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Democracy At Risk From Recent ‘President Popularity’ Survey

Democracy At Risk From Recent ‘President Popularity’ Survey

Letter from Llanaber

...Global politics seen through life in this strange tiny village in West Wales...

If there is one piece of news ticker tape I would have loved to have censored it is the one I’m about to reveal below. I knew it would have been sent overnight and I needed to be in the parish council news feed ticker tape room early to burn the bloody thing.

How did I know about this snippet before it arrived? (I hear you ask).

Let me explain.

Last night my wife, Brenda, and I stepped out for our usual evening constitutional, a walk through the fog along the promenade to the harbour. There we sat on the official village bench and listened to the conversations between the village fishermen and the posh show-offs that park their expensive yachts in places they shouldn’t. These conversations usually run along the lines of the following:

Local fisherman: ‘Would you please mind moving your big flash boat so I can land my catch before it rots?’

Posh nob: ‘Please desist from harassing me, you smelly artisan or I’ll have my private security team kick your stupid face off.’

But last night it was different.

There was a very large and expensive looking cabin cruiser blocking the harbour. It was lit up like a Christmas tree and what I can only describe as a ‘party’ was in full swing. There was a good deal of whoopin’ and hollerin,’ clinking of Champagne glasses and raucous laughter coming from the deck.

My wife and I sat quietly and listened as the carousal thundered on late into the evening. As the thick fog had killed any chance of a TV signal and my wife had missed her favourite programme, the cage fighting, we had decided to hang about till the tide reached its high point. It is then that the village fishermen return to the harbour and attempt to land their catch. We anticipated that there would be a punch-up as there was no space for the village boats to squeeze past the enormous posh boat moored across the harbour entrance. The village boats duly returned and there was indeed a brief exchange of dialogue. But what I heard shocked me to the core. I reproduce it for you below verbatim:


Local fisherman: ‘Would you please mind moving your big flash boat so I can land my catch before it rots?’

Posh nob: ‘I do apologise. I’ll move straight away. I’m sorry, but you see we’re all celebrating the results of a recent Pew Research Centre survey in which 44% of Americans think ex-President Obama was the best or second-best president of their lifetimes.’

They were Americans.

They were polite.

They were Democrats!

It was while Brenda and I were strolling home, my wife slightly disappointed that the boss of the village fishermen, Geraint the Grouper, didn’t get a good drubbing that the full import of what I had just heard struck home.

What if the boss of the parish council, Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim, was go ‘get wind’ of this snippet of news?

There and then I determined to do my utmost to get in early and destroy this news clip as soon as it came through.

So this morning I was up before sparrow’s-fart and sneaked my way into the parish news feed ticker tape room. I was scrabbling through the strings of tape on the comms room floor when I heard the door slam behind me. I spun round to see Mrs. Trim standing by the door hunched up (she’s six foot tall and the comms room, floor to ceiling, is only five foot). 

“Looking for this, short-arse?” she said, holding up a length of ticker tape.

My heart sank.

“My office, NOW!” she bellowed.

Two minutes later I was sat on the ewes milking stool opposite her desk ‘awaiting instructions.’
“I want you to organise a village survey,” she said with a cackle, “I’ve written out the questionnaire for you. Have it pre-printed before you hand it out, and get it back to me completed by teatime. I want to announce the results officially tonight.”

A paperweight struck me on the head. Wrapped round it was a sheet of A4 paper with the following list of questions scribbled on it in Mrs. T’s spidery handwriting. My heart once again sank as I read her scrawl slowly (I’m a slow reader):



Village Survey:
Objective: To Confirm Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim is the Best-Ever Parish Boss Ever!
Success Criteria: 
1) Mrs. Trim is confirmed as the best-ever parish boss EVER, a shoe-in!
2) Ex-Boss and no-hoper, Mr. Billy-Bob Bobbityboo, was a ‘nut job’ who thought he was West Indian and couldn’t organise a piss up and roomful of hookers for a Saudi prince.
a)    Is Mrs. T the best, the very best, no-one better, ever, honest? YES (X) NO (  )
b)    Was Mad Billy-Bob Bobbityboo a tosser of the highest water? YES (X) No (  )
c)    Is life much better knowing Mrs. T has her steady hand at the helm* (YES (X) NO (  ) 
*please consider your answer carefully. Any ‘NO’ responses will have to be explained to the head of village homeland security and protection from extra-terrestrials service, Mateo the Knife, and his henchmen when they call round to re-educate you at 4:00am.
d)    Wouldn’t you like to see the position as boss of the parish council confirmed as a lifetime appointment for Mrs. T and do away once and for all with all these unnecessary and costly free and fair elections (as per the wise policy recently and sensibly enacted by that nice Mr. Xi Jinping)? YES (X) NO (  )
e)    Is Mrs. T’s fudge better than that tripe peddled by the left wing subversive commie bitch, Mrs. Edith Clinton? YES (X) NO (  )

I could foresee problems and rather foolishly pointed some of these out to my esteemed leader.

