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Moth's Graphics & Test Thread

Sad to see you leave.You are genuinely one of the best writers on this site.Hope this isn’t goodbye forever.If it is,thanks for the memories.
Take care.Hope you have a nice life.
 
Sorry to see you go, I will at some point finish reading supermassive (are you epublishing it, might be easier in one go)
 
moth said:
Yeah so anyway, I'm posting this here because I feel it's the most appropriate place to do so. Back in December I said I was going to wait until I had finished A Piece of Work to decide if I wanted to continue writing on this site. My reasons were that I found the site simply wasn't a constructive place to put writing on, and that I was tired of the how it had increasingly become dominated by The Pub, more a political discussion community with a creative writing forum stapled to it. I can say now, after a great deal of thought, that I don't intend to continue writing on the site. I don't feel like I'm getting much of anything out of it, and I don't really see my mind changing on that.

In more terse terms, I'm also leaving the site, so consider this a goodbye message. I've been sitting on this since just after Christmas when I received a PM from the Admin, one that while was in part a normal disciplinary message, felt that it went overboard and compelled to reassess not just if I will continue writing here, but also my membership. Well, frankly, in the last three months, I've found no reason to keep using the site, just more to leave. So that's that, I guess. And if the site is going to just be The Pub with additional bits for writing, then I have no desire to remain despite all that.

So goodbye.
Click to expand...
Sorry to see you go. Hope you return.
 
Like Juan, only just seen this. I'm very sorry to hear about this. I hope that one day you will feel comfortable to return. Until then, we'll always have twitter.
 
Moth's still on break but wanted to share this draft they've been working on; they wrote it during the summer, and understandably the general election killed a lot of motivation, but they still wanted to share it. So I've been asked to post it here for your perusal. Enjoy.

DECLINE, THEN FALL
George MacFarlane, Southsea Polytechnic

Chapter One: May 3rd, 2001
​
The outcome of the 2001 General Election was not exactly expected. Indeed, it would be considerably safe to call it one of the biggest upsets in recent history. The expected conclusion of a decade long narrative, that being the irreversible decline of the National Programme Association in favour for for irresistible rise of the Labour & Cooperative Party, and its potential replacement as the opposition by the Liberal Alliance, was the resounding reelection of Prime Minister Brian Davies, a deafening vote of confidence in his “way way of doing things”, and in the LCP’s progressive social and social democratic economic policies. With only a few losses. Davies entered the election supremely confident in his chances of reelection and that there would only be a few losses on this road to a second term. In a moment that now defines the sudden end of his political career, tell reports at his Port Talbot polling station that he was expecting to return to the black portal of Number 10 with a “handsome, if slightly pruned, majority”.

Davies confidence and indeed complacency is understandable when looked upon contextually. Since the 1996 election that had swept the NPA out of power after a long decade, the LCP governed with a majority of over one-hundred seats. Although there was some erosion over the course of the Parliament, such as in Glasgow Kelvin and the Borough of Ipswich, the LCP majority seemed as solid as Gibraltar Rock. Indeed, polling positioned the LCP at ~15 percentage points ahead of the NPA for the bulk of the campaign, where Davies seemed the only party leader hurtling towards polling day with net positive leadership ratings. For the LCP, there seemed to be no great national crisis to contend with; no existential threat that required a change of Government. The millennium had come and gone, and now Britain appeared to be lumbering towards a new era, one of socialist affluence, of the political hegemony of the LCP, and a renewed peace following the messy conclusion of the Cold War. For what is the absence of war if not peace?

It was a damp morning in early May. Hardly what one would call a good day for an election. Steaming in their millions to and from their polling stations, from St Ives to John O’Groats, from Isle Thanet to Ynys Môn, huddled under umbrellas and necks nuzzled in jacket collars, for fifteen hours Britain cast twenty-five million ballots. A painful loss of ten million from only five years previous. Such voting turnouts would give any incumbent cause for relief, and despite the warning signs of groundswell that came in during the final days, it was expected that, after a two-month slog, opposition voters were so depressed they simply wouldn’t bother to turn out. So confident was the LCP that Chancellor McIvere told The Times: “No Government has ever lost reelection on a gloomy day.”

For the Leader of the Opposition, Claire Montgomery, the weather felt like a funeral shroud on her leadership. Despite what was by all accounts a ‘throw in the kitchen sink’ of a campaign, the forty-six year old Lancastrian was facing the brick wall of the electorate at terminal velocity with no chances of decelerating. Leadership of the NPA must have felt something of a poisoned chalice. Only five years earlier, the NPA Government, whittled into a minority by defections and by-election hammerings, had been swept away after their two dismal terms in office, slumping from 319 to 257 seats. Initially the problem was seen as generational: so Claire Montgomery was chosen, a shot of young blood into the rigid body of the NPA who shredded the average age of the Leadership by a quarter of a century. Flanked by her Cambridge contemporary, Chairman Burt Stone, and ideological partner, the Shadow Chancellor Sir John Kay, this troika seemed well placed to reforge the NPA in the white heat of the 21st century.

But as the years dragged on and millennium’s eve came and went, it was hard to see how they had improved the party. Of course, attempts at change had come: obsessively Stone had focused the NPA’s energy on University students and those taking O Levels, on young families and the middle class, on small business owners and landlords and their tenants. While Stone obsessed over creating a new coalition, there was no true cohesion, with his efforts failing to reap dividends in the European Senatorial elections of 1999. The first major blow to Moderniser Montgomery’s leadership was struck. Stone’s defence was, in retrospect, fair: given the upheaval he was dedicated to push through at the local level and with the rapid modernisation of the party apparatus, as well as the still raw feelings towards the party over it’s last stint in Government, what else could be expected? Some headway had been made, of course, but where the NPA wanted from this troika a great leap forward, all Stone, and thus Montgomery, could offer them for the meantime was a steady shuffle forth.

As 2001 approached, a steady shuffle was simply not enough. Although outwardly, she walked with confidence, spoke with optimism, and campaigned as the best of them, Montgomery had her fingers on the pulse of the country and knew she would not win. And the NPA has their fingers beside her’s. Instead, it would be a question of how much she would lose by: her personal hope was to gain thirty seats, slash the majority in half, and put the party in a better position to fight the next election while being able to justify hanging on. However as the campaign wore on, this was revised first to twenty, then ten, and then to just hold or have a net steady. Polls failed to fluctuate, no matter how many impromptu speeches she made from upturned fruit crates (soap boxes were not available), or how far she travelled, sweeping the country up and down at least thrice during the course of the campaign, or to what extent she was willing to humiliate herself by appearing on the cuddle-couch network to be ridiculed by B-List celebrities. Although many of the pre-written obituaries that the press had churned out during the dying days of the campaign for immediate posting on the Friday, once the scale of the NPA’s defeat was known, praised her for her strength of will and character, most would declare that she lost simply because there was no desire for another change in Government.

