James Marston: Who wants to be leader?

James Marston

James Marston

The election was fun, wasn’t it? All that talking and chatting and running around the country.

It reminded me of that poem by Roger McGough – The leader

I wanna be the leader

Can I be the leader?

Can I? I can?


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Promise? Promise?

Yippee I’m the leader

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I’m the leader

OK what shall we do?

Now it’s all over my plain speaking photographer friend Lucy – she’s the one who is getting married as regular readers will know – wondered if I might stand the next time.

She even mocked up an election poster (as you can see, above).

But to tell the truth by the time polling day came I had lost a little bit of interest – in fact the moment Russell Brand got taken seriously I sort of lost hope.

I did, however, enjoy the birth of the new princess; though the coverage made me glad I am not in the live television business:

Newsroom: “So you are outside the Lindo wing. What’s happening?”

Reporter on the scene: “Yes I am the reporter on the scene, I am outside the Lindo Wing. There are lots of media here and a few passers by. And a moment ago the door opened, but I think it was just a delivery of a parcel not a baby. Though it might have been a stork.”

Newsroom: “So what is actually happening?”

Reporter on the scene: “Well we are expecting something to actually happen and there is every indication it will happen, we just don’t know when it will happen or what

will happen. Back to the studio.

Newsroom: “Thanks for that. Is something happening now?”

Reporter on the scene: “I have been talking to a few passers by and they are expecting something to happen too.”

Newsroom: “And what about the Duchess of Cambridge?”

Reporter on the scene: “Well she’s not outside the Lindo Wing is she? She’s inside it I think. At least I hope so. She’s expecting too, isn’t she? She has been for several months.”

Newsroom: “So is anything happening?”

Reporter on the scene: “No.”

These live news events where nothing happens are always amusing.

Here in Suffolk I managed to enjoy my bank holiday weekend in Felixstowe, where I have a small flat with sea views (distant). I walked the promenade looking at the classic cars which was very pleasant.

When I finally got back to work I went along to a French class in Ipswich for a coffee and a croissant and tried to conjugate a few verbs.

Regular readers may remember I once lived in France where I ate a lot of quiche.

Lucille, the French lady who takes the class, said I had a nice accent, at least when I spoke French anyway.

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