Fistly, as the responses would be pre-printed, this would not allow the citizen being surveyed a choice. This would be undemocratic and would inevitably skew the results in favour of the pre-printed answers. In other words, it was a huge fiddle.

Secondly, if one were to read between the lines, there was an implicit threat that should any citizen attempt an alternative answer to that which was the pre-printed one, Mateo the Knife and his thugs would turn up in the middle of the night and kick seven shades of dottle out of them. Again, this could be seen by a jaundiced eye as being undemocratic.

Finally, Mr. Billy-Bob Bobbityboo was a very well-liked village council boss and many of his policies were very popular. 

I gave her a short list of examples:
•    Clean running water to most houses
•    Calypso night
•    Free coconut shell brasiers for the village maidens
•    Whimsical straw hats for Dai the Donkey’s beach ride mules
•    Paying the village hospital electricity bill

Mrs. T glared at me.

“You look like you’re in need a spot of re-education,” she said coldly.

I slipped from the room as quickly as I could.


Within an hour I had returned with the survey completed. I did not bother the villagers with the inconvenience of the survey, I just rolled them off the Xerox machine, stacked them up, clipped them together and put them in a file. I left the file on Mrs. T’s desk after she’d popped out for a quick round of fog golf with the boss of the Druids, Benjy Yahoo. I pinned a note to the outside of the file. It read as follows:

‘Congrats to you, Binky. The villagers have just voted you best parish council boss since time began.’

I slipped off work early and went home. There I sat in my favourite chair and tried to read an improving book. The one I had selected was ‘Fascism – A Warning, by Madeleine Albright.’ I could not finish it, dear reader. It was a bit stodgy for me and I needed cheering up. I picked up a good John Grisham and devoured that instead. 

That’s it for now.



And here's a bonus Letter from Llanaber we've uncovered today:

Election Email Hacking Scandal - Charges Brought in Llanaber!

Extraordinary events yesterday in the village! Quite frankly I don’t know where to start. It’s best if I give you a little bit of background then tackle each ‘event’ in turn.

For the first I have to take you, dear reader, right back to 2016 and the scandal surrounding the election of the boss of the parish council, Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim. 

I have mentioned in previous letters that it is an open secret that the election was ‘nobbled’ by the gangster that owns the slot machine arcade on the seafront, the ‘beast from the east,’ Putin Lotzadosh. There is an on-going investigation being carried out by the village top-cop, Robert ‘Robbie the Bobbie’ Muller, and his non redacted report is due for release any day soon. It is expected to confirm that the vote was ‘rigged’ because those entitled to vote (i.e. those owning a shop in the high street, or running the donkey ride and bouncy castle concessions on the beach) were offered free goes on Putin’s penny falls slot machine in his arcade in return for their vote for Mrs. T.

What I haven’t mentioned is the other ‘scandal’ linked to the election. You may find what I’m about to reveal difficult to believe, but trust me it happened. I will recount below as accurately as I can the circumstances:

The summer of 2016 was a stunner. We had three fog-free days of glorious sunshine. On the third of these the boss of the village parish council at the time, Mr. Billy-Bob Bobbityboo (born and bred in Wales but with West Indian proclivities), gave us permission to take our books and work outside in the sunshine. He explained to all and sundry in the office that he would be off ‘knocking on doors’ with old Mrs. Clinton from the card shop for the rest of the afternoon, helping with her campaign to become the next parish council leader.

I settled on the lawn with my sandwiches and a lump of Bara Brith (a confection made from bread ingredients and sawdust popular with the villagers), my files, my pad and my pen and within minutes was dozing happily. Suddenly I was roughly shaken awake from my post prandial zizz. As I tumbled from the arms of Morpheus a sheet of A4 paper was thrust under my nose.


“This you have read now to do or teeth lose!” said a gruff, heavily eastern European accented voice.

It was a voice I recognised.

It was one of the thugs that worked in the slot machine arcade on the seafront.

It was none other than Putin Lotzadosh’s right hand man, Egor Blimic.

The thug looked around furtively as I gingerly took the paper from him - I take anything offered to me from one of Putin’s thugs gingerly in case it’s been pre-smeared with an ‘unknown substance.’