Montgomery’s constituency of Breckland was not a marginal, indeed it was among several East Anglian divisions which could have had votes weighed rather than counted. This meant Breckland would be one of the earliest declarations of the night, and thus she could count on getting several good cat-naps in before going to the press and party the next morning. In secret, senior party colleagues had spent several weeks deciding what would happen, and came to the decision that Antony Welsh, the Shadow Home Secretary and Deputy Chairman of the NPA, would take over the leadership on an interim basis until a new Leadership election could be held, with a special knife for Stone prepared in the form of a dossiers detailing certain financial irregularities. Anticipating the scale of the defeat in the morning, a messenger arrived shortly after Montgomery and her Good Morning team had their breakfast of cold pizza and hot coffee: John Poole, the NPA’s Prospective Parliamentary Candidate for Norwich South. A no-hoper candidate if there ever was one, Poole arrived to hand her the warrant of execution, apologetic the whole time. Over an anaemic slice of the previous nights broccoli and spinach, Mongtgomery hesitantly agreed that once the result was certain, she would go quietly to the scaffold of the press pit.

Montgomery spent the rest of the day in her constituency, outwardly confident that the NPA could swing it, but internally already trying to think of what soundbite would look best when the news would play her resignation. The final canvassing data seemed good, even by Breckland standards, although this was dismissed as simply a result of some last minute support from the local Farmers League. As she retreated to a campaign van and started making her calls nationally, every constituency seemed to bring good tidings, although many were hesitant to say anything more solid least they look foolish before the Leader and put her hopes up. She was trying to sell with all she could, but it seemed like no one was buying. Best not to imply there was a market, let alone customers.

Joined by her Agent and some party activists, the drive from Swaffham to Thetford would be a relatively quick half hour, but would coincide with the exit poll. As her Agent took the wheel and some campaigners braced for the worst, Montgomery listened, the five listening to BBC’s radio broadcast as windscreen wipers fought valiantly against the rain.

Across the country, from the comfort of Port Talbot, Davies was beaming. Sat with his family and friends and party colleagues around his television, absolutely positive that his decision to not call the movers would not be viewed as hubristic, a bottle of champagne was prepared, and the room fell quiet, except for the sound of the rain.

And then the polls closed.

And the BBC aired its exit poll.

No one quite believed what they heard. Surely there must have been some mistake? Some strange happenstance at the BBC which led them to read out the numbers the wrong way around? But there was no mistake. The narrative’s climax had very suddenly ended in a twist. In Port Talbot, Davies simply rose from his seat and turned off his television set. On the road passing Northwold, Montgomery’s Agent had to stop the car lest she drive it off the road in shock. And in London, political secretaries and civil servants now started scurrying over one another to implement the lackadaisical procedures they had planned for the very unlikely event of a change in Government. Almost immediately, Montgomery’s phone exploded, but friends and family were too shocked to call. Instead the sycophants and weasels who had spent the last five years undermining her were squirming their way down the line, offering only kind words and sweet phrases in the hope of smoothing the cracks with the new Prime Minister and getting coveted Cabinet postings.


So what happened? It was a question that now danced on the lips of every pollster worth their salt, and every politico and member of the chattering class who had spent a campaign writing their cash-in books and articles of how the NPA lost it. The most embarrassed would answer the question of what happened with a blunt: “the NPA won”. Those who didn’t feel a suffocating amount of egg on their face gave rashamons of examples, although generally the strongest cases made were that many were simply disenchanted with the LCPs style of Governing, or rather had become as complacent as the LCP in a reelection. To put it another way, the supporters of the Government simply didn’t turn out, while many undecided voters found themselves entering the ballot box and, deciding that the LCP had pretty much won it, voted the NPA because in their eyes “it didn’t matter”. Indeed, John Poole was able to gain Norwich South seat on a slender majority, with an impressive 20 point swing, but a technical loss of raw votes. The LCP seemed to have failed to turn out its voters.

More complicated answers can be found in the demographics of the seats that the NPA majority cascaded over, many of which were county constituencies where economic concern at the LCP’s proposed Agriculture (Free Trade) Act ruled king at the pub table, but went unaddressed in the London press, and university seats or districts with high student populations where the planned introduction of tuition fees was a toxic shock and the NPA’s promise of a subsidised education (in STEM subjects) was tantalising, and suburbs where housewives who felt that the LCP did little on the bread and butter issues such as immigration and swallowed the NPA’s threats that the AFTA would lead to inflation of common goods where the LCP would do little to keep prices down, although some note that many were just looking for an excuse to not vote for the LCP. At the end of it, the soft support that the LCP had enjoyed melted like butter in a hot pan, and at the last moment the great undecided masses had made up their mind.

Arriving at the counting hall in Swaffham, there could not have been a more buoyant celebration for the presumed Prime Minister. Hunching over the television in the make-shift green room of the gymnasiums locker room, Montgomery and her team watched as result after result poured in. They cheered when Marcus McMillan, the alliterative Environment Secretary, was beaten in Portsmouth Southsea. They gasped when Dennis Atkinson, the walking-talking embodiment of trade union chauvinism had his previously insurmountable personal majority in Sheffield Rivelin wiped out. They sat in stunned silence as John Dance, the tough talking populist Home Secretary, was ousted in Manchester Mayfield. Indeed, Dance’s defeat came as such a shock that Montgomery would later recall that one of her campaigners was physically sick, while the defeat of LCP Whip Agnes Templeman in Glasgow Clydesbank was met with a frenzied elation. The celebrations would only stop at 4am when it was time for Montgomery to stagger to the stage and the NPA crossed the 330 seat mark for a qualified majority.

At the end of it, the NPA crashed home with 353 seats, 4 shy of a full 100 seat gain, while the LCP shuddered back with 265, a loss of 115. The 7 Irish Nationalists remained as steady as a cliff-face. The Alliance doubled from 15 to 32, not quite a full rebound, and mostly at the benefit of the LCPs collapse along Lab-Lib marginals, but a successful night nonetheless. Two Welsh Nationalist MP were also elected, notably belonging to two separate parties: Plaid Cymru, the centre-right Welsh-language party who won Caernarfon, and Ifanc Cymru, a centre-left Welsh devolutionist-cum-secessionist party who won Ceredigion.

Taking flight, Montgomery arrived at her London retreat in Hampstead Heath shortly before 7am, having not passed through a single LCP constituency on the road until she reached Haringey East, taking calls from the sycophants, and later family NPA officials the whole way. The scale of her victory perhaps did not set in until she closed her door behind her amidst the flashgun assault of the press; for the few minutes she would be alone, in the pale veil of the morning, her elation evaporated. Montgomery had not slept for nearly 30 hours, and exhausted, tired, sobering, and sapped of energy, the weight of reality overwhelmed the new Prime Minister and she had a panic attack.

