Tag: Political Fiction

“London 2038: The PM, The London, & The P.A.” Part 4 (A Serialised Story – Work In Prog)

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By Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

Pertwee & Twotimer had just finished there fifth earl grey tea at the opening of the CHOGM heads of state banquet. Pertwee was doing his job as usual – massaging Twotimers fragile ego. Twotimer never did well at these official engagements. The problem is that while his well faked false persona of equal parts ‘bluster’ ‘charm’ and ‘blokeyness’ had worked brilliantly on the largely uneducated masses – it was a real hit & miss affair at these illustrious official diplomatic engagements. Yes there were some very very stupid people at these events, but at most they accounted for perhaps only twenty percent of the total number of people in any particular room.

There was also the problem of Twotimers natural snobbery. You see you might logically conclude that Twotimer would simply find the other twenty percent of the crowd at these CHOGM type events, and get on like a house on fire with the other fools. This sadly did not happen with Twotimer. You see Twotimmer really was stuck quite immobile in his snobbery. In fact one bright Fleet St wag by the name of Pete Hotchins had noticed this better than most of his colleagues. Pete Hotchins was one of the many that Twotimer had referred to as “The Damned Maggoty Pressers Inc”. Hotchins had recently drawn Twotimers ire by pointing out his bufoonery by the following verbatim description that he wrote in his weekly political round-up column. Hotchins was a well battle-scarred senior at the at least still half well respected centrist publication called The Daily Belter. This was the by now infamous Hotchins’ fly on the wall commentary on Twotimer when he was at the previous edition of the CHOGM meeting:

………..while I was looking over at all the various dignitaries I could overhear the following conversation between the Canadian Foreign Minister Frank Hands and our Twotimer – I noticed that the Canadian Minister was every now & then holding his nose, as if the Prime minister had forgotten to use deodorant. I wanted to see if this was indeed the case. I slowly sided over, & I can confirm our PM was at least a little ‘wiffy’ & perhaps even a little bit worse that that. But I overlooked this fact & listened in a little, as although the PM’s personal hygene was less than to be desired – it still only half accounted for the bemused look of disgust on the Canadian diplomats face. As I listened in over the course of perhaps five minutes I heard the PM describe his wifes bottom, using his hands often in a cupped fashion as way to illustrate her curvy-ness. He then went on to discuss his old Etonian days and how he had indeed had a great time on the stage in pantomime, and had once even been simultaneously been both ‘dressed gloriously in blackface’ and in drag as he played the part of a troubled crossdressing minstrel. The third topic before I scuttled away out of this lamentable evesdropping was Twotimer’s reflection on how hot it had been, & how ‘lusty the heat had made him’ – he then pointed literally with his index finger at the various nubile young female snack & wine waiters that were wafting about the dignitories, offering the standard CHOGHM canapes, oysters kilpatrick, Camenbere, NZ sauvignon blanc, French Merlot among other equally tasty things. Needless to say in that five minutes of stealthy evesdropping, I think I could understand the pained expression of the Canadian Foreign Minister Frank Hand’s face. When I thought it over, I had relised it was a form of snobbery that allowed our PM to behave like this – for he seemed to behave this way far more with diplomats from poor non-private school backgrounds, as was indeed the case with Frank Hands, who was in his homeland publicly well known for having experienced and risen above both conditions admirably.

