Edit until funny/coherent

B. Johnston
City Hall
London


3 May 2008

Dear B.,

I'll be honest, B.; I didn't vote for you. As I said when I was discussing this with someone the other day, "I don't think Livingstone's done that good a job, but at least he's not a complete arsehole". However, I've always respected the traditional Tory trait of pragmatism, and as I'm sure you're keen to win over those of us who regard you as a loathsome oafish twat, I hope you won't mind me taking a few moments of your time.

(I was wondering exactly what sort of person would actually vote for you while I was wandering about the West End yesterday evening. (I was trying to buy a bag, as I'd managed to destroy my admittedly already fraying satchel in a washing-up liquid incident earlier in the week.) I became fascinated by people crossing the road - watching the light turn green and then stepping out in front of cars just as they pulled away, nipping out between cars and thus risking getting hit for the sake of crossing the road three seconds earlier than they might have done if they'd waited, the sheer number of people who can't tell the difference between the little red man and the little green man. And then I realised that it's a miracle that any of the other candidates got any votes at all.)

(Incidentally, I did buy a bag. A bag. Not a fucking manbag, alright. I've seen The Thick Of It, B., I know you keep up with all of these things.)

(If this all seems somewhat lacking in generosity, not only was I pissed off at your imminent victory but I was still suffering from the last knockings of a hangover, not being helped by the previous evening culminating in a conversation which featured the phrase "massive whackers" disturbingly often. (Admittedly I only used the phrase with a certain amount of irony, but I still feel slightly ashamed of myself, and will be unable to look several of my workmates in the eye for quite some time.) I realise that you probably use phrases like 'massive whackers' all the time, B., and probably with very little shame, as you seem the type somehow.)

Anyway, B., what I wanted to talk about was flashmobs. Now, you may recall the unpleasant Rick Astley business the other week - you probably had a leaflet about it or something. Fortunately I managed to avoid all of that, but on Wednesday evening as I crossed Liverpool Street station I ran into something equally invidious. I was suspicious as soon as I entered the station and noted that there were lots of people standing around looking gormless; it took a while to realise that actually that was the point.

Now, all my previous objections to this sort of thing apply, but even moreso here as I was in a really cheerful mood before I came across these people, and was left with an urge to go on a murderous rampage in the matter of seconds that it took me to walk past them. Watching that video has my hackles rising again; honestly, B., when that bloke at the end claims that this is 'art' I want to beat his face in with something blunt and heavy. I'm no philistine, B., I'm open to all sorts of ideas and notions, but there is no way that standing around a station getting in the way of people who want to go home before you fuck off back to Shoreditch can be classified as 'art'.

So, what I'm asking, B., is that you do something about it. Maybe you could get some of those people who drive huge polluting cars about the place who turned out for you en masse and get them to drive over them, so that if they're going to choke us to death they may as well do something worthwhile while they're at it. Or something like that, I don't know. I'm not the one with the large political party telling me what to do.

Yours etc,
M.S, BSoI, TAoF, TUoNG (Hons)