Moments of vulnerability can be expected, and even the strongest steel can be expected to take a proverbial shillelagh under such conditions. Indeed, Montgomery’s panic attack would have- and should have- been forgotten as a detail of history, a blurry note within that vague period between her victory and ascension. Had her agent, who was at that moment cajoling the press, walked through the door, then perhaps it would have been relegated to the memoir. Had it been one of the young campaigners and activists, sent in to check on her, then it could have been quietly smothered of significance. Even had Chairman Stone been the one to arrive, it would have been fine. But instead it was Sir John Kay who came in, desperate to both congratulate his Leader and to discuss the question of Cabinet formation, who walked in.

More than any member of the Shadow Cabinet, where Sir John walked, others cowered in fear. The Birmingham-born MP for Aldershot was something of a curiously; born and raised in slum housing described by the then Housing Minister Walter Keithland as “unfit for human occupation”, unlike his Oxbridge and LSE educated colleagues, Sir John did not go to university, instead leaving school with O levels and becoming active in his local NPA branch while working as a bus driver. Nicknamed the ‘National Conductor’ in later years (although never to his face), the braver members of the chattering class who enjoyed some amateur psychoanalysis would pin much of Sir John’s manoeuvring down to this background, assuming he was spurred by both an intellectual insecurity and class anxiety, fearful of being another Lloyd George and tossed aside as some upstart by those whose parents could afford to pay their fees. While there is something distasteful to assume a man like Sir John was insecure of his abilities, there is no denying that his background informed his ideology. Behind steel rimmed glasses and a fleshy face was the sharp mind of a dogmatic apparatchik, a self-proclaimed Tory who rejected laissez faire capitalism as Whiggish, rather embracing French dirigisme and Chamberlain municipal socialism as alternatives that could, as he would justify at a raucous Party Conference of 1995 following his selection as Chief Advisor to the Treasury, deliver a second age of affluence in which no one would be left behind.

In Montgomery, he found an ideological partner who could help him deliver this. Although the notion that Sir John was inherently insecure is distasteful, it must be said that the rest of the Shadow Cabinet was hardly able to let him forget where he came from, and what he did not have that they did. To an extent, it can be said that he despised the Oxbridge educated around him, viewing them as not knowing what the true hardships that people faced were, who supported laissez faire and monetarist policies because of their bourgeoisie and gentry backgrounds. They were ignorant; they were soft; they were weak. In Montgomery, Sir John believed that he had found someone who knew what hardships the nation had to endure, and was strong enough to carry the country with him. Their partnership was built on this, a sense of mutual respect and needed strength, and when Sir John found Montgomery in the midst of this private panic attack, the foundations of this relationship cracked.


Davies declined to call Montgomery, instead choosing the sulk. Chartering a flight from Swansea Airport to City, the flight over was a miserable one. Bringing with him a shell-shocked platoon of MPs, advisors, and assistants, no one spoke except for those who were fielding calls to movers for Number 10 and the Government Offices, and from MPs across the country wanting to talk to Davies, who was emphatically not taking calls. Like Montgomery, the sheer scale of what had happened weighed heavily on the Welshman. Such a defeat, after so many months of being assured comfortable reelection, was like a sledgehammer to his soul. In his memoir, Davies recalled that “I had not felt the same since mother died; it was as if someone had just torn the very core of my being out of me, and when this someone was the public who had embraced me with enthusiasm only five years earlier and showed no sign of this enthusiasm wavering, it was immensely difficult to not take it personally.”

Whatever Davies’ plan was to be when he landed at City Airport- likely to travel to Transport House and survey his lost majority- was dashed upon landing at City around 10am. The Prime Ministerial car was waiting to take him away. The final seat had called moments earlier, this being Wansbeck, an Alliance gain from LCP, and now the Palace wished to make the transition of power. At this time, the Palace would also call Montgomery, ready to receive her once the formality of Davies’ resignation had occurred. Woken from a deep and well earned sleep around ten and hurriedly scoffing down a late breakfast/early lunch of coffee and croissants, Montgomery left her London retreat and boarded one of the Palaces black jaguars. Snaking around Regents and Hyde Park, due to traffic it was decided that they should approach the Palace via Constitution Park, rather than The Mall. This caused some confusion, and with Montgomery’s otherwise reclusiveness since the exit poll, the more left-wing and hard-right presses accused her of becoming Prime Minister through the backdoor, although many, including the Guardian, which had suddenly pivoted to supporting the NPA without so much as an acknowledgement of its previous hardline support for the LCP, declared it a “magnificent breaking of protocol and tradition that embodies that attitude of Britain’s first woman Prime Minister”.

The Queen’s reception of Montgomery was brief, cordial, and businesslike. The invitation to form the Government was extended, and Montgomery accepted. During the audience, the Queen would not fail to note the several significances of Montgomery’s ascension; that Montgomery was her fourth Premier, the first of the twenty first century, the first to have succeeded a working majority with a working majority since 1906, the first to have gone to Cambridge since Baldwin and the youngest since Lord Rosebury, and only the second to hold the position while divorced (the first being the Duke of Grafton some 230 years period; Montgomery had amicably divorced in 1978). And of course, she was the first woman to hold the post. When asked by Her Majesty: “How does one feel to be a woman Prime Minister?”, Montgomery reportedly replied: “I don’t know- I’ve never experienced the alternative.” Afterwards she would note that Queen Charlotte was deeply encouraging and courteous, doing well to “hide any surprise she may have had receiving me”. Although according to a later rumour, the Queen was not so much hiding surprise as she was hiding a petty disappointment; having become accustomed to her weekly meetings with Davies, she had planned, as a private token of congratulations, a quick luncheon of Welsh rarebit to mark the reappointment, having gained a taste for it during her years as the Princess of Wales. It would have seemed somewhat strange on her part to offer a Lancastrian-cum-Norfolkian a staple food of the southern Welsh valleys, and so no food was served.

With the formality of kissing the hand and first audience accomplished, Montgomery was escorted to a new car, the Prime Ministerial car which had recently been occupied by Davies, who had now been whisked away in the car that brought Montgomery in. As she was driven out of the gates to the salute of the guards, Montgomery noted that the throngs of well-wishers, supporters, sightseers, and press crews lined the Mall, and if not for her police escort, it would have been unlikely that Montgomery would have been able to get through the mass of bodies. A crowd was waiting for her at Downing Street, spilling out into Whitehall, huddled masses that cheered and applauded the new Prime Minister as her car pulled into the narrow street and approached the black portal of Number 10. An infection of enthusiasm had seemed to grip central London, and the mystic surrounding their surprise new leader only seemed to fuel the fires of interest. Better weather could not have been asked for, where beneath clear blue skies and a slight warmth contributed to the energy of the air, a sense of cautious excitement.

