1

I was at the mirror, looking back at myself. I was unrecognisable. Normally I had the appearance of a man who had lost his youth, having just passed the point where I could imagine myself as a young man. However, tonight you could see it. I was my thirty year old self on a bad day. This was a remarkable achievement. Sally came into the reflection.

‘Good God John! They’ve done well here haven’t they?!’

‘I know. I always thought that people on the television had good genes but the difference seems to be a haircut and a suit.’

‘Where did you get the suit?’

‘A woman called ‘Janet’ gave me it, she somehow knew my measurements.’

‘Are you nervous?’

‘A little.’

‘Look, imagine this is a political speech, imagine you’re just at the party conference and talking about Labour’s awful fiscal policies.’

‘Yeah, I know, but those fiscal policies require me to actually think, I know I’ll perform as I have to keep my brain active and engage with the topic. These are television awards! I have to read an autocue, my mind might wander…’

‘It won’t wander! You’re not a four year old child, you’re the leader of the Tories John!’

‘I know, it’ll be fine. Why the hell is Corbyn’s legacy this being added to the campaign list? Who wants to connect with the bloody youth?’

‘Not now John, you haven’t got much of this to do and you’re just nervous. Read the autocue, shake the man’s hand or kiss the woman and walk off stage right. It’s bollocks, but it has the potential to boost your poll ratings by a percentage point. So, make sure you focus!’

‘Okay.’

‘And you look good John! You physically standing there will help your ratings. I’ll speak to the makeup artist about joining the campaign and I’ll try to get a few good memes going around about being hot or something.’

‘Christ! This is politics!’

‘I know, but we have to adapt. You’re a forty year old going against a seventy year old.’

‘So I have to pretend I’m current?’

‘Yes.’

A young face came around the door.

‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘Follow me then Mr Thompson.’

‘Good luck John.’

‘Thanks Sally.’

I walked through the corridors behind the headset. People I’d never met wished me luck and one man offered me a high five, I declined. I had no time for morons.

As I walked, my pre-speech mindset arrived. This was an anxious affliction I’d suffered since the Head Boy days. An internal monologue darted through my mind, explaining to me that the key to it all was presenting the right words and supplying the right body language. This was the difference between the successful and the impoverished. Life was persuasion, the vehicles being words and body language. Only the sociopath wins. I hated these thoughts, especially in this circumstance. I wasn’t on that stage to be funny or artistic, I was there to be a robot who everyone watched for malfunctions. My hands began to sweat and my buttocks started to grease. The woman held out an arm. 

‘Mr Thompson, wait here.’

I looked to the right and realised who I’d be presenting the award with. Violet Granspate was the face of an interior design show which had become absurdly popular. She was the typical Kings Road girl done something, speaking enthusiastically about the inane so regularly that you knew she lacked conviction. When speaking to the builders she always asked simple questions and nodded aggressively to disguise that she probably wasn’t listening. My wife, along with everyone else, adored her for this, finding her lack of insight endearing. The formula of beauty, with the addition of moving pictures, had triumphed again. She was the reason I questioned my desires to lead Britain.    

‘Hey!’

‘Hi.’

‘You’re the Prime Minister aren’t you?!’

‘Unfortunately not, but in four weeks I hope to be.’

She wrinkled the top of her nose and then smiled widely, giggling a little.

‘You’re great!’

I smiled on her side of my mouth, I couldn’t manage any more.

‘Are you excited?!’

‘Not really.’

‘Oh, well I am! Do you want to hold hands as we walk out?’

Yeah, I do. I have a wife and child and I’ve spent the last fifteen years trying to convince the nation that I’m a good, descent, family man and, now, tonight, I’ve decided to torch it all.

Without that face, you could present a reasoned argument for her execution in favour of saving oxygen or lowering noise pollution.

‘No, I’m okay thank you.’

‘GO!’

We walked out, she linked my arm, I let it stay there – the tabloids would see that I’d instigated nothing. We presented the award, a programme called ‘Gogglebox’ won and I was back in the dressing room.

‘You did really well there John.’

‘I’m not sure Sally, the linking thing?’

‘It made you look at ease with women, the camera showed her initiate the link so you’re safe.’

‘Good, will it do the job?’

‘We’ll see tomorrow with the polls, but it’s definitely done you no harm.’

