Mr Bigot was very brave.
And Mr Bigot was not like any other politician. Oh no. He was quite different.
He was going about his normal business – drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, persuading people to be afraid of immigrants – when he heard some interesting news.
A politician – and ordinary one, not anything like him at all – had been forced to resign. Apparently he had taken cash for questions. Dreadful. Nobody in Mr Bigot’s party would ever have done such a thing. Especially not that nice, honest Mr Hamilton, who helped Mr Bigot so much to make sure his party didn’t have even a whiff of corruption.
But that meant that there would be an election. A chance to become an MP. A real one, not a fake, European one. Mr Bigot was a fake, European MEP, but only to protest about Europe. He only took the money and all the expenses to make a point. Not because he liked riding the gravy train, like all those ordinary politicians. Oh no. Because Mr Bigot was not like all those other politicians.
Some of Mr Bigot’s supporters went to Mr Bigot and said ‘why don’t you run?’
Mr Bigot felt something strange, something he didn’t recognise. A little quiver about his heart, and some colour around his face. Perhaps that last beer had been a mistake.
No matter. Mr Bigot was brave. He laughed. ‘If I won, that Mr Cameron would have to resign’, he told the friendly man from the BBC. Men from the BBC generally were very friendly to Mr Bigot. He liked them.
Then, however, he started to think. He remembered what ordinary politicians would do. An ordinary politician would have checked with a focus group. Despicable. Mr Bigot wouldn’t do anything like that. Instead, he commissioned some polling reports. Nothing like a focus group at all. Oh no.
The polling reports weren’t very positive. It would be difficult. It would be challenging.
But Mr Bigot was brave. Yes, he was brave. And he was not like ordinary politicians. But he began to feel a bit strange. That colour in his face began to spread. His heart began to beat a little faster.
And then Mr Bigot heard whispers that another man, Mr Blond, was considering running. Mr Blond was a bit scary to ordinary politicians. He could joke almost as well as Mr Bigot. The media liked him almost as much as they liked Mr Bigot. Not as much, of course, because they didn’t like anyone as much as they liked Mr Bigot. But Mr Bigot began to wonder whether it might not be such a good idea to run. Even though he was brave.
And Mr Bigot remembered how nice it was to be a fake, European MEP. How nice the salary was. How nice it was to have expenses that didn’t have to be accounted for. How nice to be able to employ his wife. Being a real MP wasn’t so exciting.
And then Mr Bigot began to think about what would happen if he lost.
If he lost.
People might think badly about him. People might not think he was the best thing in politics. His bubble might burst.
If he lost.
If he lost.
So Mr Bigot decided not to run. He decided to run away.
Now an ordinary politician would have gone to his spin doctor – probably someone from a sleazy tabloid – to find a way to make his running away seem like something other than what it was. Running away.
But Mr Bigot was nothing like that. He didn’t have a spin doctor from a sleazy tabloid – he had his Director of Communications, who used to work for that quality newspaper the Express.
So Mr Bigot told his Director of Communications to come up with a story. And he did. Mr Bigot said that he had ‘no connection with the area’ – and nobody in the media seemed to notice that this didn’t quite fit with Mr Bigot’s earlier suggestions that he was the only person who represented ordinary English people. Like the people in this area.
But that didn’t matter. Oh no. Because few people ever asked Mr Bigot difficult questions. And nobody seemed to notice that Mr Bigot had changed colour a little. Or that he had run away….
Art by @KaiserOfCrisps, words by me….