Post 67 – Pre-election mischief in the UK!

Elections are usually boring for journalists. But this time in the UK we had seven contenders. They were all shouting and denigrating each other, but my news editor wanted a sensational story that would captivate and excite our readers. Prime Minister Cameron had just addressed the press from a podium outside 10 Downing Street, and we all needed a drink.

‘A bit of quirky sex would liven up the show,’ my tabloid colleague Trevor suggested when our drinks arrived and we ordered sandwiches in a pub close to Downing Street. Men or women straying from their marital beds were frequently our standard fare, and I was presently distracted by a curvy Polish barmaid with an inviting smile. The challenge now, however, was to set up some serious seduction with an irresistible male or female luring a decidedly hapless politician towards political disaster.

‘We have a few Ac/Dc possibilities,’ Mark – a serious guy from one of our more conservative newspapers – suggested. He was thinking of susceptible Westminster targets who might be distracted by another guy or girl. It wouldn’t be too difficult for an appealing young man to catch the interest of at least a dozen of our male Members of Parliament. But I was more in favour of a newsworthy female politician being covertly taken with a hunky fellah. It would make for a better story, which readers would love.

‘So how about …’ I say – only to be interrupted by Sonya, an ascending tabloid star, who was scarily assertive.

‘Get real, guys,’ she told us, crossing her legs provocatively. ‘We need something original – with race and hot sex.’

Great … but how does one do it? Who’s the target, and what’s the bait?

We needed another round of drinks, but Sonya was drawing us in, and I had heard that she was recently seen with a muscular Jamaican footballer – so we were all ears and waiting discreetly.

‘The ideal target,’ she declared, ‘would be a male right-winger who is totally opposed to African, Asian or East European migrants. Someone who is particularly opposed to people of colour coming to the UK, and who is constantly going on about how we need to deport those who are already here.’

There were a few right-wing male politicians to choose from. But who might the seductress be, and how were we to snap the pair of them in bed, naked and compromised for our front pages?

‘That, gentlemen, is your challenge,’ Sonya declared. ‘But I’m pretty sure my editor would pay generously for the pictures.’

Up to now, we had  been fantasising as journalists in a central London pub. We did it all the time, but we were presently in the run-up to an election – and I was definitely interested. I knew an alluring Indian woman with seductive inclinations. We had talked occasionally about venal male tendencies, and I thought she might be up for luring in a nasty right-wing politician. She also had a decent Knightsbridge apartment where, ideally, one might be able to secrete a press photographer in her bedroom wardrobe.

None of us in the pub were sharing our thoughts just now, but I guess we were all homing in on potential male targets for exclusive stories: Parliamentary candidates who were openly averse to coloured residents in the UK; but who might also not be averse to a wink or a smile when an attractive woman of any colour appeared. If  I was to secure a  rewarding front page scoop, however, I needed first to target a suitably right-wing politician with roving eyes and a loose libido. I would then contact and hopefully do a deal with my ravishing Indian seductress … and see how it went from there!


Unfortunately, I didn’t get to honey-trap the anti-immigrant right-wing politician I targeted: a guy who wanted to send all foreigners home; although I did secure the services of my truly seductive Indian lady who winked at the right-winger I chose. He responded with enthusiasm and was delighted to accompany my svelte temptress back to her fashionable Knightsbridge apartment. I had positioned an experienced news photographer in the Indian beauty’s bedroom wardrobe, but as she and the right-wing politician stripped and kissed, our photographer coughed.

He later explained that he was recovering from a winter chill. But as soon as our anti-immigrant politician heard the stifled throat noise, he withdrew from the Indian beauty, rushed to the wardrobe and battered our photographer into a pleading mess. He then took the  guy’s expensive camera and smashed the lens with a kitchen knife before extracting the photographic content. My editor wasn’t too pleased with the result, and I had the impression that I now needed to deliver a decent story within a week, or find alternative employment. A lovely friend helpfully suggested a not too demanding tutoring job at her rural college … and if I could stay off the booze for a while … well – I might just possibly write a piece of fiction!!

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