Politics makes strange bedfellows. That is the saying, or at least it is one of the ones that James has always scoffed at. He supposes it is accurate for those who’ve shagged their way up the ranks, but for himself, hardly. His own ascent to power has not been conventional admittedly; conventional is just another word for the beaten track. James has beaten out his own track with blood, sweat, cussing and a really big machete. Of course, if James is going to be using analogies, he couldn’t possibly leave out the dictator himself: Julius Caesar. The man who plucked James straight out of his monotonous job writing articles for some obscure newspaper, the name of which James had promptly forgotten a week after his leaving. Julius (Fraser …show more content…
James doesn’t think about his wife for the entire rest of the day. The night that their party wins the election (of course they won the election, how could they not with Julius, that bloody genius, the king of spin), James’s wife, the to be ex-Mrs Katherine Kinnaird neé Harper phones to say she’s gotten things sorted with her lawyer and she wants a divorce. Also, by the way, she informs him, she’s been shagging the neighbor’s gardener for the past month. James hangs up on her without preamble and proceeds to get piss-drunk at the celebratory party. No one seems to be lacking in liquid inhibitors either. James just hopes with some tiny part of his mind that quickly evaporates, that all of the posh fuckers there have the common sense to wear protection. A decade or so from now, James doesn’t want to have to cover up all of the products of drunken shags that’ve come pawing for trust funds. ~O.o~ James wakes and groans. Everything hurts, from head to spine to toes. Spikes are being driven into his skull. Fuck all; hangovers at thirty-three are indeed a right sight worse than the ill-advised nights in his