The car pulled up to Number 10, and set upon by press, Montgomery prepared to make her first official statement. Alone in the back of the car, she had only herself to bounce around her words. Of course, we should not read too much into the first words of any premiership, as very rarely do they give any indication as to how a Premier may Govern. Graham Chichester promised a “nation to lead the world into the glory of the next millennium”, only to spend two terms dithering and managing Britain’s decline on the world stage. Brian Davies opened his speech with a facetious paraquote, declaring boisterously that: “Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by a son of Neath”, only to later be defeated by a Lancastrian.

As she stepped out and was rushed with the cameras of the world upon her, for a moment it looked as if Montgomery wouldn’t say anything at all, instead walking quickly the opened door of Number 10 with her police escort. But instead, on the doorstep, she turned and surveying the crowd, declaring that she had been invited to form a Government, and that, having accepted the invitation, proclaimed: “To Govern is to serve, and to be Prime Minister is to be a servant of the people, for all people, for the whole of Britain. This Government shall strive to serve this nation. To work towards national unity. To strive for economic and social reconciliation. To bring an end to strife, to ignorance, and to want however it may manifest. To build a better Britain; to build a better tomorrow.” With a courteous smile, and what must have felt like a strange mix of confidence and uncertainty, this servant of the people stepped through the door of Number 10. Stepped over the threshold as so many had done before her. Stepped into power.
 
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DECLINE, THEN FALL
George MacFarlane, Southsea Polytechnic

Chapter Two: Year One
​
On September 21st, 1792, on its first full day in office and on the heels of the abolition of the monarchy, the revolutionary convention nationale of France decreed that the following day would, to signify the final sweeping away of poisoned vestiges of the Ancien Régime, be France’s ‘Year One’. September 22nd, or rather the Vendémiaire 1st, would be the first day of the First Republic of France. Almost a century and a half earlier in 1649, on May 19th, the Long Parliament- following a political purge by the army, naturally- declared Commonwealth, sweeping away, if only for a couple of decades, the lingering vestiges of Britain’s own Ancien Régime. This Year One did not come with a new calendar.

On Floréal 15th, 214- or May 4th, 2001- Claire Montgomery stepped into Number 10 to begin her Year One. Ushered over the threshold of power by Arthur Wilson, Principal Private Secretary to the Prime Minister, there were two things that he instructed the new Prime Minister must do. The first was to greet the staff of Number 10 who had come to welcome her. The traditional purpose of this quaint ceremony was to ensure that those working within the building would recognise their new Boss, although with the advent of television, the ceremony remained as an archaic throw-back of sorts, a pleasantry to be enjoyed by the victor surveying their spoils. On this occasion, it served as a reality check for the staff themselves, many of whom simply did not believe that Montgomery had won, standing to attention either with a forced smile or with blank bewilderment at the unexpected change of management. Wilson himself was entirely uneasy about the new mistress of the manor, although by all accounts remained professional and discreet.

The second thing that the new Prime Minister had to attend to was much less quaint and certainly not pleasant. Following her welcoming, Montgomery was swiftly seized by Sir George Stevenson, the Cabinet Secretary, from the Entrance Hall and brought down the central corridor and through the antechamber into the Cabinet Room. Inside was General Sir Matthew Plumb, Chief of the Defence Staff. Sat down at the coffin shaped table, Montgomery set about the first duty of any new Prime Minister: her letter of last resort. Montgomery was said to have turned pale as Sir Matthew indoctrinated her regarding the capabilities of Britain’s nuclear defence. Gone rigid as he explained what effects a Soviet R-36 strike in central London would have. Become queasy when told what the British equivalent, the T-3 ‘Broadsword’, would do to Moscow. No matter how much she could have braced herself, such preparations for nuclear annihilation and reciprocal genocide was a grim prospect for someone who just promised to build a better tomorrow.

Despite what cosmic loneliness Montgomery must have felt as she contemplated the possibility of atomisation, Number 10 was quickly becoming abuzz with activity. While duty clerks, secretaries, members of the Press Office’s many limbs, wonks and SPaDs from policy units and ministerial departments, messengers, guards, and assorted staff were all waiting for their orders from the nouveau régime, Chairman Stone and a regiment of advisors and aides crept in through the back passage. Many in Stone’s many had been pressed into service at Party HQ, scooping up those who were sober, standing, and who expected to be updating their CVs rather than entering power. Among them was the Mancunian Head of Policy, Marlyn Thorpe, a stout young woman nicknamed “Curry” by Stone (Thorpe would later note this was likely a corruption of ‘Curie’, in reference to the scientist). A major contributor to the manifesto, Thorpe was to be the intellectual backbone of the new Government. As well as her, a new MP crept alongside them, Sir John Kay’s son, Robert Kay. Previously Stone’s man as President of Student Nationals and the Young Nationals liaison with HQ during the election, he had run as a paper candidate in Willesden, a safe LCP seat which had flipped unexpectedly. Now he was to become one of the Parliamentary Private Secretary to the Prime Minister, her eyes and ears among the freshman backbenchers.

As the foot-soldiers swept in, Wilson gave Montgomery a quick tour. Number 10 is, famously, a deceptively large building, much of it spilling into the area we assume would be Number 11. Escorted up Kent’s Staircase, Montgomery would later relate that it felt strange to go past the engravings and portraits of her predecessors, to realise that: “I am stepping into some three centuries of history”. The decor was hardly desirably, although it was certainly modern: spartan and blank and lacking in any ornamentation that Davies had deemed to not be absolutely strictly necessary. Where under Chichester, Number 10 had the feeling that it was not simply a work space but also living space, under Davies, the Welshman had stripped the area of creature comforts to promote the image of a ‘working government’. The apartment of Number 10 was, to Montgomery’s fortune, not in the same manner, although this was because the outgoing Chancellor had taken his residence in Number 10, giving the more spacious flat in Number 11 to Davies. Although much of it would be taken away by movers in the coming weeks, the sight of the cozy apartment after so many minimalist office spaces was reinvigorating.

Following the tour, Montgomery returned to the Cabinet Office where Stone, Thorpe, and Sir George were waiting for her to talk Cabinet over lunch. Many of the kitchen staff, having not anticipated a change of Government, booked the morning and midday off, leaving only a Commis Chef, who was able to rummage up a cold meat platter and bottle of Barbaresco over which the forging of a new Government was to be discussed. Said discussion would be quick: of the twenty-two Shadow Ministers, all but six would assume the posts they had been shadowing, with a list of backups drawn by Stone for the planned reshuffle at the six-month anniversary of the election.