Twotimer had never forgiven Pete Hotchins for this outing of what he would say himself was simply his his ‘boyish and disarming charm allowing him to able to break the ice like no other British politician ever had’. It had been a full year since the article was published, but it was again, a subject he would raise at least once or twice a week with Perteee. In fact at the current CHOGM Twotimer had been talkign to the very dull & fish eyed special non CHOGM invitee – this was the very blank faced German Trade Minister Ursula Von Neighschneigh. When he was trying to pretend he was listening to this strange robotic lady, he then started to think of Hotchins. When Twotimer thought of Hotchins & his ‘takedown article’ of him from last year – this usually meant a panic attack was coming. It came like clockwork. Whereby now he then rushed away from the German minister using his favourite feeble but believable excuse of ‘needing to go to the little boys room’. As he moved away from the German bore, he made strategic eye contact with Pertwee. He rushed to a side room with his always reliable savior & man who was always there Pertwee sliding in not far behind, in Twotimers ‘slipstream’ but also in his usual perfected inconspicuous manner. Here now in one of the many empty adjacent rooms, Twotimer leaned against the wall gasping for air with acute anxiety. He now begun unloading on Pertwee.

‘Pertwee, I’m thinking of that bastard Hotchins again – I’m having another little panic attack….quick give me some of those….’ Pertwee was already on it and had proffered up Twotimer a small paper bag of gummy bear sweets. Pertwee emptied the bag over Twotimers mouth in a similar way as an Australian bushranger might throw a whole chicken safely into a massive crocodiles snapping mouth. Twotimer finished the twenty odd gummies in one gulp. ‘Oh god..yes…Pertwee…you are my Charlemagne….you’ve headed off the monsters for me yet again….oh I feel so much better now…ah I can talk again…ah where was I…oh yes Hotchins! He could now talk, though with the spectre of Hotchins fresh in his mind his face was quite a red bloom. As he talked to his trusted Pertwee, he was still only half breathing properly.

‘Ah Pertwee can you believe that Hotchins – how could he say that bilge about me – imaging me a snob?’

‘Well Sir, he doesn’t know you like I do sir – I mean he doesn’t know your difficult upbringing in the intimate way I do’

‘Exactly Pertwee – you know me, you know I am not in any real way a snob -as if I would be a real snob! i just know the people that make a difference in this world are us special ones that have been hand-picked by some cosmic force to lead….be it me, Ceasar, Churchill, Charlemagne or Collingwood!’

‘Quite sir – by the way did you do that on purpose’?

‘What the devil do you mean Pertwee’?

‘Ceasar, Churchill, Charlemagne or Collingwood – they all start with C Sir’

‘Well spotted Pertwee – YES I was just testing you….har har har…again Pertwee you never fail to notice my little linguistic puzzles…my I don’t know how I would survive without you Pertwee’. Twotimer slapped Pertwee’s back. Without fail when Twotimer was just over a panic attack and then followed it by said something congratulatory like this towards Pertwee, he always slapped Pertwee’s back. Always just once, and always far too hard, so much so that Pertwee always lurched forward, having to steady himself by putting a foot forward past the other, to stop him toppling over. Of course Pertwee took it graciously as always without saying anything to alert Twotimer of his being made to be quite uncomfortable.

‘Oh no Sir – it is you who helps me far more than the reverse….and yes I agree with you Hotchins is a ghastly man who told a boldface lie about you in his column last year in The Daily Bugle – I mean the factoids were correct, but his implication that you were a true snob was atrociously unfair in the extreme’. Why did Pertwee say that Hotchins’ factoids were correct? Sometimes Pertwee would risk a little to try to help Twotimer try to live in the real world – just a little. When Pertwee used this method, Twotimer would raise his back up a little – but then agree with Pertwee, at least by a tiny amount.

‘Pertwee! What do you mean his factoids were correct! He’s a scoundrel! All he says are lies,,,,lies lies damnation dangled dreary drudged dilled lies!’

‘Well Sir let me remind you – he said he overheard you talking of you wife’s very round bottom – you tell me this every other day, & you do indeed make the hand motions. In fact the time he wrote about that, the last CHOGM, you had only just not ten minutes before talking to the Canadian Minister done the same thing with me’

‘Oh yes Pertwee, you are right she has a very very round bottom’ Twotimer again used his hands. ‘But Pertwee yes that factoid was true – but the other stuff was all crapity crap crap!’

