Pam-Ella Cowerland’s rise in British politics was neither starting in its success nor predictability. She conformed to exactly perfect ethnic and professional specifications make her the ideal candidate to represent a particularly vociferous segment of the bruised and tainted orange still known rather poignantly as the Unionist and Conservative party. A young lady of a mere forty-four years of age, Pam-Ella studied a and qualified as a barrister and Queens Council, specializing in the vagaries of European law and its continuing effects on the United Kingdom’s political and commercial development. She was a natural shoe in to the current political landscape, particularly with her very old school beliefs about the diminishing state of British independence and sovereignty.
Her rise through the hierarchy of the Tory party has very mush followed the guidelines of another verbose inclined individual who had successfully managed to finagle himself into almost total control of the hearts of souls of his colleagues and doting electors.
Colonel Fergus Lothly has absolutely no doubts that the carefully orchestrated terrorism attack on the Kent refugee center was a executed by some clandestine ancillary of right wing fraternity. Fascists were all too fond of lashing out violently when their aims and desires are met with disdain and disinterest from the general population. Sure, the east of England was rife with very vocal proponents of all kinds of unsavory policies, but the will to take action was thankfully wholly missing. Much talk and little action, the atypical usual sitting room perpetrators abounded in almost every local nook and cranny. Pam-Ella Cowerland, the current Home Secretary, had yet to understand that there was a considerable difference between spouting fighting words and resultant bloody noses.
“We cannot afford to have our great nations reputation tarnished with casual gossip and rumors about the real intentions of the leap forward we are finally permitted since our release to the chains binding our limbs quite unfairly through the animosity of an interfering and jealous European community.”
The Home Secretary was very fond of turning quite unwieldy sentences consisting of meaningless jumble into catchy crowd appeasing rhetoric. Fergus Lothly simply smiled and nodded abstractly. He had listened to far too many impassioned diatribes in his time to be overly moved by such a poorly considered mess of arbitrary language.
He has witnessed the great orators of the age, marveled how they could mold words and phrases successfully into slogans and semi meaningful arguments to motivate the most diffident bystanders into forceful supporters and perpetrators of alternative thinking and change. The Enoch Powell’s of this nation had in their time come close to raising his conscience to consider some form of action, but only close, never enough to cross the line that clearly marks the boundary between however heated a general discussion may be and the actual commitment to indulge in any physical activity in opposition to rightful and acceptable practices laid down by goodness and long-term sensibility.
Lothly needed desperately to speak to Fennel.