Loss

I wonder if Gordon Brown dreamt as I dreamt last night, that's assuming he slept at all.

My dream was one of loss, a loss so overpowering that my gut instinct was, on waking, to speak out thereby laying myself open to either re-assurance or ridicule.

I expect Gordon doesn't need to sleep though to be ravaged by such raw rancid emotions. His every waking hour must be taunted by fear. Fear of losing his position and fear of his beloved Party being out of government for a generation.

The sickly long winded chit chats between Cameron and Clegg must have the Prime Minister bent double with frustration and grief not to mention rage. He must wonder how C&C would ever be able to maintain a working relationship given they are diametrically opposed on many issues. Opposites attract so the saying goes but a marriage of convenience never really works. The cracks will begin to appear immediately, probably after their first kiss, and one or both of them will wonder why they ever got hitched in the first place. Power my dears Power. That's why you signed on the dotted line.

Meanwhile Gordon shuffles around in the night like an injured animal, his much wanted sleep interrupted by hazy fading pictures of him in his youth, when ideals shone and his night times were filled with hope.

But now the grizzled Scot is being kicked along like road-kill by a deluge of rejection and, perhaps the most unpalatable sight of all, the excrutiating spectacle of his natural allies, the Lib Dems becoming intoxicated and raped behind a veil of blue.

After this most debilitating spectacle ends I hope that all the leaders sleep well and that none of them dream of loss.
For to spend your night dreaming of loss is to make nightmares of your day...