‘Sir but you did play that part at one of the many pantomimes you did at Eton – that one certainly required you to wear drag and wear blackface – again I’ve heard your story about how you had to do all of that and how at the finale you had to do ‘the splits’ & you broke wind and Rector then gave you a months detention and a month of cleaning up dirty socks and underwear under your fellow boarding schoolers beds. That’s one of your favourite stories Sir. A million times you’ve told me that story – so Hotchins got that factoid right as well.

‘Oh yes….oh that was glorious fun Pertwee, I so much loved those Etonian pantomimes…ahh now that you remind me I remember that embarrassing fart moment as if was yesterday – yes the Rector hated me for that – but my chums thought I was like an Etonian Icarus!’ Twotimer slapped his leg emphatically, & beamed a wide smile. ‘But Pertwee that other thing he said…that factoid….that was wrong – wasn’t it? Twotimer’s hangdog eyes pleaded with Pertwee to at least allow him a little boldface lie, to save a little face. Pertwee wisely decided to throw him this last crumb – even though the last factoid that Hotchins has said in his article was indeed totally true. This was the one about how Twotimer had pointed and talked of the passing nubile waitresses so inappropriately & so lustily to the Canadian.

‘Oh you might be right about that Sir – it’s all a bit fuzzy now – a lot has happened since that last CHOGM conference after all – the main point is that yes, Hotchins of that ridiculous half-tabloid ‘The Belter’ is quite wrong about you being a snob – & he does not know at all how bad your childhood was like I do Sir’.

‘Yes EXACTLY Pertwee EXCACTLY! I hardly saw my diplomat father at all! Of course that’s why I am like I am & stupid people like HOTCHINS ET AL confuse me for something I am totally not! You are right Pertwee that Hotchins is terrible, he’s a bilge rat, a pap filled paparazzi in disguise as an esteemed journalist! He’s basically a traitor to his profession Pertwee’

‘Quite Sir, quite – as if you are a snob – ridiculous’

‘Stupid’

‘It’s insanity Sir’

‘Pertwee I won’t argue!…but…’ Twotimer didn’t need to finish his sentence. Pertwee had already expertly read his mind .

‘Yes, Sir of course – I have another bag of gummi bears’ Pertwee could read Twotimer like a book – he knew the look in Twotimers eye that meant he wanted a fifth earl grey tea, he say the slightly different curl of his mouth that meant he wanted gummi bears. Again Pertwee emptied the bag over Twotimers crocodile snapping jaws. Twotimer wolfed thm down with glee and sighed as he stopped leaning against the wall & then knelt on his haunches. Pertwee copied his movements & then whispered ‘Sir we better now get back to the engagement – don’t worry it’s almost over, & you can just eat the food & wine from now on, I’ll tell them that trick of ours where you’ve suddenly lost your voice’.

‘Pertwee – where would I be without you’

‘Well you wouldn’t be at the ‘toppermost of the poppermost’ as you are now, Sir’. Pertwee said blowing some well timed figurative smoke up Twotimer’s large posterior.

“Pertwee…..once again you are my perennial knowingly calm ying to my ever raging yang…and I’m not talking about next months trip to China either’

‘Don’t be silly Sir – I owe everything to you, I’m lucky to be here – now lets practice your ‘I can’t talk gesture’. Pertwee was so good at lying to boost Twotimers lack of confidence it was scary, you would never know it by how straight he could say the words looking flush into Twotimers eyes without blinking, flinching, not even an eye-twitch. As they walked back into the CHOGM formal engagement room Twotimer pointed at his throat with one finger, waved his other hand wildly & shook his head like a trout with a lure in it’s mouth.

‘Excellent Sir as always, your voice has now entirely gone – no need to talk to that dreaded Australian now after all’. Twotimer gave a knowing wink as they strutted into the CHOGM room, within a meter the Australian diplomat had clocked them & was strutting over at pace. Our men Twotimer & Pertwee gave each other a weary nod as they both signaled to a wine waiter & a canape waiter to come over quickly.