The process that followed was swift and efficient, with bodies streaming in through the front door of Number 10, where Wilson brought MPs down the central corridor to the first antechamber, where they then waited to be called into the Cabinet Room. Montgomery, sat at the head of the coffin flanked by Thorpe and Stone, would inform the arrival of their post, and they were invited to stay for a drink. There would be very few neophytes in the Government; indeed, most would be made up of former Cabinet and Junior Ministers, some of whom even retained the portfolios they had held under Chichester.

Roland du Pont, the MP for North Downs and Chief Whip, was the first to arrive at Number 10. He was disappointed to have missed lunch, especially when learning his tippler of choice had been served. Considered a Montgomeryite (in reality, Kayite) by Party insiders, the whiskered Whip could only hope to ensure the process went smoothly, and his presence reminded the Prime Minister who she now owed her Premiership. Historically, the Cabinet would generally wait until the Saturday, once the list of Ministers had been published for the press, however Davies had set a new precedent of efficiency, and Montgomery would form her Government immediately, although those who were not Privy Councillors would have to wait until the Saturday to be sworn in by the Sovereign. With du Pont, Montgomery felt ready.

The first real appointment to arrive was Sir John Kay, emerging with a grimace from his official car. He had spent much of the day, after leaving Montgomery’s retreat in Hampstead, lurking around Central London with his Chief Economic Advisor, the wiry Scot accountant Preston Howell. Nicknamed the ‘Man of the Manse’, Howell’s father had been a Minister in the Kirk, although Howell had decided to become ordained in economics. He cut something of an unassuming figure as he retrieved his and his master’s lunch at Burger King. Hidden from prying eyes in the backseat of Howell’s Land Rover and downing the greasy Whopper and fries, Sir John and Howell discussed Sir John’s new responsibilities, which included the budget and attendance at the upcoming Global Forum of Economists, of which, due to the election, Sir John would now be a keynote speaker at. The call came from switch, and finishing up, he arrived at Number 10 with a grimace described by one onlooker as “looking like Chamberlain in Munich”, although Sir John would insist that this was merely a touch of indigestion. The responsibility of the office was colossal. The Second Lord of the Treasury would be the most powerful man in the Cabinet, and a position that needed someone with the metal to make tough decisions. Montgomery had trusted Sir John in Opposition, and now she extended her trust to him in Government.

But this was a delusion; Montgomery could not trust Sir John Kay. After seeing her in her moment of vulnerability, Sir John had lost faith in his Leader and their project, and now desired to build a fiefdom within the Treasury, filled with his own hand picked team. Chief among them were his trusted lieutenants, Balram Chowdhurdy, MP for Islington North and graduate of the LSE, and Graham Harvey, MP for Kilmarnock & Loudoun and a graduate of Edinburgh, who were made Chief Secretary of the Treasury and the Parliamentary Private Secretary to the Treasury, respectively. Sir John had no desire to be the most powerful man in the Cabinet; by making the Treasury his fiefdom, he would become the most powerful person in the Cabinet.

Sir John accepted the post without hesitation, and after a brief talk to his son and Balram Chowdhurdy’s confirmation, left to the Treasury. After came Antony Welsh, the Shadow Home Secretary and Deputy Party Chairman. Somewhat still hungover from celebrations, he had expected to be NPA’s acting Leader by now, taking to the stage following an expectedly gracious resignation. Although he was almost enthused to be in Government. The Home Office is a position that is imbued with a great number of powers, such as the ability to levy Whole Life Tariffs and setting the tone of debate over everything from pornography to breakfast serial. But these powers also came with a behemoth of responsibilities, concerning policing, immigration, borders, drugs policies, even constitutional and judicial matters, and at times when conflict bubbles up in Northern Ireland, the Home Secretary could be expected to act as a War Minister. The position requires a certain temperament and steel, which Antony Welsh emphatically did not have, and when Montgomery informed him that he would be made her Foreign Secretary, he felt a wash which was undoubtedly relief.

The Shadow Foreign Secretary, Hugh Braiser, was instead made Leader of the House. An experienced veteran of politics with a glittering career and a great deal of experience, his time as the Shadow Foreign Secretary was an unhappy one, in which he was regularly bullied in debate and the press by the then Foreign Secretary, Brian Davies’ eventual successor as Leader of the LCP, Martin Michael. However, despite this he still commanded the respect of the Caucus and was a keen Parliamentarian, and his time as a Deputy Whip in the last Government and his near ascension to the Speaker’s Chair immediately prior to the ‘96 election only made the decision an easy one for Montgomery. Braiser agreed to the choice of shuffling him to the House Leader without question. He was of an older breed of politicians who honed a sense of responsibility, and were willing and happy to serve wherever they were sent. As an act of kindness for his gracious acceptance of the shuffle, Montgomery accepted Braiser’s recommendation for Minister of Europe: Cherie Dance.

What grace Braiser showed to the Prime Minister could not be found in the man he was replacing, the Shadow Leader Cecil Wingfield, who loudly protested the decision to be moved. Wingfield had spent a happy Parliament leading the caucus, and although he admired Braiser’s resolve, he understandably felt ambushed, believing his shunting to be the work of Sir John. If he was going into the Foreign Office, then this temper would have been tampered, but instead he was offered the Environment brief. A threat to simply not join the Government was met with indifference. There were many other figures who could take the role, and when Robin Orford was offered up instead, Wingfield turned pale and relinquished his protestation to accept the portfolio. Dr Daniel Nash was more enthusiastic when he was offered Health, a return to the post after a five year long absence. Often defined as part of the NPA’s so-called ‘Red Tory’ faction, Dr Nash’s ‘big idea’ was to expand private healthcare by introducing more private sector providers into the NHS and encouraging a more competitive internal market. His end goal was to: “make our NHS merely a means of paying for healthcare, rather than a system that exists simply to provide it”. This reform was not popular with the Cabinet as a whole, and certainly wouldn’t be popular with the NHS itself, but in the wake the majority Dr Nash felt the Government should be ambitious.

It was decided that Jon Taylor would not be given a Cabinet Seat. The Shadow Secretary of Employment had been openly briefing against Montgomery during the campaign, and such dissidents would be unacceptable. With Taylor thrown aside, the Shadow Environment Minister, Donald Smith, was instead given the portfolio for Employment. The Shadow Defence Secretary Siobhan Weaver came next, and Siobhan Weaver left as the Secretary of Defence, the first woman to serve in the position in not just Britain, but indeed in Western Europe. She would not be the only first in the Cabinet: Sean Pak, the MP for Sheffield Hallam, became the Agriculture & Supply Secretary. Hong Kongese, he would be the first East-Asian Cabinet Minister in British history. However his heritage would make him the low hanging target for the so-called satirists, who chose to portray him as an inscrutable schemer who, despite his heavy Salfordian accent, refined by his time at Oxford, spoke in heavy Engrish. Pak would be forced to weather much of this abuse alone during his time in A&S.

