MR PATRIOT

Jodphurs K. Bingo was almost tall. That was his best feature. When this initial impression faded, the observer was left with a scrawny bloke with a runny nose and a head which, if they cared enough to look at it in profile, closely resembled a goat's. If people didn't notice this, Jodphurs' generally got upset and pointed it out to them. It was, after all, his claim to fame- his stake in the annals of modern Basildon history. Not that anyone recorded history in Basildon anymore of course- for the past hundred years it had laid largely in ruin, like the rest of Europe. Jodphurs knew of an Open University professor living out in the sticks who had embarked on a book- "Basildon: The Wilderness Years"- but so far he had only written the preface, and the start of the first chapter. The preface dwelt mainly on a complex analogy concerning his mother's christmas pudding recipe, and the first chapter consisted of the line "And then the bombs hit."

Puzzling over what else you could say about Basildon's recent history, Jodphurs stood outside his termite infested house on the hill and looked out over the town. It was near dark, and a few fires had been lit in the inhabited areas- elsewhere, especially in the old town centre, the only light was the dull pink glow of the hundred year old no man's land. The craters were as lethal now as when they had been freshly laid. They were still toxic, still throwing up mutants- everything from nine-foot goldfish to two-inch poodles- the immediate areas scattered with the deadly radioactive compound which had annihilated British resistance and ended the war. That was years before Jodphurs was born of course- even his grandmother was only a twinkle in an ancestor's eye at the time. The Bingo name had been kept alive by three things- cowardice (Jodphurs great grandad Harry owned a Bingo hall and used to cover himself with petrified old women during air-raids), geography (the Bingo hall was on the outskirts of town), and bad fashion-sense (for complex reasons known only to the menswear department of Selfridges, Harry's yellow "No need to Iron" Crimplene suit reflected the initial radioactive fallout). These days, there were only two Bingos left in Basildon- Jodphurs, and his mum Irene. Jodphurs could just about see the roof of his mother's house from where he stood, and ducked sharply in case she started shooting again- the last time he had looked in the direction of Irene's place, she had been standing on the veranda with an automatic. She fired fifty rounds into his already crippled little house and reduced most of its interior to sawdust- saying later that it was merely a "security measure", and that she had mistaken his house for a passing terrorist. They weren't on very good terms at the moment, and he had already recieved three death threats through the post that week. She always denied it was her, of course, but Jodphurs couldn't think of anyone else that would threaten his life and then ask- in a P.S- whether he had been eating enough brussel sprouts.

Later that evening, Jodphurs was doing his rounds on the estate. It wasn't much of a job, but it paid well and entitled him to a Governmental Electricity Allowance. Skimming through the streets on his lard-powered mechanical donkey, he checked his watch. At exactly seven o'clock he flicked the switch on the radio set between his feet, and the tannoy system mounted on his helmet crackled into life:

"Greetings, good people of Basildon", came the familiar cheese-grating voice, "On this balmy summers day in Great Englandshire. This is your friend and higher colleague Edolph the third, come to join with you once again in your grateful prayers." Jodphurs winced as he turned a corner, wiping the rain from his visor and praying only that today's palacial broadcast would be a short one.

"As I look over this great new nation of ours, it is comforting to see just how far we have progressed in the one hundred and eight years of our union. Today, in 2050, more and more people are enjoying the privilege of electrical power. Unemployment is up for a tenth glorious year in a row, bringing excitement and opportunity to our society. And democracy, once the plaything of the educated anti-social elite, is now open to all. Only yesterday, I authorised the entry of another four new parties into our wide political arena- The Edolphist Party, The Party of Presidential Tribute, The People's Party for the Immortalisation of Edolph, and, of course (chuckle chuckle), The Monster Raving Totally Loony So Blinking Bonkers We Don't Even Think Much Of The Silly Old President Edolph... Party." There was a pause, followed by a muffled shout and a rustling of papers; "And with these three powerful new political forces, I have ensured you greater freedom than ever in your right to express your own political views. Remember, voting licenses make inexpensive yet delightful gifts for your chosen loved ones, and are available for a modest weekly sum from your local Government franchisee. Share the gift of democracy today, with a variety of colours and easy payment plans to choose from. You will, however, need to forfeit any existing land and property you may own and surrender them to democratic government ownership, for the greater good of the nation and to ensure... Oi you!' Yes, you, Mr Patriot on the donkey!' This is the Monster Raving Loony Revolutionary Party, and we have hijacked the airwaves. Do not attempt to land your donkey, or adjust your radio- continue with your intended course and help bring enlightenment to the masses!'" Jodphurs banked into an alleyway, caught by surprise, inappropiately smashing into a pile of disused wheeliebins.

