Blood sweat etc

Nineteen sixty-five was a bad year for this globe trotting Kiwi. I was in Europe investigating
whether or not I should become a professional assassin, but unfortunately I couldn't shoot
straight, so that was the end of that road to infamy. Mind you, if looks could kill, I've killed
many times over. It's not easy being incredibly handsome in a world of ugly ducklings.

It was the 24th January and I was sitting in The Beacon lounge bar in Dagenham listening to
Sandy Shore tapping her bare feet on the carpet when the huge 16 inch black and white TV (no colour in those days) announced the death of Sir Winston Churchill. Winston had been the First Lord of the Admiralty when he arranged for the mass slaughter of New Zealand and Australian (ANZAC) troops at Gallipoli in 1915. He was again promoted to First Lord of the Admiralty at the start of World War Two, then he became Prime Minister of Blood sweat and tears and other patriotic phrases that led a nation of 60 million to kick Adolf Hitler's arse in 1945.

Being unpatriotic I decided to attend his lying in state (whatever that was) in Buckminster
Cathedral, mainly so I could wave goodbye to a national hero in a politically acceptable manner. Believe me, standing a queue several miles long and shuffling forward extremely slowly tested my unpatriotism to the limit of the unpatriotic testing available in the days when Japanese cars were a new invention. God it was boring and I was dying for a piss!

Relying on the optimistic assumption that all good things come to an end, I dutifully arrive at the open coffin parked on a couple of cake stall trestles covered with a Union Jack. Sir Winston was grumpy-faced and his chest covered with various medals dished out by his political allies seeking favours from Britain's most infamous hero. I've never seen anybody looking so miserable. Poor Winnie, I almost felt sorry for him.

As I stood with my head bowed in traditional respect for bowed heads, a miracle happened.
Winnie's face broke into a smile, he lifted his hand and pointed at me. At this point the rest of
the world disappeared.
     "I've being waiting for you. I knew you'd come to see me off."
     "Not a problem, mate" I didn't really know what to say. I mean, what does one say to
dead man who says I've come to see him off?
     "Yep, it was written in the breeze that you'd come. My last brandy session mentioned you
as the best come to see me off person possible in these unenlightened times. Now I'm going to tell you something, but you must promise not to make it public until 2011, that's forty-six years from now. You promise me?"
     "Not a problem, mate." What else could I say to a dead man?
     Winnie cleared his throat. "Ahem." He stabbed his finger for political emphasis. "Never
before in the history of mankind." Then his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember where he'd heard those words before. 'Ahem. Never before in the history of mankind, has a bureaucrat gone down in history as having done anything beneficial to those forced by law to pay his wages. Amen! Well, what do you think of that?"
     "That would be about right, mate. But when you were a bureaucrat, why didn't you do
something about it?"
     Winnie shook his head displeasingly. "I tried, but the politicians kept interfering with the
bureaucratic system. It wasn't my fault."
     "Hmmm, that's strange. But what about when you became Prime Minister, you could
have changed things? And also, if Hitler had won the war you could have been charged with crimes against humanity. You bombed innocent civilians."
     "Yes, that's true. But both sides did that but the bureaucrats kept going off on their own
agenda. They regarded it as their civil service right to ignore my brandy inspired inspirations. They didn't have the courage to break hundreds of years of traditional traditions."
     "Hmmm, that seems strange. When you were a bureaucrat, you blamed the politicians,
and when you were a politician, you blamed the bureaucrats. What about the people you
allegedly represented?"
     "Don't be daft, the common people don't count. They never have done. It's the system
that matters most. The system comes first, always has. That's what power is all about. The
system, the system, the system."
     "Oh well, I guess you're right, mate. Mind you, I've never seen a politician or bureaucrat
who didn't presume he was right 100% of the time."
     Winnie smiled. "You'd be correct. It's the way the system works. I knew you were the
right person because of your attitude to convention. Mind you, it's a bit chilly with that damn
church door open. You don't happen to have a cigar, do you?"
     "No, mate. Sorry but I don't think you're going to freeze to death. You're already dead.
     Winnie grinned sheepishly. "While I think of it, here's another piece of made-up truth.
You sure you haven't got a cigar?" He looked desperate for a puff.
     "Sorry, mate. No can do. I from an minor-league colony and cigars are regarded as
politically unacceptable for the common herd." I hoped he wasn't going have another 'Ahem, Never before,' session.
     "Ahem."
     Oh no I thought, raising my eyes to the heavens for moral support.
     "Ahem." His eyes glared at me with political intensification. "In the last hundred years
alone, politics and religion have killed more people than a million years of smoking ever will." His eyes glazed as he nodded goodbye. "See you next time round, young fellow."

Then with a snap of a finger the fantasy world returned and I moved away from the coffin
housing Sir Winston Churchill. Then nature stepped in and I rushed to the bog. It was wonderful flushing the Winnie the Poo's philosophies down the loo. I will never surrender my out of date virginity and so on.