It had been a long day. And he was really looking forward to putting his feet up, having a glass of red wine and perhaps forcing some of his imprisoned migrants to fight to the death.
As the car pulled up to his house, he gave a sigh of relief- the driver had not attempted to make smalltalk with him the entire journey. After a day of doing nothing but pressing flesh with the great unwashed and pretending to care, the last thing he wanted to do was speculate on who might win the football that was presumably on this weekend as it is interminably wont to be.
After forcing what would hopefully be his last smile of day onto his face, he crossed the threshold of his house greeted by his slavemen and women in what he assumed was the highlight of their day and summarily dismissed them all, instead turning his attention towards the basement.
Upon entering and being presented with a passably decent glass of wine and two of his best fighting illegals, he could relax. It was a sad reflection on the state of the country when the only way he felt at ease was in his heavily guarded basement, glugging the most expensive wines he could source and watching one naked, sweating foreigner choke the life out of another one for the chance of a better future for his children. But such is life.
He drank, men fought, men died, he slept.
In the morning, head pounding and face caked in the blood of the poor he awoke. He had a dim memory of a meeting he had arranged for this morning. Clearly he had been in a better mood then than now. But, his people needed him. So he cleansed himself, dressed and headed outside to address the nation.
“For too long, we have been a passively tolerant society, saying to our citizens ‘as long as you obey the law, we will leave you alone’,” he began..
~ Tristan Rees-Davies, 2015