Politics is a strange business. As a candidate in next Thursday’s Uxbridge and South Ruislip by-election and an 8ft-tall intergalactic space warrior from planet Sigma IX with a Lovejoy fixation, I’m arguably a case in point. But then again, maybe not. Britain has reached such a parlous state, voters are realising that the lunatic novelty candidates are the human ones in the boring suits. I’m the sane option.
In the course of my work conquering large parts of the omniverse, I’ve discovered the secret to political influence is time. It can turn once-colossal gures like Nibloz the Vain in the Sigma Quadrant or Tony Blair on Earth into haunted, Gollum-like husks. Conversely, it can turn Sir John Major into a wise elder statesman who’s occasionally worth listening to. Time’s warping effects are extraordinary. And in the beautiful constituency of Uxbridge and South Ruislip, above which I am hovering in my mothership as I write this, I’m now within a cyber-whisker of parliamentary power. The best things come to those who wait.
