The Labour Party Conference of 2009 has been described as something of a disaster by the party’s dwindling band of supporters. In an empty – yet not completely deserted – conference centre in Brighton, sat a solitary figure in the audience. His said his name was Livingstone, although I didn’t catch his first name. And instead of Labour Party leader Gordon Brown standing on stage preaching to the crass masses – as would be expected at a conference organized by the man himself – their stood only a life size cardboard cut out of Britian’s leader; the only man to rival Harry Redknapp for ‘worst neck and chin combo 2009′. Pathetic; but not a fallacy.

Outside in Palookaville city, the clouds were briskly closing in on the conference centre and the winds were gathering in dissenting strength. Pathetic Fallacy.

Inside, the man known only as Livingstone sat obediently, listening to a pre-recorded cassette speech, as presented by the cardboard lookalike. The recording was simple, yet powerful: “Sorry I cannie be in attendance laddies. But I had to catch the National Express up to Manchester in time to get a front row seat at next week’s Tory conference; who’s all with me say ‘Och-i.” The recording repeated to fade over 4-day time period – during which time Livingstone only moved once, to take a quick break to drain the main vein (we can only presume).

It seems Gordie B does have the ‘Strength To Change Britain’. Who would have thunk it. At his lowest ebb he has finally become a man of the people, by embodying a common trait that can be found in us all – a floating voter.

High Street bookie chains have already began paying out on a Conservative victory. “In fact, I saw Alistair Darling in here just last week pulling twenties out of the budget briefcase, betting on a David Cameron landslide,” commented one cross-eyed  Ladbrokes employee. It seems the inevitability of it all has driven the best of us to illicit behaviour. I have no doubt that our Darling will not be the first – or the last – Rt. dishonorable MP to be caught up in what will soon be known as the ‘betting slips for votes’ scandal. Perhaps ‘William Hill gate’ will roll of off the tongue a little easier. Time will be the decider.

Just this morning, pinned to a noticeboard standing on the empty fourth plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square, the political equivalent of a suicide note – signed by one Gordon Brown – was found. An extract from the note read:

‘Among other things, every one’s blaming me for Michael Jackson’s untimely death and for the summer evenings drawing in. As soon the clocks go back, everyone will lose an hour’s sleep and my political tenure will be irreversibly fucked. I may as well throw the towel in now.’