticket south from Glasgow South to Liverpool. With that done I swore off thinking about elections until I had arrived at my destination and then utterly failed as I started writing up the day’s events. The British mainline railways are all electrified and the express afforded me a smooth ride south across Cumbria and Lancashire. The journey south is beautiful and I recommend it over taking the Highway-2 if you have the chance. Compared to the industrial East Coast and the Docklands of Clydeside, Cumbria is fairly quiet and rolling although I did notice something that echoed what I’d seen that morning. Barely any of the towns I travelled through had much that looked pre-war, all had been rebuilt. The station names and train destinations reminded me of my grandpa’s war stories and school history lessons. Names like the Battle of Carlisle and the Yorkshire Dales offensive. I couldn’t tell if the Republic of Great Britain was still in the Shadow of the war or if it was just me after my morning spent looking at relics of war.



I’m sat on the train as I write, whistling its way across Lancashire towards Liverpool. The train has decent if pricy Network access and I’m e-mailing out to a few contacts both north and south of the Mersey. My E-mails heading south of the border are carefully and openly worded so anyone who checks the e-mail before it reaches its destination knows there’s no double meaning or subversive intent. Then I figured there’s just as high a chance the e-mails to the North will get read. I wondered if I’d set off some algorithm or another by my choice of words and planned travels. Hello computers. I mean you no harm.
 
Interesting. The sense I’m getting is that the Germans managed to force the British to surrender somehow but Barbarossa went even more tits up then OTL, leading to the USSR overrunning Continental Europe while the US eventually entered the war and lead the retaking of Britain.
 
Interesting. The sense I’m getting is that the Germans managed to force the British to surrender somehow but Barbarossa went even more tits up then OTL, leading to the USSR overrunning Continental Europe while the US eventually entered the war and lead the retaking of Britain.
The idea is a semi-successful Sealion (owing to Lansbury's selling off of much of the Royal Navy) diverts forces from Barbarossa. Hitler being Hitler still goes ahead with it but the Soviet counter is quicker in countering the invasion. his is an ATL of Meadow's "Meet the New Boss", with his permission
 
Interesting as all the previous divided Britain stories I have seen here featured a capitalist south and a communist north.
How did Britain became a Republic though?
Is Northern Ireland part of the RGB?

The cultures of the respective nations are bound to be interesting and we have even already began to see some differences with OTL.
The capital being in Edinburgh and Glasgow being clearly far richer and larger than OTL (influx of refugees?). Means that the British Republic is likely far more British and culturally uniform than OTL's United Kingdom. A soft Scottish/Northern accent will be what the world associates with Britain and not the Received Pronounciation of OTL.

The Southern Workers Republic is likely a grim place thats not so green and pleasant as collective farming and opening up the coalfields in Oxfordshire etc likely took their toll.
 
Interesting as all the previous divided Britain stories I have seen here featured a capitalist south and a communist north.

(at least some of those Divided Britain Stories may have been me, I've reversed it as I found this made a little more sense for the revised PoD)

Is Northern Ireland part of the RGB?

Yes it is.
How did Britain became a Republic though?

I'll get to that :)
 
31st May 2014


My hotel was disappointingly identical to my hotel in Glasgow but the view was impressive. Situated in Liverpool’s Docksides I could see across the river Mersey to the far bank. My computer told me it’s the town of Birkenhead and it was my first view of South Britain or the Worker’s Republic of Britain to give it its full name. For much of its length, the Mersey Marks the border between the two nations, as the Rivers Mersey and Tame vanish into the Peak district the border follows the traditional counties along the borders of Lancashire and Yorkshire where hills and valleys are carved up with barbed wire and guard towers, some decommissioned, some still very much intact.. I’d later discover this is the reasoning behind the red and white rose design worn by North British border guards.


It’s a curious feeling being able to look from my hotel window into another country. I noticed a few prominent buildings, possibly watchtowers keeping an eye on their neighbours to the north. There was a strong breeze and I could see the Red flags flying from them. Likewise many buildings on the Liverpool riverfront are flying the Union flag and I wouldn’t be surprised if at least some of them are government observation stations. I impulsively waved across the river on the off chance someone was watching me.


Liverpool was sunny but with a bracing coastal breeze. I walked from the docklands into the city centre. I was fairly sure where I needed to go but I followed the increasing number of Orange t-shirts and badges. These were soon supported by signs with slogans ranging from the obvious “Wallace 2010” and “Vote Progressive” to the vague and optimistic “A Future Fairer for All” whatever that meant. In a square in the city centre (also very modern and rebuilt, I noticed) had a stage set out. Speakers were blaring pop dance music from about five years ago. The crowd gathered was a sea of Orange and noise. Two big screens showed stylised orange flowers.