***

When Jodphurs awoke, he found he was trapped in a small, dark room- so small in fact, that he could barely move his arms or legs. Outside the room, in what he assumed to be corridors, he could hear ominous sounds of plotting and rebellion, intermingled with a repetitive thudding- like a drum beat. Suddenly, one of the conspirital voices in the corridor got louder:

"Get out of the bin, Goat-head." Jodphurs sighed with the inevitability of it all as the wheeliebin was yanked from his quivering body, leaving him naked and defenceless against the barbaric... ruthless... Hamster, stood on his hind legs in front of him.

"You're a Hamster", noted Jodphurs, measuring the three foot tall rodent with his beady eyes.

"I suppose you think you're clever, pointing that out, don't you?" The Hamster was obviously infuriated; he kept stabbing his lower lip with his long front teeth as he talked- "Well let me tell you, Mr Patriot, I came out without a disguise tonight. If I were to be wearing one of my disguises, you wouldn't be able to tell me from any other rodential creature you may care to name."

"Do you have a squirrel disguise?" asked Jodphurs, out of interest.

"Is that a rodent?"

"Of course it is!'"

"Oh fuck." The Hamster began to wash his face, distraught. He walked over to the stricken donkey, where it lay upon a pile of recycling crates, and kicked the smashed radio. "Why'd you have to go and crash this stinking thing, anyway?", he mumbled, tears streaking the golden fur; "I- I mean we- we only wanted to spread the truth amongst the masses."

"You are the Monster Raving Loony Revolutionary Party?" It was then that Jodphurs noticed the oversized home made radio transmitter hanging from the Hamster's belt. He could see from there that many of its components seemed to have been fashioned from the husks of sunflower seeds.

"I suppose you think you're going to take me in, now, Mr Patriot, don't you? Take me to your local Government franchise holder and refuse the reward like a good citizen, eh?" The Hamster produced a rag from his cheek pouch and dried his eyes. "Well you'd better think again, Mister. I'm not going without a fight. I spent three years training on a fairground wheel, just for moments like these. I can take ya."

Jodphurs leant back on a plastic happy skip and felt his sanity drift away. He was trapped in an alleyway full of discarded refuse receptacles, by a mad revolutionary mutant Golden Syrian. On top of this, he had probably lost his job. On top of this, his house was sawdust. (He wondered if his mother and the termites had been working together). On top of this, he was twenty years old and had never owned a complete pair of socks. He wasn't sure why this had come up at this point, but he knew it wasn't something that he was going to take lightly. Jodphurs was beginning to feel dissatisfied with his situation, and someone was going to have to pay.

***

"Who's the Guinea Pig?" The Hamster shot Reggie an evil glare, and began to rearrange the sofa and build himself a small burrow. Reggie Perspex, Jodphurs' best and only friend, ignored this silent rebuke and continued to throw kitchen knives at his other houseguest- who he had pinned against the wall with skewers.

"Reggie", strained Jodphurs as he dodged a spatula, "the reason I came round is..." He was cut short by a well-aimed potato peeler, which bounced harmlessly off his forehead and merely rendered him momentarily unconscious. Reggie was pleased. It wasn't that he didn't like Jodphurs- he was his best friend- it was just that Jodphurs was always well disposed to helping Reggie out with his little frustrations in life, and Reggie had always found sporadic mindless violence to be especially therapeutic. In fact, it was second only to the feel of quality fabric. He leapt over and pulled out the skewers, and Jodphurs sighed gratefully as he was allowed to slump to the floor.

"What's up, friend?" There was genuine concern in Reggie's voice.

"I've had it, Reggie. I'm sick of the whole thing- I want to get some revenge on the system. I want to stick it to Edolph. I want to stick it to everyone. No more Mr Nice Goat-Guy, with no matching socks."

"No matching socks?"

"None." Jodphurs looked up at Reggie, just in time to duck a tea-spoon. "Am I mad?"

"Yes- that's good. Work with it." The burly Perspex cracked open a chocolate mousse from the fridge, and deftly caught the returning tea-spoon. "What you need, is to figure out a way to really settle things once and for all- and work on your wardrobe, too. Think bigger than socks." Reggie stood up, and threw the empty mousse pot at the sofa, disturbing the burrowing Hamster who sat bolt upright.

"Bastard", the hamster commented, examining the pot carefully.

"Anyway", Reggie continued, walking towards the door; "I'm off. An appointment at an expensive clinic, then the hairdressers, then clothes shopping and- who knows? I'll catch up with you somewhere- help yourself to the place while I'm away." And he was gone. Jodphurs looked over to the Hamster, who was looking very excited.

"You want revenge, eh? You want to put the world right?" Jodphurs nodded. "There'd have to be something in it for me, though, see. A nice house perhaps. With some good sawdust."

"I might be able to arrange that. You have some information?" Jodphurs saw the glint in the Hamster's eye. "You know something?"

"Something just sprung to mind. Bit of a fable, around the old animal kingdom. I know who might be able to tell you more..."