What I had been given was an amateurishly faked document made up of letters cut out of a copy of a Maxim’s shag-mag in a pathetic attempt to make it look like a print-out of an email.
I slowly read what was ‘written’ on the document (I’m a slow reader). I now reproduce it for you below:

‘To: His Holiness the Pope
From: Edith Clinton
Date: July 10 2016
Subject: Killing of Firstborn Male Children

Hi Poppy,
Can you please add the above to the other list of ‘great evil ideas’ I’m proposing for Llanaber village policy once I take office? 


Just as a reminder, the others were:
‘Sacrifice a virgin to the devil’ week - assuming we can find one in Llanaber! (lol)
‘Kiddy-fiddling fortnight’ – One especially for your lot, eh?
‘Nail the tail on the donkey (literally) parties – for the Spaniards – to keep those sickos happy.
‘Black Lies Matter’ campaign (This will be utilizing the three billboard posters on the road into the village, with enough dirt printed on them to expose the heavily tinted amongst us for the lying slimeballs they all are).
‘Druids compulsory circumcision reversals month’ – Dr Mengele is looking forward to that one. I think he’s planning to use pig skin for the reconstructive surgery.
‘Rubbish Mrs. Trim’s fudge’ poster campaign (I know hers is miles better than mine and I’m green with envy as well as being an evil old witch who eats puppies and pees in the village reservoir).

I’ll send more of my evil plans soon.

Best wishes and God bless,

It was clearly all lies. I know old Mrs. Clinton and she would never eat puppy meat. She’s a vegan. 

At once I resolved to crush this clumsy attempt to spread malicious lies about Mrs. Clinton. If this fake item got into the public domain then who knows how it might affect the voting in the upcoming election. The less enlightened villagers and those with a low IQ (i.e. the majority of the electorate) might just believe this load of old codswallop.

But before I could run off and show it to Mr. Billy-Bob Bobbityboo, and therefore expose this wicked plot, Egor Blimic snatched the document from my grip and ran off towards the seafront shouting, “Now you never not un-know what you now know you know. Truth out is, yes!”
As I watched the slot-machine Slav’s enforcer sprinting away into the distance I could not help but reflected on our democracy. 

It is strong. 

People are level headed, just and fair. 

Whatever mischief those like Putin got up to, they could never influence the way sensible people voted. They would see that the propaganda, fake news, and vile smears hurled at old Mrs. Clinton were a pack of lies. Putin’s mischief would have no bearing on the outcome of our free and fair democratic election.

That was then. 

How naïve was I?

The outcome of the election is now a matter of record. Mad Mrs. Trim won, and village life has turned to crap ever since.


This brings me to recent shocking ‘events.’

I write this in capitals as it is so monumental:

This is terrific news! 

At last there will be justice. 

At last the wrongs that were heaped upon old Mrs. Clinton will be put right.

At last the end to the smear campaign against her, and the constant chanting of ‘Lock her up’ by Mrs. T’s sycophants every time they pass Mrs. Clinton’s card shop in the high street.

At last, when Mrs. Clinton comes ‘up before the Beak’ and has her day in court, she will be pardoned and released from chokey.

At last the parish council boss, Mrs. Trim, will have no choice but to give Mrs. Clinton a full and unreserved apology for the abominable unjust treatment she’s meted out to the ‘card-shop Queen’ since the election campaign of 2016.

But what is the other piece of news you were so excited to tell us? (I hear you cry).
This concerns the retirement of Lord Justice Brown-Envelope, the peripatetic judge that administers justice in the village when he visits once every ten years to hold court sessions. A replacement has been officially announced. The next incumbent will be none other than Mrs. Trim’s lard-assed hubby, Leonard, who has to be henceforth addressed as Lord Justice Arbuthnot-Trim.

I know what you’re thinking, dear reader. There is a subtle chain of links between Lord Justice Arbuthnot-Trim and Egor Blimic (Leonard-Binky-Putin-Egor). I can see that you might think that old Mrs. Clinton may not get a fair hearing during her ‘day in court.’

I think you are wrong.

I believe that once Leonard dons the robes of office all bias will fly from his brain and the even-handed balance of the scales of justice will prevail. 

When he tries the case against Mrs. Clinton for being a leftie fifth columnist and subversive, to be heard in his court sessions this very afternoon, I believe he will listen to both sides fairly and deliberate showing neither fear nor favour.

That said, I saw him in the village Tailor & Hatter’s shop this morning. He was buying a black cap.

That’s it for now.


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