No Cuss Words Were Harmed In The Following Post

I apologise for my sweary ranting last night. I get like that sometimes.
I blame many factors. Not me though. No, I definitely don't have a personality prone to swearing and fits of anger. That’s not the Glenn I know and feel slightly ambivalent about.
I'd been drinking Cornish cider - or 'zider' as I so hilariously called it all last weekend. Booze, and high alcoholic percentage cider especially, keeps the logic parts of the brain busy with a tough word puzzle, whilst it teases the emotion-puppy with a rubber squeaky telephone that it won't let it have. So there is barking. Bad-word barking.
Hmm…
I think the sight of impossibly smug Conservative politicians was too much to take. I voted labour with a heavy heart, and as I mentioned last night it was mostly because I thought I was betraying my 'roots'. Why I'd take that into account when the labour party long ago jettisoned any of its links to these roots I'll never know. I guess the logic part of my brain was doing a tough wordsearch. It let misty-eyed thoughts of socialism, the welfare state and a fair society have their way, when they should have been kept in their box.
I stayed up way too late to devour the statistics being presented to me. It was quite a predictable and staid election. The exit poll was pretty much spot on so there were little surprises. Everyone had their professional faces on; nobody let the mask slip to reveal the often odious person underneath, like Mellor did in 97. Nobody got giddy about anything, and really nothing much has changed. Spectacle was at a low.
No really big names lost their seats, nobody kicked a BNP candidate in the face, and I'm fairly sure that no winning candidate did a squirty poo whilst the returning officer was reading out the results. It seems the Paula Radcliffe thing hasn't really taken off.
All the politicians trotted out the same bland speeches, and ignored any references to things they didn't want to talk about. It seems to be a bit of a solecism to display a personality nowadays if you're a politician; you get tarred with being a maverick.
I suppose the only excitement came from one of the remaining mavericks, where George Galloway beat labour Blair-robot Oona King on an anti-war vote. I disagree with the war completely, yet feel uneasy about siding with a man whose had Saddam's genocidal helmet in his mouth, pumping Kurd killing chowder down his repugnant gullet.
Then again, who am I to talk? I work in a defence company and readily consume the crumbs of comfort that I don't work on an attack project. Well, bully for me.

Anyway, I should stop becoming angered upon sight of posh people. I'm sure that there are at least 8 nice poshos.

Herman Dune were great the other night. In fact I'd call them exquisite.