I set my alarm early on Saturday morning, lay face down in the bath (Al Cohol was not the answer on Friday night, but is it ever really?), then plastered makeup on my tired face until my reflection looked back at me and said "Yes! Go forth Stiggers!"
Only five minutes late I thought the protest would be in full swing. Dozens of fellow protesters (I was being realistic about just how many hundreds could fit outside Somerfields) some with banners, making a noise.
Heh heh heh. We were three.
A pensioner, a politician and me. Then one more woman showed up.
Minutes past, then more minutes and more.
"We are the revolution!" cheered the pensioner.
I mean you have to laugh, even the organisers didn't show up!
All at the Labour conference party perhaps. The politician (a councillor but let's go with the P's here) said she'd voted for Ed Miliband.
"Oh brother. I didn't know so I didn't vote," said I.
"Are you a member?" she asked.
"Only of my own party."
I laughed, which was good, because I needed to.
The group dispersed, I went home and switched on the telly.
Oh Brother...
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