I would only ever say this to the others, of course. In complete confidence. That is to say, the level of confidence we attach to our more enthusiastic, brandy-fuelled discussions of our various mistress’ amourous preferences.
But the truth of the matter is that 103 seats belies our weakness at this point. The party is a shambles. The creditors are basting us with increasingly scalding red ink. The vast majority of our rank-and-file are more interested in the game of power, played at whichever level their own competence affords them, than in ideas of policy. The elite – the former elite, I should correct – have lost the common touch that was the key to admission into the upper echelons of political society in the first place.
Twenty two seats short of The Despised Ones, and it may as well be two hundred and twenty two for all the good a tight result did us! Until we repair our finances, our ideology, our standing with the voting public, we are nothing but a paper tiger. Until we choose a leader to bring us out of this horrid hole into which we’ve fallen – God, my head pounds just thinking of the necessary carnage that process will unleash! – The Unwashed will have a free reign.
The worst part is that they know it, too. It’s humiliating, enough to make the bile rise in my throat. And I’m not alone – I can see the anger covering the shame in all of our eyes. We were Ministers of The Crown, for Christ’s sake!
God, I hope it goes to their heads. I hope every redneck of them bullies us on the other side of the House. Upset as our friends are with us at this moment, the fourth estate will surely not let that pass. A government with so many enemies beyond their reach cannot afford cockiness, but if the fates smile upon us, these cowboys will be too simple to realize that until it is too late.
We can only hope. Well, hope and lay careful foundations…