End of Part four….Part five to follow soon

This writing piece is owned by Martin Smith Creations ltd (NZ). If you are a person or a small non-profit please read or reproduce freely. Commercial Users or NGO’s: If you want to purchase for reprint of this work for a commercial project to reach a wider audience – then contact me via martinantonsmith@gmail.com to gain written legal permission.

“London 2038 – The London, The P.M. , & The P.A Episode 3” (A story – Work in. Prog)

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By Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

Yes, as I was saying – Arthur B. Pertwee was a totally different person from Britain & England’s PM Twotimer. It was very important that this was the case. Given the fact that Pertwee was the one who had the unpaid, undeclared, unadvertised job of saving England from Twotimer. Pertwee had , seemingly out of the ‘goodness of his own heart’ saved England from Twotimer’s as regular as a swiss watch, & forgive my crassness for effect – his fucking awfully thought out ideas.

As the declining returns that are the history of England & Britain post World War 2 prove, It never works out very well when an idiot is responsible for another idiot not making & installing their idiotic plans. Dear reader, it’s certainly worth a few direct comparisons between the man-boy Twotimer, & the real-man-in-every-sense Pertwee – the contrast is of course quite extraordinary.

Where Twotimer was rash, Pertwee was considered. Where Twotimer would slug back seven drinks back to back like the alcoholic he probably was, while at a uniquely important state reception, Pertwee on the other hand, would sit all night on a single glass of wine – for unlike the Twotimer, he had long the understood social risks of not doing this. It was no accident that Twotimer was still known by his old oxford pals ‘Sir Glugmeister’. Where Twotimer would shout down the wait staff, Pertwee would thank them personally for their excellent efforts & slip them a sensibly sized tip. Where Twotimer would spout off buzzwords from outdated social & economic theory to fool people into thinking he was knowledgeable, Pertwee actually knew about the economy, both from his ex-private-sector based life experience & from his often concerted & targeted diligent observation & research.

Where Twotimer would usually forget to comb his straw-like mop of blonde hair, or have a shower or brush his teeth, Pertwee’s personal grooming was reliably impeccable. Where Twotimer had cheatingly often paid someone else at Oxford to sit his narrow entirely non quantitatively orientated degree course consisting entirely classics exams, Pertwee had gained genuine straight A-plusses, all off his own back, in a multidisciplinary course that was laced with many difficult mathematically based subjects. Where Twotimer has had countless scandalous extra marital affairs, Pertwee was a on the whole a confirmed bachelor. A lifelong bachelor who had a few very good lifelong females as confidants, with perhaps two of them also doubling – but never during the same time period of course – as once-in-a-while-lovers who never asked more that was wise to ask for or expect.

Forgive me dear reader in laboring the point, but it’s worth it to underline the fact that Twotimer was a badly disguised bufoon, while Pertwee was the obvious-to-everyone-who-saw-or-heard-him – model of the gentrified intelligent man.

Pertwee would make a great the poster boy for the bygone period of history which was the true height of the modern enlightenment based western world. To illustrate the differences it is worth telling the reader or listener of a recent but very common themed private conversation between the two.