For non-British readers here is a quick primer on the politics of the Republic of Great Britain. It is more or less a two party system, albeit less so than the United States. The dominant party since the country’s foundation has been the Conservatives, a mix of popularity and lack of opposition have meant that there have only been two non-Conservative Presidents, each for a single term. Likewise the House of Commons has been controlled by the Conservatives for almost its entire length. Their opposition for most of this time have been the Labour and Liberal parties. The Center-Left Labour, while popular with the working classes have suffered from anti-socialist sentiment since the war and Labour’s position has waned whenever there have been tensions with the South. The Liberal party a moderate party with a strong stance on socially progressive issues that has kept them popular with young people and marginalised communities. The party represented here today is the child of the two opposition parties, formed in the early 2000s with an aim to break the Conservative Monopoly in the commons. At least, that’s what their Netsite claims.


This has apparently hit a nerve in British politics with the Progressive Party currently polling above the Conservatives in both Presidential and Parliamentary elections. I wound my way through the crowd to the front where a few members of the Liverpool Police were keeping order. I approached an organiser and raised my press pass to one of them. They checked a list and let me into the back stage area. I soon found the person who’d contacted me. A short woman with a wide smiling face and sharp taste in waistcoats shook my hand with a big smile. Sue Calman, Progressive MP “Cassandra hi,” she said with a Scottish accent. She lead me through the back stage area.


“Sue, yes?”

“Yes, that’s me,”

“So glad you could come see us,”

“Well I figured, I’m here to report on the Governments of Former Berlin League nations and while North,” I paused “Sorry, while the RGB isn’t ex-communist,”

“We’ve always existed in the shadow of the USSR and all their sattelites, even after they cut ties, coffee tea?” she offered

“Black Coffee would be great, thanks. Yes, exactly, plus its far easier to come to the RGB and then take a train to London than fly from Idlewild straight to London Latham,”

“Well yes, transport links that were proposed and supported by the Labour-Liberal Pact and then ourselves,”

“I thought Michael Ancram brought it in,” I produced a small recorder “Mind if I use this by the way?”

“No, not at all. And yes Ancram signed the treaty but we’d been pushing for it more or less since the WRB first began,” she paused, “I don’t want to say Liberalising because its not but,” she trailed off.

“Reforming?” I suggested

“Aye, that’d do,” she said, handing me a coffee. “We knew if they were going to reform, we

“What do you say to calls from within your own party to move towards reunification,”

“It’s a good ideal, definitely but we’re two very different countries, we’re not ready yet, and I don’t know how much call there is from the WRB is the thing,” I nodded at this “but we can show the WRB we mean to be friends, that

“do you hope to influence their political structure that way? Perhaps promote further reform?”

“We’d never suggest that directly but we can but provide a good example of what a politically liberal, truly democratic state can be and that is one of, among many reasons we want to form the Republic’s next government, because the Tories will do nothing but alienate the south, there’s nothing wrong with supporting businesses but to provide an example to not just the Worker’s Republic but all of Europe we need to support those worst off,” she paused, “Gosh that makes me sound like I’m running for the People’s Congress,” she laughed, “but do you see what I mean,” I nodded.

“To promote rights for everyone, a fair ideal in a western democracy but something that countries raised under Communism could understand, but without the authoritarianism, obviously,” I suggested

“Yes, have you ever thought about running for Parliament, Cassandra?” she suggested, I laughed

“No, but I’m kind of lucky in that my bosses expect me to be biased, my last major column was following Jack Kennedy around in 2008 so its kind of obvious which way I lean politically” I laughed. “that said, I am meeting your opponents in a few days time,”

An aide tapped her on the shoulder and she excused herself. “Sorry Cassandra, the President is here,” I frowned

“Alright, hopeful thinking, but excuse me,” she laughed and stood and walked across the backstage area. A another woman with red hair and wearing a sharp red suit and orange rosette entered, flanked by nondescript assistants. I recognised this woman from my research. She was Johann Lamont, leader of the Republic’s Most Loyal Opposition and leader of the Progressive party. She was also hoping to be the first non-Conservative President for twenty years, and only the third ever. There was an energy in the air as she walked straight out on stage. She looked happy but exhausted. I watched the crowd from backstage, waving “Lamont 2010” banner. The whole thing felt very American but this wasn’t quite accurate.


The President of the Republic of Great Britain is the head of state but unlike their Royal predecessors they carry significant power. The President can dismiss Prime Ministers and cabinets. They have to approve the appointment of a government (usually straight forward but this can be awkward when they are differing parties) and members of the house of Lords. They can propose legislature to parliament. . The President appoints ambassadors and other figures of state. They also welcome state visits and perhaps most importantly are the central focus of British politics.


