Jun. 7th, 2010

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Chapter Two

The next day I woke up in my bedroom. It was snowing and raining again. I put on my slippers and drank some champagne from a bottle I had. My bed was antique mahogany and was made up with high thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. I got out of my bed and took of my salmon pyjamas. Instead, I put on a dark navy suit, a white shirt with silver etched cufflinks, bespoke loafers and navy socks on. I put on a symbolic purple tie, and combed my hair into a sort of messy bouffant.

My wife, Samantha woke up then and grinned at me. She flipped her carefully coiffed raven black hair and patted her discreet baby bump. She put on her ostentatiously unpretentious Marks and Spencer dress, opaque black tights and sensible shoes. We put on our makeup (foundation, powder and Touche Eclat).

“OMFG, I saw you talking to Nick Clegg yesterday!” she said excitedly.

“Yeah? So?” I said, blushing.

“Do you like Nick?” she asked as we went out of our bedroom and into the kitchen.

“No I so fucking don’t!” I shouted.

“Yeah right!” she exclaimed. Just then, Nick walked up to me.

“Hi.” he said.

“Hi.” I replied flirtily.

“Guess what.” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“Well, Labour have lost 91 seats, which is not as bad as they had perhaps feared. The Lib Dems have lost 9 seats, which is a disappointment. The Conservatives won 306 seats, short of the 316 they need to form an outright majority.” he told me.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God!” I screamed. I love the first-past-the-post electoral method.

“Well…. do you want to form a coalition with me?” he asked.

I gasped.


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