Cherie and I ...
I blew it today; I missed my big chance. Cherie Blair and I were only feet apart -- really! Problem was, I was sat inside a bus, looking through a window trying to see what a kerbside commotion was about. Then, I did see. Cherie Blair was there -- in the middle of it all. If I hadn't been heading to a doctor's appointment, I swear I'd have jumped off that bus at the very next stop.
Just a few hours away from the general election, and here she was; slumming it, back in her old neighbourhood. The neighbourhood she grew up in -- just a five minute walk from my house. The neighbourhood where, this year, the Conservatives have put up a brand new candidate hoping to oust our incumbent Labour MP. An incumbent who's a noted, toadying, can't-see-any-wrong-in-him, Blair-babe. I refer, of course, to the millionaire's-mansion-dwelling, so-called socialist, Ms Claire Curtis-Thomas.
Tony Blair's New Labour party must be worried -- sending their 'First Lady' all the way up here to Merseyside; a world away, from Downing Street. And well they might be. The Tories now have a 'local girl' to fight for our local seat. I should quickly add, I no more want to see her win, than I do Cherie's husband's lackey.
The Conservative's new girl on the block, Debi Jones, is, to coin a phrase, a political virgin; it's her first time standing for parliament. But, she's very well known and well loved around here. She's a long time, local radio show hostess cum home grown celebrity. She's lived in the area with her family, all her life. Her father's well known too; he runs a decent sized local business.
Anyhow, I'd been on the bus only a few minutes when I noticed a considerable gathering of people, up ahead. A traffic mini-gridlock was apparent too; involving a bus heading toward us, that had stopped in the middle of the road to disembark passengers. The bus bay was blocked by a police car and a much bigger, much flashier car. Both, illegally parked and causing considerable chaos.
Our bus driver alerted us first. He's been muttering [ to himself and anyone else listening] about stupid, inconsiderate parkers -- and how he had a timetable to keep to. The usual, British "bloody" coupled with "stupid policemen" was distinctly heard coming from his direction -- several times.
Eventually, we got moving again. "Ha! Look who it is!" he yelled, as we approached the gathered crowd. "It's Cherie Blair!"
Everyone strained to see. " Typical! One rule for them and one rule for the rest of us!" our driver continued. "She'll be helping people get killed here in the middle of the bloody road, next -- as well as in Iraq."
We'd not built up much speed and the driver slowed even more so we all could get a close up view. As we passed Cherie, the whole bus spontaneously burst into animated, discussion[s]. Some of them quickly became fairly heated, as [disappointingly] there seemed as many pro-Blair's as anti-Blair's aboard.
Call me nasty if you like, but I swear that as fast as Tony's Pinoccio-nose grows, so does Cherie's ear-to-ear grinning mouth. Gawd, what a gob that girl's got!
Thinking about it now, some hours later, maybe it's as well we were separated by bus window glass. Had we not been, maybe I'd have said too much. Maybe I'd have ended up taking another ride today; a ride in a police car.
I cheered up a bit, later on at the surgery. The doctor said my latest test result was excellent. Now, if only tomorrow's result is just half as good.