‘Great. What’s Gogglebox in case someone asks?’

‘It’s a television programme where you watch normal people watching and commenting on television programmes from their own home.’

‘Jesus Christ! That won ‘Most Original Concept’? Surely I don’t say that I like this programme?’

‘Oh yes you do! It has a viewership of five million. The least you can say is something neutral, under no circumstance do you insult it.’

‘Has everyone had a car accident and failed to tell me?’

Sally didn’t respond, she was too busy typing into her phone.

2

I looked into the mirror, back at my face. The makeup artist had done a reasonable job and the suit helped matters, but their achievements totalled the creation of a normal looking man. I walked closer to mirror and inspected. The lines and darkness were hiding in translucence. I knew they were there and the lights would find them for the cameras. Sally walked in.

‘Oh John, don’t do that please. It gets you nowhere.’

‘I’m just inspecting, I need to know what I’m working with. By the way, who am I working with?’

‘Remember Violet Granspate? You’re with her again, like last year.’

‘Sally! God Almighty! I look like I’ve spent a month underground being pummelled. Next to her I’ll look awful.’

‘No you won’t, you’re just tired.’

‘Exactly! I am absolutely exhausted. Why can’t I go home and sleep?!’

‘Because you’ve had an awful week! A Prime Minister who has claimed to have never seen ‘Bakeoff’, dribbled on himself during a speech and fallen over in front of the US President does not go to bed at eight o’clock! Your ratings have dropped three points!’

‘So why am I back here!? Why am I being given another opportunity to humiliate myself publicly?’

‘Because, you need to show resilience, you need to show people you can do something well so that the press and the public can move on!’

‘What about unemployment at record lows? What about that?! Why is not watching television and being clumsy more important than being competent at your job?’

‘Oh John! Just get on with it!’

Sally and I were weathering badly. Leading a country essentially involved learning everything constantly, never sleeping and arguing about things based on lies or their merits. This was in the face of constant critique from everyone about everything. I wanted to resign but my majority was too large. I was popular without actually feeling the effects of it or actually being popular.

‘Prime Minister.’

‘Yes.’

‘We’re ready for you now.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Remember, you’re not here to perform, you’re here to walk in a straight line, speak and leave. You do that without a glitch and your ratings will improve.’

I walked down the tunnel and was met by Violet. Her political knowledge had increased in the last year and she greeted me as ‘Prime Minister’. She had the same creaseless face but she was browner than before.

‘Are you excited?!’

‘Yes, very.’

‘Do you want to hold hands?’

‘Naturally I would but I think you should just link my arm.’

‘Okay!’

She slipped her arm in and knotted it around my forearm, resting her head on my shoulder. She smelt like class and reminded me that I was a human man with balls and a cock.

‘GO!’

She lifted her head off my shoulder and walked me to the podium. It went off without a fault, her speech was confident and her happiness revived my own a little. ‘Gogglebox Two’ won the award before we shook the hands and kissed the faces. I thanked her when we had disappeared. Although she was empty, she’d taken me away from it for a few minutes. I appreciated those opportunities in any form. Sally brought me back.

‘Right, good news and bad news on that!’

‘Oh for Christ sake Sally! What can I have possibly done wrong? I walked, talked and walked once more!’

‘Yes, but the cameras saw her head on your shoulder and ten million people saw you smile when she did! You looked like a pervert!’

‘Oh God! Show me.’

I watched the footage. Some camera man had clearly seized the opportunity, showing me whilst the presenter was still talking. When her head went down on my shoulder, my eyes rolled a little and a pursed grin was visible.

‘Think of the fucking memes John! Fuckety, Fuckety, Fuck! Think of those bastard memes! If you’d spent the last week sat on your thumb, you’d be more popular!’

‘Sally, I want to resign! Please, will someone let me out of this?!’

‘You’re not fucking resigning!’

‘Are we doing press?’

‘Yes, we fucking are! You’re going to say that you have no idea what they’re talking about and that’s it. Don’t embellish. If they show you the footage, just say that you are tired and were just taking a big in breath. Actually, scrap that, it’s clearly bullshit. Just say they’re hypersensitive, do the, ‘everyone’s looking for a story route’. Don’t get that wrong John, please don’t fuck that up! Second thing is ‘Gogglebox Two’, and do not start complaining. You watch the show and you fucking enjoy it!’

