citizen of nowhere

3. Even as Jez scorned the ways of his enemies the dark Lord Blair thundered in the Tory press. The proles would regret their flirtation with this lunatic. They needed their heads examined. They should have heart transplants, in privatised market-driven clinics using state of the art financial management and gold-card contactless payment. The economy would collapse within forty five minutes of the election of the mad prophet Jez. He had concealed arguments of mass destruction ready for use at a moment’s notice. He used personal chemistry as a weapon to subdue his enemies. He would lay waste to civilisation as we know it unless he was stopped. There would be no-fly zones over the trackless wastes of Tyne and Wear, there would be shock and awe in Manchester and lightening commando raids by political task forces in Birmingham, Liverpool and Tower Hamlets. No matter how much the dark Lord Blair and his acolytes railed against Jez, it was no use. The public mood was utterly changed....

2. The prophet Jez warned his acolytes. “Let there be no personalised attacks against the false prophets Burnham and Cooper nor the dark eyed witch Kendall nor their misguided revisionist supporters.” His followers murmured their agreement and they launched fresh attacks against their opponents on the Twit message boards. Jez travelled far and wide, wearing a shirt from the bargain rail at the Oxfam shop, a tweed jacket from rejected donations at the Sue Ryder store and open sandals which allowed the unfettered odour of his toe-juice to waft over his followers. The followers of Jez, and there were many, were beguiled by his simple unaffected manner and his unadorned appearance. He spoke the honest truth of a mind freed from the conventions of economic rigour, arithmetic or sanity. What was it to Jez if the sums didn’t add up? That was a mere detail, a weapon of distraction used by the Tories to confuse the working class, especially those who had never experienced the shock of a d...

1. And Lo the prophet Jez bestirred himself and went into the town to confer with the people who would see him right for election as leader of the elders. He addressed a throng of paid ticket holders while a multitude waited outside in the rain, straining to hear a word. Jez stroked his beard, held his arms aloft and spoke at length to the chosen few. They listened, spellbound, to every word. They rose in thunderous applause when Jez finished. He smiled mysteriously at them and he passed slowly through the hall to the multitude outside. He climbed onto a fire engine, looked down over a sea of expectant faces and he spoke. “Yeah though ye shall travel through the valley of the shadow of darkness, so shall ye be crammed together like sardines with your nose pressed into a stranger’s armpit in standard class while the Tories and their dissolute followers disport themselves in wanton comfort, making jokes about your plight, sipping filtered water from French volcanoes in the first class ...