Has anyone ever wondered what it would be like to be Prime Minister? I’m sure Theresa May could tell us a thing or two about it. Or David Cameron for that matter. And I know for a fact that our good friend Winston Churchill has done so in the odd book or two he wrote during his days.
I was just sitting here publishing another poem when I thought I may have neglected those who like to hear and read a little bit of prose from time to time. As I sit here far, far away, in the South-Eastern waterways of Queensland, Down Under, on Australia Day, our national holiday, my thoughts go to Theresa May, who may think she hasn’t a friend in the world.
Now I’m not saying: ‘Good on you Theresa. Way to go. Keep up the good work’. I’m merely saying the role of leader of the nation must be one of the hardest roles of all.
I’ve seen many a Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister episode in my time, but, oh, if only it were that easy. Sure, Sir Humphrey probably won out for himself and his beloved civil service more often than not, and our delightfully likeable Minister and Prime Minister may well have come across as somewhat obtuse, but nevertheless, he was a somewhat happy chap with a pleasant nature and I’m sure, upon retirement, a very healthy retirement package (counting the dollars and ‘sense’, so to speak).
Mrs. May will likely be in the same boat when her time is up and that may well be sooner than she thinks. I just hope the boat she is on is not a sinking ship.
Now all of you in the UK are bound to have a view on Brexit and what a hard border is as opposed to a soft border, whether Jermey Corbyn is waiting in the wings for the Prime Ministership or whether he is just a recycled watermelon, but I’m not here to debate those issues right now.
I simply wanted to put it out there that although they may well be very expensive and uncomfortable high heels, it wouldn’t hurt for us all to take a step back once every so often and put ourselves in Mrs. May’s shoes and consider the depth of responsibility she has on her shoulders. In fact that responsibility is likely to weigh down so deep that it is something of a wonder that Mrs. May is not already osteo-arthritic and in dire need of a walker.
So, on this national holiday that is Australia Day, as my fellow citizens sit back around the barbie on a sweltering hot summer’s day and down the odd ale or three just to stay cool, here’s to you Mrs. May. If we have nothing else to hold on to at least we can hold on to the hope that all will be well in the end.
After all, we must remember the wise words of Simit Patel (or was it John Lennon) in the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel when he said;
“Everything will be alright in the end.
If it is not alright, it is not the end.”
sensualism 