Sally was becoming hysterical. No one is ready for power.

‘And what is it?’

‘It’s a show where people are filmed in their homes watching television. They comment on people who are commenting on television programmes.’

I just looked at her. Like a dog watching its owner put the lead away.

‘Look, it’s a programme where people watch a television programme and the television programme involves other people watching television. They comment on the comments of other people watching television. Do you remember Gogglebox from last year where people comment on a television programme? It’s the same, but now its people watching and commenting on the original comments and the people making them. No one will ask you to explain, they’ll be too preoccupied. Are you ready?’

‘Sally, listen, I don’t feel good. I’ve had a few hours sleep over the last week. I’m disillusioned. I don’t want to be asked for my views.’

‘You’re doing it!’

Sally softened the tough love with a light squeeze of the hand and stretched her closed lips in sympathy.

‘Ready?’

‘Yeah.’

We walked down the corridor towards the cameras. Sally left my side and stood outside of the frame, I got to the podium and began my defence. The crowd behind the strobing began shouting for my attention. Sally pointed at one.

‘Prime Minister, a week of falling over, dribbling and now eye rolling as a result of Violet Granspate’s arm touching, do you feel that your credibility has suffered?’

‘I don’t understand what you mean?’

‘Tonight, it was clear that you derived some pleasure from being touched by Violet. Your eyes rolled and it is clear that you smiled. Don’t try to deceive us Prime Minister.’

‘I honestly have no idea what you are discussing, however, in relation to the other two incidents, I feel that it shows the human nature of politics. Much to your obvious dismay, I am not a robot! I also feel that the media focuses far too much on these small issues. Rather than focussing on record levels of unemployment or our full withdrawal of troops from the Middle East, you chose to spotlight me falling over. It’s bizarre.’

The cameras increased their intensity and a different voice emerged.

‘But Prime Minister, these actions do affect politics. The dribbling and falling over have been seen by the world, it makes you appear clumsy and weak. Tonight, you appeared to be a pervert. This is what is seen by the world.’

‘This is what the press chose to focus upon and this is why it gains importance. The first two incidents are small segments of time, they don’t reflect the work I do. People fall over regularly, however, they are not hounded by millions of people afterwards. The third, I haven’t seen but I know that I am not a pervert!’

‘So you’re saying that people give importance to things which the press present to them, they can’t make decisions for themselves? Are you blaming the press for public opinion? Your approval rating has dropped three points this week and you are blaming it on people’s gullibility?’

‘No, I’m not. It’s the mere fact that if you see something everyday which presents someone in a negative light, then people fail to appreciate positive work as they don’t know that it exists.’

‘What do you think of Gogglebox Two? Do you think it deserves to win ‘Best Television Show’?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

I stared back, the pause increasing the tenacity of the flashes once more. I had no words for them. Nothing. There was absolutely no reason I could think of.

‘Come on Prime Minister! You say you like it but you don’t know why?!’

I continued to stare. I could feel the wheels being unscrewed and being pulled off one by one.

‘Come on Prime Minister, do you even like the show?’

‘No.’

Ahh inconsistency! The pit strobbed at full tilt. Noise heckled out of the crowd. I could see nothing ahead. I held my hand up to the light. This fuelled their energy. Blood was in the air and they began screaming their prey to death. I held my hand up more purposefully, ushering silence, it didn’t come. I was unable to control my tormenters.

‘Look! LOOK!’

They looked and shut up.

‘Just think about this! I am a Prime Minister who, over a year of government, has created peace, increased employment, built houses, reduced the deficit, worked eighteen hour days, neglected my wife and child and aged a decade! But this lacks importance! Do I like Gogglebox Two?! Of course I don’t! Why should I? It’s people watching other people watch other people watch television. I am running a country which values this above anything else! You treat me as if I’m an insane rag doll! It’s horse shit! I’m not the one deciding to switch my party allegiance because a man fell over! Fuck you all!’

I held up my middle finger and thought of the memes. I walked past Sally and got in the back of the car.

The year later I was on the couch. Violet walked out with a man who had his picture taken for a living. A show called the ‘Undateables’ won the award. From the clip it seemed to be about laughing at disabled people navigating their way through love. I texted Sally, expressing that I liked the look of the ‘Undateables’ and was glad it had won the award. She didn’t reply. I was pleased she didn’t.