“Ah Pertwee, I don’t know how you do it! Keeping so ice cool all the time! I’m such a lusty fool, even though I’m now fifty, my loins have a heart attack every time a bit of skirt floats in front of me. I’ve tried of everything & nothing works. Nothing can stop my forever teenage boy libidinous ways! it’s outrageous Pertwee! Sometimes when, as the Australians say, when I’m atrociously toe-ie all it takes is that the woman in my crosshairs to have hair not much longer that a foot long, is of age under forty-nine, wears those clicky-clacky-high-heels, has a dress cut perhaps only a centimeter above the knees, & then she sends me her crooked-world-weary-smile from a hundred feet across any long stately room! Oh dear Pertwee! The pain of it all! These as yet undealt with constant erections that pop up are driving me mad! I’m sure the Chancellor of the Exchequer even saw one through my pants once! In fact, I think he looked a little to long for a married man, if you ask me – makes me think Nordston bats for the other team! – but I digress…where was I ah yes, my insatiable redder than red red-bloodedness!. I mean I try my best to disappear of to the lavatory where I can do my best schoolboy methods to make them go away – but Pertwee, I tell you what! when you’ve half way through a dryer than the Sahara desert, long-winded economic discussion with those boringly dunderhead heads-of-state & their long list of advisor’s slash Ministers slash entourage’s, sometimes it’s impossible for me to sneak away for a quick diddle to stop the crooked walking if you catch my drift!”

When Twotimer drew towards the end of this particular ‘why am I so teenage-horney all the time’ themed theatrical spiel, he always looked at Pertwee with open pleading hands and with a blank schoolboy face. He was waiting for the wise, soothing Pertwee reply. Like as if he was an alternate version of Oliver twist saying ‘please sir I’d like some more’, knowing that Pertwee in dishing out the soothing verbal sustenance he desperately needed, wouldn’t ever shout at him ungraciously – he knew Pertwee would effectively say ‘More – of course my dear boy – eat up’. Like Twotimer’s performance, Pertwee’s closing reply was as always almost exactly word for word the same:

“I am aware of your various emotional afflictions Sir – I mean you tell me a version of this story daily – often in fact twice a day, & every now and then three times a day – but this is no complaint of course Sir – don’t ever think that I’d openly criticise for no good return. As I always say Sir, & I know you don’t mind me observing – the problem with this kind of thing is that it stems from a dark hidden recess of your psyche. It’s love & acceptance that you are at heart dying for – not a flash of boob, or a hearty display of leg flank. Don’t worry Sir, I’m making it my personal mission to one day get you to learn to love yourself, as hard as that may be. This ridiculous over-sexed nightmare that you are forever sleepwalking inside of – is not entirely your fault – if in fact, your fault at all. You acquired this behaviour in true adaptive fashion, simply as a survival mechanism, if you will. In its wider form, your overall outlook & behaviour profile is a coping mechanism that enables you to stave off complete emotional collapse. I mean it’s not your fault you had near absolute zero love & affection from either of you parents, particularly your cold diplomat & businessman father. As I keep telling you – & I don’t mid that by the way, that’s why I’m here – this problem of yours is so common in the halls of power in England & Britain, & indeed certain patches of the privilidged world itself – ultimately it’s a wider boarding school syndrome type of affliction that you have. One day Sir we might even safely beat this motley assortment of afflictions than haunt you entirely. Peraps our combined efforts will one day leave you almost completely free of this type of emotional pain. Pain that spills over, nay manifests so freely into your daily affairs in the way you outline with words & show in your erratic self destructive, self-sabotaging behaviors”.

Pertwee was always careful to add a certain ‘unfounded optimism ofthe chances of improvement’ into the equation. Privately of course Pertwee was highly skeptical that anything more than a cosmetic improvement in Twotimers emotional & behavioural life was ever possible. But he knew it was prudent to keep up an attitude of ‘overt hope’ towards Twotimer’s at heart deeply fragile ego. Some might assess this as a pig-headed refusal to look facts in the face – but this would be to ignore, as the American’s say the realpolik of the situation. Pertwee knew if he didn’t add some sugar frosting now & then, Twotimer wouldn’t get out of bed at all for acute depression, & he himself would be ex-communicated from his crucial, albeit clandestine, job – & then where would England be? It would go from the current state of ‘stable but fading grandeur’ to ‘collapsing anarchic tatters’ in a matter of weeks. Pertwee’s sugercoating would sdefinitely stay, & for good reason.

