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The letter that was never supposed to be read

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The Letter that was never supposed to be read Usually, a man in my position would retire to a small secluded village and spend the rest of his days there; somewhere where he would no longer be hounded by the English press. And this, in normal circumstances, to be honest, would be perfect but what does someone like me do when they only have weeks to live? You see, I have worked in parliament since I became a young adult and have had privileged knowledge of every backhanded, behind the scenes, agreement of my generation. So what do I do? Do I continue to keep this information secret and take this knowledge to my grave or do I go out with a bang rather than a whimper and let the people of England truly understand how their country is mismanaged. From the beginning of my career in politics I was privileged enough to work with the prime minister. In fact it was not long before I was known as his right hand man. ...read more.


Now that would never do in a society where a "caring" image is so important. Suddenly I found myself in front of the P.M. and without any ceremony he presented me with a card clearly bought and written by his P.A. whilst awkwardly informing me I would be leaving within the hour. A bottle of bubbly, a basket of fruit and a bunch of flowers were waiting for me in the outer office. The P.M's farewell was a half hearted hug, a pat on the back directing me to the door where he winked and whispered, "I know I can rely on your discretion in all matters!" A quick glance at his watch and I found myself of the door. Before I could even order my thoughts, his P.A. had thrust my leaving presents in to my arms and, with no genuine affection, she directed me to exit by the right hand door where I was supposed to speak to a specially chosen group of reporters. ...read more.


Firstly the P.M. had been "unavailable for comment" and secondly "a source close to the P.M." had said my position would "no longer exist in the new government structure". Again I wondered how twenty seven years of unquestionably loyal service could be reduced to one column inch. I slowly buttered my toast but only chewed one mouthful before I had made my decision. I may only have a short time to live but I also have no relatives who would have to bare the consequences of any action I might take. Suddenly I wanted the world to know exactly what I had done for this country; warts and all. I would not go out with a whimper but with a bang. Now, each day, I take my breakfast in a small fishing village, overlooking the blue Mediterranean Sea. The waiter brings me a selection of the English papers and I read with vast pleasure the daily headlines. Today they announced that the P.M's days are numbered and so with some sense of satisfaction I feel I can rest in peace, excuse the pun again, as everyone will get their just deserts back in the cold corridors of Westminster. ...read more.

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