Dear Barnaby
What a hypocrite you appear in criticising the ex P.M. on his leaving office after being stabbed in the back by you and your insipid friends.
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You say he has an obligation by contract to serve his electorate. How was your behaviour in deceiving your electorate during an election process in any way the correct way for a politician to act? You have destroyed any credibility you may have stolen from somewhere to display as your own.
I just thought I would remind you that you have brought the honourable position of being an elected member of our Parliament into disrepute and have no right to pass judgement on others after that diabolical display of cowardliness and bumbling deceit that you call serving the people?
Peter Leslie, Cobargo
Men of Respect
A tragedy with no Acts passed.
On a bleak King’s Cross winter’s night, Malcolm the Urbane Thane, bumps into three strange crones MacJuice, MacBishop and MacScot. They prophesy that Malcolm will be elevated, eventually becoming the Chieftain of Chiefs and residing in the Lodge at Kenburgh. (pron: Kenburra).
The plan, hatched by Malcolm, MacButton and Corblimeyman is to finish off the current chief, the deliciously dark MacAbbot of the MacAbbotts, to be replaced by Malcolm, as the head of the clan. In his pinnacle of triumph Malcolm shouts, “He's history. Tomorrow, he'll be geography". However, Malcolm has a change of heart and does not eliminate McAbbott irrevocably, and allows him to exist in luxurious limbo, a decision he will regret later. The scene is chaotic with everyone blaming everybody except themselves.
Malcolm is elected chief of the chiefs, but is plagued by feelings of insecurity, caused by the ups and downs and left to rights of his reign. Further compounded by sniping across the laborious border by his archrival Oor Wullie Shortenbread, who uses every trick in the book to bring Malcolm down. He uses motion after motion in his quest to oust Malcolm, but all to no avail. Oot damn spot!
Further to his embarrassment, all remember his trumped up humiliation by MacDonald, many think that this soldier of the streets never recovered from this.
Malcolm institutes a major purge, but he is wracked with guilt, and that night in his lodge he sees the ghost of the very much alive elder statesman MacHoward. MacHoward’s ministrations prove as useless as a passed motion by the MacSenate, and poor Malcolm believes he is going mad. Oh, woe is me.
As time goes by, in the midst of a right royal battle MacButton challenges Malcolm for the fiefdom. Malcom clutches at straws and seeks support from his minions. But later, the next day, with the combined attack of MacButton, MacBishop, and MacScott, (with the spectre of MacAbbot in the background), Malcolm realises that he is doomed and submits to his enemy. MacScott triumphs and figuratively brings the head of the failed chief, Malcolm, to the assembled for and against crones. McScott declares peace and goes to the House to be crowned as the new Messiah.
As in an earlier play, Malcolm rose to become a powerful new leader but ultimately faced a tragic downfall. Now where have we seen that before? The moral of this tragedy – there is no moral.
Peter Hayes, Tamworth