With this typical kind of adult-to-child conversation I’ve outlined above, Pertwee would always end his considered, owl-wise-words with a certain look over at Twotimer, looking squarely into his angling downwards, a little too-close-together eyes. It was the kind of look that a school principal might give when he charitably & once again spared the forever un-reformed naughty schoolboy who’d again re-appeared in his office. Saving him from any real punishment for his schoolboy crimes. At this point Twotimer would always defect with positive sounding bluster:

“Ah Pertwee, alas you are as always lamentably one thousand percent correct! I was never loved! Woe is me! I should probably be embarrassed now shouldn’t I? Here I am as the Prime Minister of a former glorious empire, & I still have these horrible situations that are essentially wide awake wet dreams! it’s a unmitigated travesty dear Pertwee! What are we going to do with me!? Ah I despair Pertwee! I’m truly truly cursed! But I think you are a bit wrong with your assessments – I did have some love as a child – remember my little dog Eccles? I’ve told you about him haven’t I? That was the sweetest little dog ever Pertwee! Whenever I had been crying my eyes out all semester long at Eton, I always cuddled up to fluffy little Eccles! Ah that helped magnificently Pertwee – it really did – don’t underestimate that Pertwee! I mean why can’t a boy get emotional love from his beloved pet? Surely he can!”

Even though the two had almost the exact same conversion daily, Twotimer could never quite accept that Pertwee was right about him in not ever receiving the unconditional love he sorely needed from his parents as a child. This was why he was the way he was in the world, & it explained his low self-esteemed internal dialogue. In the various repititions of the conversation, occaisionally certain phrases from above were forgotten, but the dog story was never left out. There was always but always in these ultimately entirely therapeutic conversations, the appeal to the fact he had a lovable fluffy dog called Eccles to cry away too as a palliative to his total lack of parental love as a child, and to combat the standard Etonian boarder stresses. Twotimers memory of fluffy happy Eccles was, like Pertwee himself, a constant tonic always on hand.

Pertwee as always ended with these same themed words, similar each time in fact almost to the letter.

“Well, let’s just pick this up again later shall we Sir, I’m sure we’ll reach a breakthrough on that matter one of these days – that breakthrough will come when you finally allow yourself to see the true darkest moments you had as a child. You’ll see them for what they are, without at all blaming yourself. As glib as it has become to say – one day you’ll learn to love yourself Sir, & I’ll darned well be there when it happens too”.

At this point Pertwee always made sure he smiled a little at Twotimer. On the face of it they were big words aimed at the boy-PM, but he had had long had Twotimer’s complete trust & confidence – for such a long time now that he knew their was no chance of any real offense, or ill feeling breaking out about the deeply personal matters Pertwee brought up. This being the case, it would be a lie to say that Twotimer didn’t feel a little embarrassment. Pertwee could see it easily as he could read him like a book, & new exactly who he was right down to his bones. That’s an understatement – he knew him down the level of his cellular dna.

Twotimer in a final retort to release his slight embarrassment, would always then ‘shut the book with a mighty clap’ on the particular daily revisited conversation in question by saying:

“Pertwee – god! – how long has it been since someone gave us a cup of Earl Grey? We’ve been standing around lwarbling like a couple of empty handed fools for at least an hour and ah half! Where’s the help when you need them most – god save us Pertwee let’s find some ourselves!”.

Then that was exactly what they did. They both walked over together & sourced the Earl Grey tea’s, pouring it for themselves at the nearest refreshment table. Once both standing there with full cups of tea they sipped away not saying a peep for the four point five minutes it took them both until they reached the bottom of the cup at the exact same time. Of course there was a final in unison Ahhhh sound – the universal sound signifying contentment.

