A bacon sandwich looked awkward next to Ed Miliband yesterday. Awkwardly, the sandwich buckled between the Labour leader’s sausage fingers, dripping BLOBS of ruddy KETCHUP onto a grease-translucent paper napkin. Onlookers and press photographers laughed at the weirdness of the whitebread snack as it was torn into by the perfect awkward white awkward teeth of the awkward man’s mouth.
In a way, we are all that sandwich. We are all that man biting into it. Dare we vote Labour and risk a spill of creamy crimson ketchup onto our trousers? Do we dare eat a bacon sandwich? Must we shun the breakfast meats in favour of, say, a box of Shreddies? These are the problems we face. Answer us, Ed, with your ever-blinking awkward eyes.
I don’t know about you but before I vote for anyone I tend to ask myself the question: what does that person look like when they’re having breakfast? I may even ask a supplementary question, for example: does he prefer ketchup, or brown sauce? Or is he one of those savages who wants the bread of a bacon sandwich buttered? Vermin. Lower than death himself. I don’t tend to care about what he’ll do to the country or anything that matters because it’s too hard.
I might, if I thought about it, find that a relatively very rich country not giving as much money to people who are desperate and miserable and in need, not because it’s unaffordable, but to punish them, might be “weird”. I might think that’d be odd, or awkward, or strange or whatever. But then that would require thinking. Why think? Just look at the pictures and point at the man.