Everybody got that? It’s a confusing system. Here’s a brief history lesson because to American readers the British President must seem underwhelming but readers should remember this person was originally appointed to serve as a replacement for the Monarch. Following the death of George the Sixth and his family. The fledgling post War UK government was without a central figure (save for the Collaborator Edward VIII) so to solidify their presence (and with the Red Army on their doorstep) they appointed Louis Mountbatten was President with similar powers to the Monarch. This would later solidify to the “overseer of parliament” the President has since become.


Are you still reading? Have I bored you away yet?


Lamont’s speech was good. Positive and Progressive but very carefully worded. Left wing policies while carefully skirting around any rhetoric that could be called left wing or socialist. Any such wording would be jumped on by the Conservatives as it had many times before. Her focus was on social issues like legalising same sex marriage, improving laws protecting mothers in workplaces, discrimination against minorities. Playing to their strengths and bases. Only quietly mentioning the economy in positive, business related terms hiding moderate left wing policies. Obviously the crowd loved it. Liverpool has voted Labour or Progressive almost without exception since the War. This was a press opportunity to get footage with huge crowds onto the BBC. That’s where they’ll win the votes. She didn’t even need to win over the crowd today.


The local candidates for the parliamentary election don’t speak but they pose with her. Shake hands and so on. There’s an air of triumphalism about the whole thing and it’s a bit worrying. The team of Russell Sanderson, Michael Ancram and Bill Hague have been running the country for sixteen years and their various ministers and lords have been infighting for the Conservative Presidential nomination. Whereas the Progressives have unified behind Lamont. To top it off there is simply a perceived fatigue after twenty four years of the Conservatives. Between today and interviews I’ve seen many Progressives see this election is theirs to win and I hope this isn’t their downfall.

I headed into the crowd, to see if anyone wanted to chat and unsurprisingly, most didn’t. Your average scouser (meaning: person from Liverpool) hadn’t heard of New American Horizons. Eventually one man agreed. A balding man with a big beard, around fifty and a thick Liverpool accent. “Thanks for stopping,”

“Well I figured if you’ve come all the way from America, least I could do, y'know” he smiled.

“So could you just say your name for the record?”

“David Sayle, I’m a Progressive Party campaigner, part of the Progressive Left Wing Caucus,”

“so what did you think of Johann Lamont’s speech?” I asked

“It was,” he paused “alright, it was all nice and positive and fluffy and nocomittal. The words are so carefully picked so no one can call her the dreaded word “Socialist,”, you might as well call her a ****” I nodded carefully

“I see,” I said, a bit surprised

“Sorry It’s a loaded word, I mean, as if she might secretly be a Soviet Sleeper agent and will vanish with state secrets the moment she gets a elected, its absurd, people can be so paranoid and by avoiding the word the Progs play by the Conservative’s rules,”

“It can be argued its been a genuine concern for voters,”

“Well yes, but this isn’t the eighties, there’s not a rockets ready to launch across the Mersey at a moments notice,”

“That was a thing?” I asked, not entirely sure why I was surprised

“On a clear day you could see tanks,” he explained. “Of course, we often had tanks and missiles and whatever else,” he shrugged.

“So if you don’t mind me asking, did you vote for Lamont in your primary?”

“No, I voted for Cooper, she’s a bit more left wing, more my type but she lost to Lamont fair, so I’ll back Lamont, certainly over Dunlop”

“You’d say you’re to the left of your party then,”

“Oh, definitely,” he laughed

“You didn’t fancy joining a third party?”

“In an ideal world I might but our system favours the two big parties, certainly in Parliament it does, I’d rather be inside the Progs influencing policy when they’re the ones with the best chance of taking out the Tories, but at the same time I know a lot of, dare I say it, socialist friends who can’t bear to be in a party with such radically different politicians as say, Jim Wallace, to pick someone to the Party’s right. Its what you feel comfortable with,” I nodded at this,

“Oh definitely, its similar in America, a lot of Democrats found John Kennedy too to the center, but it was him or Romney, so its Kennedy or protest vote,”

“Exactly,” Sayle nodded, I noticed someone was calling him over so we said out goodbyes.


I retired to my hotel to do some writing up and do a bit of admin with regards to future legs of my journey before spending the late afternoon being a tourist in the Liverpool dockside.


I wish I could stay and follow the election up to polling day but I’ve arranged meetings abroad that clash with that. Still I won’t be too far and it’ll be fascinating to see what the RGB’s neighbours have to say about Britain’s president, whoever it is.
 
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