The sight of the coup d'etat unravelling the ACT Party brought to the TV screen of Adolf's mind a near forgotten image from a 1940s propaganda poster. I can't remember whether it was the Nazis or the Soviets. It depicted a small diverse group of civilians, all Caucasian of course, resolutely marching forward against a buffeting gale toward the sun lit hills of their brave new world order, beckoned on invitingly by their aging heroic great leader.
You could just see Roy, Earwig and Tashkent, gazing adoringly at a benignly smiling and inviting Roger Douglas.
They all fitted so well. These vain heroes, blindly striding off to inevitable defeat and death, underpinned by lies, deceit and treachery masquerading as virtue. (I couldn't find the one I remembered but these are pretty close.)
At the same time as these images were crowding in, a couple of wonderful old TV shows started their own little rerun. I found myself watching Dad's Army with a touch of The Last of The Summer Wine. There they all were, rushing around aimlessly, tilting at wills o the wisp and chasing windmills. The only difference of course, was that in the real TV shows, nobody got seriously hurt and there was always a happy ending.
Life and politics is not like that.
And our very own Dad's Army will find that out, come the morning after election day when they wake up and discover they have neither an electorate nor anywhere near five percent.
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