When I grow up I want to be Prime Minister

Minding my own business this lunchtime eating my rather smelly smoked cod (advantage number 56 of being divorced, cook what you like, when you like) and thought I would do the grown up thing and see if anything has been updated in the world since listening to the Today programme on the way back from school this morning (some might say this is an excessive need to be up to speed, ok, so it was a bit quiet in the house).

BBC News Channel: Oh, look – the lucky people we elected (well you elected them as I am not allowed to – I am just allowed to pay tax) have finally gone to work.  Excellent.  And what do they do at work, apart from trying to find their office?  They ask our prime minister questions.  Also excellent, I am all for public accountability.

So there they sit, divided by a great void and green carpet which has fat red lines painted on it which you are not allowed to cross, I am guessing just far enough away from your opponent so you cannot stab them with your sword. On which side you sit depends on the colour of your underwear.

Public accountability looks a bit like this:



“heeeeaaarrrr ,heeaaaarrrr”

“Snide comment”

Laughter, knocking of papers on benches and stamping of feet

“Attempt at answer”

“Boooooooo. Hahahahahaha”

“If the honourable gentleman would just let me answer…”




How old are you? My 13 year old has better manners, not much better, but still.  Why do you have to confront each other to answer questions? Is that a way to get good quality answers, by blaming and counter-blaming, pompous noises and raucous outbursts?  It’s embarrassing.  I love this country, I choose to live here, I pay my taxes and I would very much like to vote here, but I am not sorry that I do not vote for this system of government.

The rest of the world is laughing.  Grow up.

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