June 5th, 2006


Second Bardo: The Green Man

Just as Christopher Walken has the ability to be able to see to the future in The Dead Zone, so do I occasionally access a vision of the world that is to come. A terrifying vision and one that had me sat bolt upright in bed and searching the house for any neuroleptic medication that might about. There's a bottle of Chlorpromazine somewhere, but it's been a long time since I've felt the need to take it.

I'm his best friend. I don't know why. It feels like he takes advantage of me. But we go back a long way. David and me. David Cameron. I don't know how long I've been in this job, but it's the only job I've got. I've been running dirty ops for Cameron for a while now. Finding the dirty laundry, sniffing and then snuffing out potential bleaters from the party days, oiling the wheels, helping to keep the whole Cameron machinery running smooth as an eco-fuelled Bentley.

We know each other from school. What David likes about me is that although we don't see eye to eye about the politics for a moment, he believes I'm the one person he can trust. I haven't got an agenda or, if I have, it's buried so deep in role play that I'll never see it again. Maybe buggery binds us together, it might be drug dealing. I don't know. All I know is that David's trust is absolute and I'm the one who's outside the party machinery. The one who gets the jobs done and doesn't query his pretty little conscience about it.

I'm round David's house and he's hungry. He asks me to go into the kitchen and make him some sushi. The fridge is quite an affair. It's a great slab of antiseptic brushed steel that would suit the pages of Wallpaper as much as Huntingdon Life Sciences. I open the door and start pulling out pieces of fish. There's a lovely slab of toro that must be worth three figures at least. But something catches me eye in the right hand section. I pull out a couple of shrink-wrapped slabs. Sushi? No, human cheeks. This is where David keeps his body parts. It suddenly becomes terribly clear what secret he has been hiding from me and the electorate the entire time.

I'm not convinced that David Cameron is as yet replacing worn out pieces of himself with cloned replacements, but the potential is there. He's only 39 and, taking into account current and near future scientific advances, it is very possible that Cameron may well be the first UK Prime Minister capable of indefinitely replicating himself. There's no limit to the number of terms that a PM can hold, so I'd advise anyone sucked in by the very powerful dark magic issuing from 25 Victoria Street and elsewhere to think long and hard before casting a vote for the Conservative Party in any forthcoming elections.

Of course, Walken's vision of the future leadership of Greg Stillson (Martin Sheen) turned out to be the more innocuous revelation of future casting decisions in The West Wing. My own may yet prove to be that and, following some disgrace or the like, Cameron will possibly bob back up ten years from now to host his own Japanese cooking show.

In the meantime, I shall try to get some sleep.