Francis Preston would receive the Northern Irish brief, the first time in over two decades that an Ulsterman representing a Northern Irish seat received the Portfolio, one which had notoriety of destroying its holders as much as car bombs destroyed the paving in Derry. Dafydd Thomas and Robert Ross received the Welsh and Scottish Secretaries, respectively. Ross would have a particularly hard time ahead of him; when it came to Scotland, Davies’ Government had dedicated itself to the question of devolution, a project that was begun in the first term and expected to be completed during the second. Now it was Ross’ responsibility to complete the agreement with the Scottish Parliament, and although he could not scrap the Scottish Parliament (it would have been political suicide for the NPA in Scotland to do so, something Ross was acutely aware of in his seat of South Lanarkshire), as he wanted, he found himself in a position to ‘prune’ some of what he saw as more egregious provisions in the White Paper for the Scotland Bill, such as STV, tax-varying powers, and the ability to initiate primary legislation. Walter Harris was made the President of the Board of Trade, retaining his role from the previous Government, as did Daniel McIrvine, who returned to Transport.

The Government was taking its shape, and after a quick supper, Montgomery and her team ploughed through the last three appointments of the night: Social Security, the Home Office, and Lord Chancellor. The question of Home Secretary in particular had been circulating since Welsh had accepted Foreign Office, both to the outside world and even those in the Cabinet Room. Even Thorpe had no idea who Montgomery would select for the job, admitting later that “I thought Claire had just forgotten the whole thing.” There was still no sign of the next Home Secretary after the notorious technocratic ‘fixer’ Brian Dunglass took the Social Security brief with the unenviable task of ‘welfare reform’, while the Duke of Leeds accepted the post of Lord Chancellor. The Duke’s appointment, out of tune with the otherwise largely ‘Kayite’ Cabinet, showed where the wind of the Prime Minister’s mind was starting to blow. As the sun had set, the received wisdom among the press was that the Home Secretary would be expected for tomorrow. Names such as George Dick and Martin O’Brien were thrown around- some even believed that Montgomery herself would assume the position.

While the news team outside began to debate if they should call it a night, a black jaguar slithered into Downing Street. From it emerged Robin Orford, MP for Chippenham. Built like an ox, wearing a thick, well trimmed beard, a hairline in retreat but confidently combed back, and glasses that magnified his eyes, he cut something of an impression with the press. “Striding into Number 10 with purpose”, the Guardian would write, “no one could be of any doubt as to what this surplus man of Footlights was here to do”. Minister of Arts under Chichester, Orford was seen as a pragmatic choice on Montgomery’s part, and certainly not part of the ‘Kayite’ clique. Elected as a Liberal, he crossed the floor to join the NPA at the height of the Black Sea Crisis, opposing what he decried as the Alliance’s “pro-Moscow leanings”. In 1996, he stood against Montgomery for Leadership, was defeated, and spent a few years licking his wounds on the backbench. Having dedicated much of the campaign in preparation to mount his leadership campaign, he accepted the Home Office portfolio as an agreeable alternative to this (for now) frustrated ambition. It would help that despite running against his now Prime Minister, the two were, despite popular belief, friends. After all, Montgomery had been the one to persuade him to defect.

The same could not be said for Orford and Sir John. When the BBC confirmed Orford’s appointment, Howell would recall he thought: “John was about to have a heart attack,” something Howell would know about, having saved the now-Chancellor’s life when he collapsed on-stage at the ‘97 Conference. When the news caught Sir John leaving the Treasury shortly after and asked him about the new Cabinet, he could hardly hide his contempt. The two men were ideological polar opposites; where Sir John rejected laissez faire capitalism, Orford embraced it. Whereas the Chancellor believed that we lived in a society where we had a duty to one another that superseded our duty to ourselves, in which the government acted to ensure this ‘social contract’ was fulfilled, the Home Secretary believed that there was no society, just individuals who acted in the self-interest of themselves alone, and the purpose of the government should be to empower the individual.

Understandably the pick felt something of a betrayal to Sir John, who watched in horror from the back of his car as Montgomery and Orford stepped out- together- in front of Number 10. Although unaware of the rift now between her and Sir John and the newfound depths of his ambition, Montgomery was keenly aware of the fragility of her position, and, although she had won a majority, her weak standing within the party. Whereas Davies ran a sofa cabinet, Montgomery decided that it must be a kitchen, a coalition of ideas where men and friends like Orford would be welcome to serve something of an intellectual counterbalance of sorts, the Rosepierre to Sir John’s Danton, where a ‘healthy discussion’ on policy would be encouraged.

In her speech to the press, shadow looming large over the shining black bricks of Downing Street, Montgomery emphasised the necessity of collective responsibility, for the NPA Cabinet to be “unified on economic and social policy where no major decision is made without joint agreement across all departments,'' and declared “although I am primus inter pares [first among equals], I would like to make it clear that I strongly consider myself inter pares.” In a coalition of ideology, this would only lead to disunity, a disunity that Howell noted now manifested as a pale grimace on Sir John’s face as he watched the new Prime Minister and the Home Secretary retreat back into Downing Street.


When the Chancellor officially arrived back in Downing Street, it was noted by the few straggling members of the press pool that he went straight to 12 Downing Street, rather than 11 Downing Street, or even 10 Downing Street, where Montgomery and Orford were presently (Orford would leave shortly thereafter). Bursting into du Pont’s new study, the Chancellor exploded: “What the fuck happened?” In Sir John’s head, the situation was worse than he could have fathomed. With Orford and the Duke of Leeds, he believed that the tectonics of the Cabinet would now shift, where the likes of Dr Nash and Walter Harris had been previously isolated and disparate, vulnerable in their lower rankings to being dominated by the Treasury apart, now had someone to coalesce around, a big brother in the Home Office. Antony Welsh’s move to the Foreign Office was also a disaster in the eyes of Sir John; in any other position, he could provide a potential counterweight, but in Foreign Affairs he was useless. And the threat of further Ministers finding kin in Orford and the Junior Ministerial ranks being filled with Monetarists and Liberals would only further fan the flames of panic in Sir John.

Sir John’s heart palpitations were perhaps unnecessary. The Orford camp barely existed, and its threat presently was nebulous at best, merely a potential dissidenting voice within the Cabinet collective. Indeed, even the two ‘big beasts’, Orford and the Duke of Leeds, were split on several fault lines. His Grace Simon Augustine Francis Osborne, the 14th Duke of Leeds and Companion of the Order of St Michael and St George, was sixty-five and built like the grim reaper, and wearing clothes and a haircut that had gone out of fashion a quarter of a century earlier appeared on the surface to all as a decisively unradical figure. His ancestors were a smattering of Tory politicians and career diplomats, his father having held all manner of ambassadorial postings, his ancestor the 5th Duke the Foreign Secretary under William Pitt, and his more distant ancestor, Sir Edward Osborne, father of the 1st Duke, a Royalist and member of the Council of the North. Despite his pedigree and the assumptions to Toryism that came with it, the Duke was a notable fissure with his family history. Where Orford was a Liberal who believed in empowering the individual, the Duke was a Whig who believed in the supremacy of Parliament.

