CSI Clacton - am I being called? Should I stand?

A disturbing night’s sleep driven by a hundred mental and physical demons.

I know part of the problem, of course, is that I’m reading Frank Herbert’s Dune bizarrely for the first time. If you haven’t read it before, I suggest you give it a try. It is extraordinarily convoluted, took ten years (1955-1965) to research and write, and contains a heady mixture of the Quran, the SAS survival guide to desert warfare, and the syllabus for a Master’s at The School of Oriental and African Studies. It is thought-provoking, and Herbert’s prescient analogy for our current troubles is writ large and troubling.

The films are both good - the book is better.

Another problem was that I had made an al fresco supper in the torrid heat, at which I served the worst Tandoori Butter Chicken curry I’ve ever made, likely because I emptied the fridge of all unnecessary vegetables, chopped them finely, and added them to the mix. No amount of chilli, yoghurt, or garlic could fix its complete lack of authenticity or relationship to the Indian subcontinent.

Another source of concern that kept me up was my new role as the antidote to England’s ordinary performance in the FIFA World Cup.

I am like a malevolent djinn, constantly belittling our footballers, which, as a result of Tawhid (like Yin & Yang and the Arabic concept of balance), is countered by the strength of the fans' good djinn - and they win! You see, I told you I had been reading too much Frank Herbert! Just by the by, I don’t feel entirely unjustified in my position, because if your entire team consists of an angry Bavarian coach who has himself declared, “We can do better than that. This is not about mentality; this is about ability; two world-class, goal-scoring forwards and a half-decent goalkeeper, you are still at least eight men plus reserves shy of a capable team!

But you can’t mention England, and its sporting soul at the moment, without thinking of the battle raging for the control of its right-wing epicentre in Clacton-on-Sea.

Strangely, many decades ago, I used to go to the other side of the River Mersea, which borders the north of the constituency, to go racing and sailing catamarans in Brightlingsea. At 16 or so, I was like a Greek Godlet, with all of the hubris and none of the sense and thus bought a C-Class Catamaran into Brightlingsea harbour in a Force 7 under too much sail, went pear-shaped, fell off and got swept out into the North Sea (or almost past Clacton as it is sometimes known), and only survived by floating with the tide to an anchored dredger. I thought I had seen all I needed to see of Clacton, but the Blighted Curry and Dune and my fears for this Sceptred Isle made me think.

Perhaps I should stand! Perhaps I could save the nation. I can think of none who could be any worse than me. I could do with the MP’s salary, and its accompanying pension, and they get a decent discount on hooch in the bar and serve a decent breakfast in the works canteens. Establish a quick reputation, and a comfy red leather seat and an even better wine list might even entice me to the Other Place to better serve His Majesty.

But let’s not rush things. First things, namely my Party.

Nick Boyd - The Common Sense Independent. This creates a wonderful newsworthy acronym - CSI Clacton and lays it open to many analogies using the words criminal, crime scene, forensic examinations… if I thought about it hard enough, I could probably include words like stains, inconclusive, and contaminated. We could even have that broadcaster’s game, where you have to include a phrase like toxic exposure in your hustings speech.

But why would they vote? Because when I come to power, I shall be fighting tooth and nail to remove Inheritance Tax, of guaranteeing the Triple Lock, of removing all University fees from Medicine, Engineering, the Sciences, and Teacher Education. In return for the free education, degree holders must work in the UK for at least 5 years. I shall remove the BBC Licence Fee and all other broadcast and entertainment services must offer a full [package half-price deal for all over 70s. I shall talk of penal battalions cleaning cities and various facilities, which will be at least 200 miles from their last known address. I would hope to introduce the ability to earn your British Citizenship by providing 247 days of voluntary, unpaid service for five years in return for board and lodging, free food, and £50 a week for personal expenditure. These Citizen Volunteers will be tasked initially with removing all potholes within two years. I shall support voluntary euthanasia and introduce a £100k tax-free payment for anyone over the age of 80 wishing to return their mortal coil to maker. Any child who commits a crime will be named regardless of age, and, for serious crimes yet to be decided, the parents will also be deemed contributing factors and therefore liable. For every year you're out of work, you lose two years of pension contributions.

The manifesto is obviously a very preliminary first draft, but I think you can see how it might be received by the good Burghers of Clacton.

I am assured by my potential agent, Hooray Harry, that the way to beat Farage is to appeal to the Common Sense of your people, whose personal needs take precedence over the nation. My leaflet headline is already composed

CSI Clacton, More Right, More Often.

Almost there. Now all I need is £500 and twenty locals who don’t know me…