(Friends sitting outside a coffee shop)
“I tell you – we’re idiots.
“Tory this, Labour that. And all the rest of them. Our political parties – they’re not ours. None of them are you and me. They’re the establishment. Them and their banker mates and rich backers and all the other people who stump up their cash.
“You don’t know him but a sort-of-mate of mine works up in Parliament. Has done for years. I’m not going to name him cos you could look him up and he could really get it in the neck. Anyway. As he put it, behind closed doors they’re working it out between themselves.
“You can work out what’s going on. You get the public bitching and slagging each other off and that. But on the quiet, they’re all making sure the boat’s not rocking too much.
“Why? Cos they’d all be in the shit if the boat sank. They need each other something rotten.
“Think about it. Year in year out, Sweet Fanny Adams changes. The window dressing gets tarted up every now and then. And that’s yer lot. A little tarting up to keep everyone happy. Keep everyone quiet more like.
“Voters? You and me?
“We’re the suckers who keep them in their jobs. Believe me, they only care about you and me enough to keep enough of us fooled.
“You know, they say we’ve got professional politicians now. That’s what they say. Professional con-artists more like. Maybe, like, at the low level they’ll be MPs and that who actually believe the party line. But anyone with any clout – they know. They’re in on it – in on the con.”