Last night, I was unfortunate enough to overhear a meeting of the local UKIP party. I’ve never heard such an unhappy bunch of winners, their whole meeting seemed to be about settling scores with unbelievers!
In a spacious, heated room in a comfortable land seats await moaning owners - there’s a meeting planned. At a gathering over drinks (minuted of course) the local UKIP committee are out in force. Well, I say ‘force’ - there are five, and such unhappy souls! They’re planning for the future, picking battles, setting goals which if my hearing is correct means a low-key witch-hunt against anyone who mentions the Judean People’s Front. No optimism, no laughter, no smiles, a sad display. They seemingly have no ears but I wanted to say, “Despite your chuntering begrudgements and your downcast eyes in the lottery of life you won first prize.” But no, they trailed away badly done to, shoulders slumped, an angry one-time lover who can’t take being dumped. Harry Gallagher