From paranoia, the foundation had cracked again. Consensus at the Cabinet table was crucial to the survival of Montgomery’s surprise Government of ‘unity’, where it was necessary to maintain joint consent from all to grease the wheels of Government. Dissidents couldn’t be tolerated, but at the same time had facilitated the Thermidorians among the Montagnards. On ruptured foundations the sturdy house of Governance was expected to be built upon it. The appointment of Junior Ministers over the weekend did little to help, a far more decisive mix of Kayite, Monteriest, Liberals, Tories, and at least one Clydesbank Marxist. In many respects, this was the best way forwards for Montgomery- the election was a total shock, after all, and while many new MPs had the zeal of converts, it was just that: zeal. She was paradoxically, during the first few weeks, one of the strongest leaders in the NPA’s history, but also its weakest. She commanded a newfound respect and authority for leading the party into an upset victory, but this was paper-thin at best, a taught veneer over the tensions which had been building for the previous five years. For Montgomery, building such a broad coalition in Government was a survival tactic; no one faction could claim exclusion and thus threaten her as an opponent in the backbenches if all were present in Government. No one could claim their voice was not being heard.

It is understandable, then, how Montgomery did not realise she was sowing the seeds of her downfall.
 
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Hey all! :) Moth did this amazing bit of work, and they wanted me to post it to the thread. So, here it is:

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From Lifankian Intelligencer, 26th August 2019, by Kudzo Heinrich (trans. from German)

TUKAWA TO BE CHANCELLOR; FrP ROUTED; STEINBOK OUT

National Labour to remain the Official Opposition as Martin Roß resigns

For Peer Steinbok it was it was meant to be his day in the sun and the reassertion of FrP authority. But as the dust settles on the most dramatic election night in living memory, For the People’s nearly seven decade long domination of Lifankia is over. The Social Group, with the support of the Sugpiat Representative, have won a narrow majority.

“I think we’ve done it,” Social Group Leader and now incoming Chancellor, Maria Tukawa told close staff and embedded reporters last night after the exit poll came in. “Tell them [the candidates] to get ready to Govern. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

The Social Group have won 87 of the 174 mandates, making it mathematically impossible for any other party to form an alternative Government to them. A dramatic increase from their previous 5, the Group took much of the east and north, overturning decades old and large FrP majorities, who have been almost completely denied representation in the east outside of Mt Lucy.

Meanwhile National Labour, led by Opposition Chief Spokesman Martin Roß, won 51 mandates, up from their previous 33. Despite maintaining their legitimacy as Opposition, this proved a disappointing result after having led in polling for much of the campaign. Aside from Roß’s own mandate of Alaskisher Pfeil, Nat Lab was unable to cross the dividing range and gains were limited to the west and the Greater Golfrand region.

The newly formed Lifankia Above All suffered a disappointing night, failing to hold 63 of their pre-election mandates, however still returned with 5 mandates, enough to qualify for official party status. Leader Werner Rendi was returned to his mandate of Manceller, while challenger Isaac Cullman gained Mosel from Peer Steinbok in a dramatic upset.

The Sugpiat Representative returned once more with 4 of the 5 Sugpiat mandates.

For the People returned with only 26 mandates, down from 132 at the last election. The loss has been described as among the worst electoral defeats suffered by an incumbent party in world history, with leader Peer Steinbok and outgoing Chancellor Andreas Aigner both defeated in their mandates of Mosel and Golfrand—Neues Kiel, respectively.

“I will not be contesting any by-election, nor will can I accept any renomination or continuation of my leadership. The electorate has made it very clear where they stood to the prospect of my Chancellory,” a visible emotional Steinbok told reporters at a press conference in the early hours of the morning from his party’s regional offices in Manceller, “and as far as I’m concerned, when it comes to the future of my party, hoti to kratisto [to the strongest].”

At a turnout of 89.4%, the highest in nearly thirty years, Social Group won just over 30% of the vote. National Labour were close behind at 27%, while For the People and Lifankia Above All received 23% and 17%, respectively.

Tukawa Victorious

With it mathematical impossible for a Government to be formed without the Social Group leading it, Maria Tukawa is to be the new Chancellor of Lifankia, making history as both the the first woman and first Japanese-Lifankian to assume the position. She will also be the first Chancellor since the Redwood Revolution of 1954 to come from a party besides For the People.

To election observers the Group’s win, nearly doubling their mandates from their previous high water mark at the 1993 election after over quarter of the century in decline, comes as a surprise. Prior to the election, the Group had stagnated at only 5 mandates, and although they were able to gain two in by-elections, it was widely expected that the Group would struggle to overcome their numerical disadvantage.

However for Hilda Sampson, the Group’s Spokeswoman for Trade and winner of the Schwarzerde mandate, her party’s breakthrough was easy enough to explain.

“Last election we came in a very strong position in the East, second place everywhere but Golfrand,” Sampson told her embedded reporter as the midnight results trickled in, “so we are in a much stronger position here to be the anti-FrP vote than the protectionist parties were, especially given the support PACT has.”

For others however, such as commentator and Professor of North American Psephological Studies at National University in New Hanover Jan Fredrickson, a simple matter of prior performance doesn’t do the Group’s fresh leadership credit.

“When you break it down the enthusiasm for the Group is really an enthusiasm for Tukawa.” Fredrickson explained on the LPAB Election Night broadcast. “Tukawa’s by-election victory in Minamichūō didn’t simply bring her into the Choir and the Group into the East, but also legitimised the Group’s image in the log belt. She’s from the community, and while up against Easterners like Roß or Rendi, was a much more palatable gamble considering her party’s ‘free trade, fair trade’ policy.”

A former teacher born into a logging family in Cö, Tukawa entered the People’s Choir in January 2017 for a by-election to the the Minamichūō mandate in the Japanese electorates. A prominent campaigner in the Group and previously Party Chairwoman, where Tukawa championed a series of campaigning reforms in-party, Tukawa was made Spokeswoman for Trade Affairs, where she gained prominence during debates on PACT.

After Martin Wiesback resigned as Group leader last Christmas, there was no doubt who would succeed him. Tukawa, at the urging of a membership petition, ran and easily beat fellow Chorister (and eventual Deputy Leader) Angela Marquardt.

