The Politics of Socialising Politically

Queenie just read her comments and realised that HisHighness wants to know why she writes in the third person.

Because we are royal, of course.

Ah no, seriously, sometimes I write in the first person. As you will see if you read back through the archive, which I don’t expect you to do. Just take my word for it.

I write in the third person for a number of interlocking reasons.

I am trying to teach myself to write and writing in the third person is really difficult, so I invented Queenie to get the hang of it. Once I invented Queenie, she took on a personality of her own and some days she is in charge of the keyboard and there’s nothing I can do about it. Instead of being annoyed at this peremptory bitch taking over my blog I realised that when I want to say something that I could get into trouble over, I can just get Queenie to say it.

A bit like when I was young and made a mess and said that my imaginary friend did it.

Hope that clears that up.

The confusion, I mean, not the mess.

I have another character as well, the last surviving knight of the round table, who goes by the name of Percy, hence the name of the blog. He went bear-hunting in June and I haven’t seen him since. I reckon he’s holed up somewhere in Northern Quebec with a sexy young Separatist and I’ll see him in the spring when she tires of his unrelenting optimism in the face of whoever wins this goddamn election.

So anyways, as I was saying before I got sidetracked by the Notwithstanding Clause and HisHighness’ unfamiliarity with the traditions of royalty (a Johnny Come Lately prince I fear – Queenie is very upset by the realisation and has swept off to sulk in her boudoir), I watched the debate with some people from the party last night.

I had gotten three invitations and managed to merge two of them so that was a happy outcome. Because of course in politics, it’s all about who you’re with when the interesting stuff happens. And what witty things you said to them. And vice versa. And what insightful comments you made, which get repeated next day. And vice versa (unless you pretend you said them).

I’m still riding a wave of ‘I’m from Europe and I don’t really give a fuck about your schoolboy politics’ posturing, so I’m safe for about another month I reckon. And I can just swear if I’m really stuck. So the pressure was on everyone else.

We were two blokes and three women, then four. It was hilarious.

The girls listened intently and took it all in, and also talked about Rosebud’s makeup and how cool Giles Duceppe was and made inane comments about the whole thing, and the blokes listened intently by cocking one ear to the telly in that ‘I’m too polite to shush you but I really want to’ way that men have when you’re multi-tasking in front of the tv so effectively you’re spoiling their concentration.

Poor lambs, I’d hate not to be able to walk and chew at the same time.

Queenie used to want to be like the boys. (oh, she’s back!!) Okay, I wanted to be like the boys when I was younger. I used to hang out with the male politicos and try to keep up with the banter. And developed strategies for forcing myself into a political conversation being held by a group of men (which I can still do – it’s all about pitching your voice lower than normal). But it never got me anywhere except backed into a corner at closing time by one of them trying to get into my knickers.

So I gave up.

At least they don’t do that here.

Well, they don’t do it to me anyway. I’m probably too old for it now anyways.

A long time ago I decided that if the party blokes want to pretend they have the keener political insight they are welcome to do so.

Maybe one day one of them will stumble on the insight that the reason why us girls listen and absorb and talk all at the same time is because we’re a little b-o-r-e-d by the spectacle of four white middle-aged men in dark suits and make up and colour-coded ties shouting and roaring at each other about ethics in a television studio that’s being overseen by another white middle-aged bloke in a suit who, according to the girls last night anyways, appeared to have had a face job.