The King Wants Our Last Potato

Mum is flicking through a posh catalogue of LED lights.

They come in a roll much like sellotape. You can cut off a strip and stick it where you like.

The catalogue shows a kitchen plunged in near darkness, with a blue glow coming from under the cupboards.

“You’d have to stick them around your head to see what you’re doing,” Mum says.

What they’re lacking is a bright, sparkling chandelier – we still make them, but from upstairs.

I’m a Shop Girl without a shop.

As there’s no shop, this blog will have to change.

“You’re not going to start writing a political blog are you,” someone tweeted worriedly. “Because I think you shine more in your other stuff.”

Pity.

I’m excited by the buzz of people coming together in solidarity.

It gives me hope after last week’s The Apprentice where Lord Sugar showed his approval for the ‘tiger’ Melody.

She ‘eats them up and spits them out,’ he said, (‘them’ being her fellow colleagues), ‘that’s why I like her’.

It’s a value system that will be difficult to change.

A new democracy would require us to evolve into nobler human beings.

Lord Sugar...How very feudal it sounds.

Our democracy has a feudal air to it too.

We have ‘Lords’ that rake money in to feed a gambling habit.

They win a lot, then suddenly lose a lot.

The ‘King’ needs their support and approval, so to keep them happy he makes sure the peasants get their wages cut and hand over whatever’s left. He doesn’t spare the old peasants either, who are already living on one turnip a week.

The peasants hand over their last potato.

But the Lords whine and say it’s not enough. They are accustomed to at least one million gold-plated vegetables and can’t stomach the idea of less.

The King asks for more.

The peasants hand in the mud that clung to their last potato.

A few Lord’s increase their salary because of the stress. They toss and turn on their 100% Egyptian Cotton bedspreads and worry they’ll have to postpone the purchase of another golden goose.

The King asks for more.

The peasants are high on hunger and indignation. They gather together and sing peaceful protest songs.

The King doesn’t listen.

“If they don’t have bread. Let them eat tiramisu,” the queen says.

The peasants throw rocks and are hanged for treason.

And meanwhile, the King declares war after war on any country that doesn’t copy his own, and watches everyone kill each other, while making millions through corruption and an autobiography.

But I digress.

This is obviously not a political blog.

I am just an intrigued Shop Girl.

Come the revolution I’ll be pinning crystal beads together.