(End of Part 3….tune in soon for the next edition, coming very soon)

“London 2038 – The London, The P.M., & The P.A. Episode 2” (A story – Work in. Prog)

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(episode 2 – to read episode 1 click here https://antonmartinsmith.com/2025/06/12/london-2038-the-london-the-mayor-the-p-a-a-story-work-in-prog/

To say that Harrison Arnold Twotimer had a lot of personal problems was like saying that the universe had ‘quite a lot’ of stars. Harrison was the oldest of three siblings, & as such had followed the tradition of so many firstborns who are overly motivated to plunge themselves into leadership roles. Harrison’s first power grab was at Eton where his diplomat absentee father had managed to arrange him to attend a full year earlier than usual at age 12. Harrison knew what his father was up too – & like the millions of other aging ex ‘boarding school syndrome sufferers’ – he never quite forgave his parents, & his father in particular, for abandoning him so easily & swiftly like that.

Harrison had shown his true political & social climbing asperations colors early in life. This would naturally be noticed firstly in his schooldays. At Eton Harrison had put his name forward on the first day of school to be the ‘Class PM’ against a far more talented boy named Paul Pritch-Simmons III, who would later become a billionaire computer-chip making industrialist. The election was held after each boy made a spirited ten-minute stump speech to his fellow Etonians.

Where Paul had talked of the need for England to be more forthright as a nation again, & return to its manufacturing base, Harrison had argued that the price of sweets had trebled in the last three years, that & this was a travesty. Where Paul had astutely said that ‘under-unemployment in the Etonian region was a ‘festering problem which may result in less professionals in a decade’s time’, Harrison had said incorrectly that ‘Eton must do more to reverse the decline in mathematics scores – when grades had indeed improved significantly due to the targeted hiring more seasoned international STEM (Science, Tech, Engineering, Mathematics) subject teachers. Where Master Pritch-Simmons III had mentioned the need to look after the handful of homeless people who had been seen wandering around the outskirts of Eton, Harrison had retorted furiously “why should we spend our hard-earned fathers’ dollars on those stinky lazy sods”. Harrison was so unpopular with his classmates that the last minute of his speech had to be scuttled due to the boys throwing their pencils at Harrison, while they bellowed repeatedly “Out with Harrison up with Pritch-Simons”.

On the face of it from the view of his voter classmates, Harrison was in this election as they say ‘Toast’. Given Harrison’s poor rambling & speech, full of flagrant inaccuracies relative to his more polished opponent in Master Pritch-Simmons III, that’s what they would expect – but then they didn’t know of the ‘Yellowpoke situation’ yet.

The old maxim of ‘it doesn’t matter who casts the votes – all that matters is who counts them’ later became one that the future adult Harrisons mentioned in passing, & for good reason. This ‘first ever political election’ deserved to be Harrisons first ignoble defeat to a far more able adversary – but this was where Harrison’s at worst abhorrent sneakiness, or at best his Machiavellian guile came in.

Harrison as PM nowadays, uses ‘The bribe’ liberally wherever he goes & can easily get away with it. He learnt the value of a ‘well placed bribe’ from that from that first election as a sticky fingered grimacing fat little schoolboy.

Before he had came to school that first election day, he had been wise enough to steal a fifty pound note from a tin his mother had put all her countless “loose cash”. Had had the presence of mind in the prior week to his first day at school to call the Etonian secretary & asked “who would be counting the “Class PM” votes next week miss, as I plan to put my hat into the ring”. He had found out duly that it would be the schoolteacher that would collate, count & return the verdict. Armed with this information as soon as Harrison had entered his classroom with all his fellow classmates, he had made a bee line for the teacher – Mr Yellowpoke. his conversation went like this

“Ah Mr Yellowpoke – Harrison Arnold Twotimer here”. He thrust out his half sticky lolly-fingers to shake Mr Yellowpoke’s hand. With Harrison being particular short foe his age & Mr Yellowpoke a towering six-foot four, he had to practically hold his hand-shake hand vertical – it looked quite ridiculous. My Yellowpoke played along & agreed to shake his hand, & did so firmly, but also partly haltingly.

“I’m Mr Yellowpoke, nice to meet you lad – I believe your father Edward is a diplomat currently in Brussels?”

