‘I suppose,’ said my dad philosophically, ‘I could always vote Green.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake! Not you as well!’ I screamed, as the entire restaurant looked round to see what manner of family crisis was brewing at our table.
‘Look, dad, it’s very simple. Do you agree with 60 per cent income tax?’
‘Of course not,’ said dad, a look of deep concern on his face. ‘Well then. Enough of this “ooh, the Greens are harmless, aren’t they? They like animals and trees and they don’t have any particular views about anything important one way or the other so they wouldn’t make much difference.”’ Stop! The Greens are harmless the way Stalin was harmless. They want to take all your money and use it to fund such hair-brained schemes as Monty Python sketches are made of. They want to prosecute pet shops for selling rabbit hutches!’
And I slammed my hand down to emphasise my point, sending cutlery flying.
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