The Group’s victory in 62 of the 75 Eastern mandates has certainly shown the party’s gamble of an Easterner as Leader has paid off. The Group also won key victories in the West, however were defeated by National Labour on the Thorpe Islands and Kurzekunft, and were totally locked out of Golfrand.

While these critical defeats cost the Group the ability to Govern alone, they did not put a damper on spirits at Group headquarters. Pete Sushngarista, speaking at the declaration of the Sugpiat electorate early in the morning, announced that he and his reelected caucus plan on: “observing what has been a clear national trend for Frau Tukawa, and will formally entering negotiations with her to ensure a strong representation of our community in this new Government.”

National Labour’s Stunted Surge

National Labour may have not made a breakthrough of the scale many were hoping, but Martin Roß took pride in his party’s result, the best in its history, and a result which secured the party as the main opposition.

“We can hold our heads high and say proudly that we kept the faith.” Roß told assembled party members in Golfrand this morning as the final results came in, and hours after it became clear his dream of the Chancellory was over.

“We have achieved a great deal in this election. We have gained a great deal of talent to our Choristers, and we form the strongest Opposition this country has ever seen. And it is an Opposition that I will happily leave to that talent.”

It is not secret that in his gamble for the Chancellory, Roß has divided his party. Spats on the campaign trail as Opposition Spokespersons briefed against one another were public and often vitriolic. Candidates openly denigrated the party’s taxation and housing policies. And Roß’ reluctance to intervene cost him his repuation as a strong leader, while his refusal to relent on the party’s protectionist stance almost certainly cost the party in the East.

When it became clear that the Social Group would fail to achieve a majority, Roß had hoped he would be able to form a coalition with Tukawa. However with it now certain that no coalition with National Labour would be necessary, Roß chose to end what has been a 17 year career at the head of Lifankia’s second biggest party, one he led from a small squabbling caucus of 4 to 51 mandates and over a quarter of the votes.

Opposition Finances Spokesperson Helga Keller was quick to rule herself out of the running, stating that she had “no intention” of leading her party into the next election.

Although many are demoralised at their failure to enter Government, for Education Spokesperson Johan Scholz this was an opportunity.

“It’s as the Chief says, we’re the strongest opposition that this country has ever seen, and I plan to keep it that way,” Scholz told a reporter shortly after confirming his intention to run, “in my eyes those bourgeoisie progressives in the Group are no better than For the People, and I intend to hold are them to the coals every step of the way.”

Much has been said on National Labour’s protectionist policies, with some noting that these may have diminished the appeal of the party in the east, where it won only won one seat outside of Mt Lucy, Roß’ own mandate of Alaskisher Pfeil.

Roß dismissed this, claiming that protectionism would serve National Labour in the long term. “We stand for the workers, and to protect our workforce from being undercut by cheap foreign labour, from our economy being wrecked, and our people left in want.”

Others weren’t so forgiving, blaming the protectionist policies as forcing National Labour to compete with Lifankia Above All and thus splitting the vote in mandates where the Group made much of its gains. Helga Keller would note after the exit poll that “had we run on socialist free trade, Roß would be Chancellor, not Tukawa.”

After he announced his resignation, Roß conceded that he believed the basic underlying cause of National Labour’s woe was that the election was “simply not our time.”

This comes as a tough pill to swallow to rank and file and Choristers who believed the election had been theirs to lose.

FrP and Lifankia Above All Routed

President Manfred Clement has publicly congratulated Tukawa and the Social Group.

“It is with a great respect and humbling that I congratulate Frau Tukawa. I look forwards to working with the future Chancellor on bringing about a legislative programme which is beneficial to all Lifankians. When she succeeds, Lifankia will succeed.” Clement said to news conference this morning. When asked if he had any words for his former protege’s and successors, Andreas Aigner and Peer Steinbok, he chilly noted: “I offer them condolences.”

It is not hard to understand President Clement’s disappointment.

Following a twenty year stint as Chancellor, when Manfred Clement resigned in 2015 to become President, it was widely accepted he had left the young Housing Secretary Andreas Aigner a united party.

However following Aigner’s coronation at the 2016 election, For the People rapidly disintegrated. The cause of this was the collapse of the Pacific Regional Economic Partnership (PREP) following the United States withdrawal. This lead the decision by Aigner to enter renegotiating of PREP as the Pacific Alliance of Cooperation & Trade (PACT).

With the negotiation of PREP seen as the crowning achievement of President Clement’s Government, Aigner was under a great deal of pressure to negotiate Lifankian involvement in PACT and secure both his and Clement’s legacy. However for many within FrP, such as Communications Secretary Werner Rendi, this opportunity was a chance to ‘course correct’ Lifankia’s future.

Rendi and his ginger group of protectionist MPs opposed budgets, government business, and even procedure bills for as long as the Government negotiated PACT. This resulted in Aigner’s decision to call for a snap Leadership review in April, which he lost.

Peer Steinbok, Interior Secretary with nearly forty years of experience under his belt, won the bruising leadership contest with Rendi. However amidst well-founded allegations of fraud committed on behalf of FrP’s National Executive Committee, Rendi and 65 Chorister’s walked out of the FrP’s lobby, forming Lifankia Above All and forcing a general election.

While only 66 mandates in the Choir at time of dissolution, due to a polling bounce Steinbok was expected to win a tight contest against National Labour. Requesting that Lifankian’s to offer him “a fair shake” and to give the rump of For the People the mandate so he could assume the Chancellory and deliver PREP, the campaign wasn’t a pleasent one.

Incidents involving his battle bus running over a dog in the first week, several social media scandals which left a handful of crucial mandates uncontested, and a failure for many of FrP’s to significantly break through in local hustings plagued the campaign. Momentum was quick to shift against FrP, and the race quickly between between National Labour, Rendi’s Lifankia Above All, and the Social Group.

FrP would lose over half of its vote to Lifankia Above All, however this would only translate into narrow Social Group and National Labour majorities as the once dominate party split. Only three members of the outgoing Cabinet retained their mandates. Both Aigner and Steinbok are among FrP’s many casualties, Steinbok defeated by Isaac Cullman in Mosel. Friedrich Leichenberg, Foreign Secretary and returning Chorister for Golfrand—Franconia, assuming the leadership of the party in the Choir until a new leader can be chosen.

Rendi secured his mandate of Manceller, one of the first results of the evening. But with only a majority of 3.5% over his Social Group challenger, it was clear that Lifankia Above All would underperform relevant to the campaign polls, which had anticipate a major breakthrough for the group.

Lifankia proved uninterested in the squabbling of egos, punishing those who had brought forward an unnecessary election. All but 3 of the 66 splitters were defeated, while FrP failed to make a single gain, routed from 65 to 26.

Only time will tell if either party has a future in this new Lifankia.
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