FOR WANT OF A MICROPHONE A TLIAD by AlfieJ 28th April 2010 “It’s very nice to see you” Gordon Brown’s iconic - some said disturbing – smile beamed half-heartedly as he tapped the rather short, 65 year old woman - who had taken the liberty to heckle him at the worst possible time – on the back. As the empty words tumbled out of his mouth, his mind was elsewhere. The day - the whole campaign really - had been going horribly and this bloody woman was just making things worse for him. Going on and on about benefit scroungers, immigrants and all the usual re-hashed Daily Mail crap while swearing down that she used to Labour! Christ the irony was almost unbearable; he was surprised he hadn’t said anything. He was glad he hadn’t however, with the election just a few days away he and Peter were running an incredibly tight ship, even the slightest slip up could bring an end to thirteen years of Progressive Government. Labour had been trailing horribly in the polls since 2008 but the recent debates had at least narrowed the race. Of course, that bastard Clegg’s substance-free debate performance had caught the eye of many people and had even caused the Liberals to top some polls, but already the gimmick was fading and a Labour government - with or without the support of the Liberals - was far from impossible. Yes, he reassured himself, things were still all to play for. He shook the woman’s hand one more time, a few more mumbled thanks accompanying it. He stood back and waved towards the small cluster of supporters, practically hidden from view by the forest of reporters surrounding him. He waded past them and towards the sanctuary of his awaiting car, his expression back to its normally dower self. With a final wave and faint smile he clambered into the black, window tinted car, practically already driving as he did so. He leaned back and took a sigh of relief. Things had gone better than he first thought; he had even managed to dodge any real confrontation, at least for the Campaign’s benefit. If he carried on like this, he thought to himself, he could well stay in No.10 for other four or five years. He smiled and unplugged the small black microphone still attached to his jacket lapel. A sense of relief washed over him. Things were looking up.