Freedom. What a laugh. In the eighties Thatcher defeated us and changed the country forever, apparently.
Well not quite. Thatcher moved on, got ditched by her friends, and then got dead and buried. Me? I just carried on.
Carried on working. Carried on in a trade union. Carried on arguing. Carried on fighting. Carried on winning and losing. And I’m still doing it.
You’ll find me at meetings. You’ll find me protesting. You’ll find me on a street near you. You see, I can walk down a street on my own, with friends and colleagues.
Now take David Cameron and his munchkin George. Can they walk down the same streets as me?
No. They can’t even step out of their front door, or their gated street, without armed men protecting them. Yes they have money, they have power, but they can’t do what I do. They don’t have the freedom to walk the streets. They don’t have the freedom to say what they like. They have constraints. And they always will have.
True, in their little bubbles they have things I don’t have, but they’ll never have the freedom that I have. That makes me smile.
All that money and power, and yet they can’t walk down the street. Strange.
I, and millions like me, we own the streets, and the streets are resounding to the sound of free individuals condemning your every act. You’re just a transient politician George, a passing phase. An irritant, that’s what you are George. An itch to be scratched. More people hate you than love you.
Have a nice day, I’m just off for that solitary stroll down the street with my thoughts and plans. We are slowly fighting back. We’ll win George, we’ll win. It’s a funny old world, and it doesn’t belong to you George. Scuttle back to your Westminster bunker where you and your friends can play with numbers. In case you haven’t noticed, things are changing, but not in the way that you think they are.
Have a nice day.