Harrison replied without pause.

“Yes father is currently in Brussels, I believe right now he is actually fittingly trying to increase our exports of Brussel sprouts to the EU!”

Mr Yellowpoke laughed, well it was more of a chortle. Harrison had many flaws as a child, & even more as an adult – but not having a sense of humor was not one of them. He continued his plan with Mr Yellopoke.

“Now Mr Yellowpoke, I won’t hold you up – I just wanted to say that I’m glad to be here in your classroom, & at Eton – & I advise I will be putting my name forward for Class PM”. He said all this with a natural sense confidence, this was his other main feather in his cap – unwarranted, unshakable, confidence. Mr Yellowpoke re-plied dryly, as his patience was now wearing thin.

“Oh well that will happen this afternoon – I’ll write you name down then – you’ll need to make a speech at the end of the day to your classmates – good luck & now you better take a seat with the rest of the class – we have a lot to go over this morning”.

“Oh yes of course thankyou Mr Yellowpoke, but there’s one more thing” Harrison sounding like a teacher himself.

“Oh yes – what’s that Twotimer?”

“Well my father just wanted to pass on this $50 dollar note – he said to me that the teachers & their partners were known to have a ‘first week party’ & he wanted to shout you & your wife a drink”. Harrison had the 50 pound note folded in a small square in his hand – which he proffered up to Mr Yellowpoke under the guise of a “goodbye handshake” – something he’d seen done on old American films & was copying. Mr Yellowpoke suddenly blanched, this made him nervous, which then made him make the unwise decision to accept Harrison’s handshake & the 50 pound bribe. Mr Yellowpoke spoke twice as quickly as usual, wanting the conversation over.

“Good luck this afternoon Harrison – make your speech a good one & I’ll count the votes afterwards – say hello to your father or me”.

“Yes sir Mr Yellowpoke – and thanks a lot” A giant triumphant ear-to-ear child’s grin filled his face – a look he would never grow out of. He still had the exact same ‘child’s big grin look’ decades later, even now as the real PM of England.

Later with both master Harrison’s & Master Paul’s speeches over, Mr Yellowpoke came out from the teachers back room to the class again. With the small wooden ballot box still locked & held firmly between his lowered two hands he slowly announced the fateful words

“The winner of Class PM – by a landslide I might add – is Harrison Arnold Twotimer”

Master Pritch-Simmons III’s looked visibly ill, as did his fellow broadsided & ashen faced classmates. they sat like they’d been turned into stone, not saying a word. Until of course Mr Yellowpoke urged them to clap for Harrison, which they did in miserable fashion, with Master Pritch-Simmons aborting the clap simply maintaining his silent head down vigil.

Becoming “Eton Class PM” was Harrison’s first of many ‘shonky’ political victories to come. He sat beaming like a lighthouse, caring not a jot for the claw claps & muted jeers of the voters. Incidentally this ‘seemingly meaningless’ stolen schoolboys election wouldn’t be the first run in with Pritch-Simmons either. ‘The Billionaire & the PM’ as the tabloids now billed the adversaries as became sworn enemies after that first vote & are still at war as we speak – with the only slightly more honorable Pritch-Simmons’s victories still few & far between.

And I know you want to know – what of Mr Yellowpoke? He left teaching at age 55 when he was outed by a student kissing the 21-year old student teacher Ms Artichoke on the schoolgrounds. Being a very married man, with his wife working at the school office it was best for all concerned. After the divorce his wife initiated, he finally entered a profession he was better suited to – real estate sales. (Now lets get back to the main characters).

Now it goes without saying that Arthur B. Pertwee was cut from a very different cloth than Harrrison Arnold Twotimer – but It’s worth saying it again:

Arthur B. Pertwee was cut from a very different cloth than Harrrison Arnold Twotimer. . .

(End of Episode 2…..be here again soon for Episode 3……)

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