A Daliesque landscape. A sandy beach, edged with rocky outcrops. On the sand, an elongated table, like a giant piece of driftwood.
Sat at the table, Jeremy Paxman interviews a fat old Tory man in a pin stripe suit. He whines on about the economy and the deficit, a smaller state and less taxes. I lay into him. I want a bigger state, I want to pay more tax, I want the rich and corporations to pay more tax, I want an end to poverty, an end to sanctions, an end to persecuting the vulnerable in society. I’m so angry I can hardly breathe. He has no empathy or compassion for people. My voice cracks as I shout at him.
I warn him of a dark future for his kind. Of armed revolt and civil war, of death and destruction like this country has never seen. I won’t stand by while people die.