Due to the ever decreasing number of electors that turn out to vote an idea was hatched by the politicians. The next election was not to be decided at the ballot box but on the river bank. On the banks of Old Father Thames to be precise. However, just like the world of politics, even before the day came round controversy ruled. It was decided by the two main parties that only they would be allowed to fish, after all what was the point in inviting the minority parties, they would only take up precious river bank and they wouldn’t win, in any case. This infuriated the others. Led by the Liberals, a coalition was formed rather quickly. They decided after numerous late night committees to set themselves up as anti-anglers. Led by their formidable leader, Charles Kennedy, their tactic was to disrupt the match. Unfortunately, on the day they turned up at the River Tame, near Birmingham. Finding the river empty, they decided to go to the pub instead. 
So the scene was set. But still controversy was in the air, even as the competitors met at the car park prior to the match taking place. A heated debate had arisen, whether to fish the left bank or the right. This became so heated that in the end it was decided to fish both banks. The match was delayed by two hours before this was resolved. So the peggers got ready to move off down the river. Unfortunately trouble was about to rear its ugly head once more.
What was a quick exchange of words suddenly developed into a near brawl. What brought this on? The issue of whether the distance between competitors would be measured in metres or yards. Soon there were two warring factions either side of the car park, separated only by the buxom figure of Madam Speaker shouting, ‘order! Order!’
On the one side was Michael Heseltine, who insisted that the match be pegged in metres. ‘You lot are living in the past,’ he screamed. ‘You’ll be using cane rods and centre-pins next,’ to shouts of ‘hear, hear,’ from his colleagues around him – interestingly enough made up of members of both parties, in equal measures. This infuriated the opposition gathered around Bill Cash. ‘I’m MP for Stafford,’ he bellowed, ‘the birthplace of Izaak Walton.’ At this a crescendo of cheers erupted around him from his colleagues, interestingly enough also made up of members of both parties, in equal measures. Unfortunately, all this meant that the match was delayed by a further two hours.
The appearance on the scene of an Environment Agency official to check their licences didn’t seem to bother the competitors, except for Lord Levy. He took the official to one side to avoid others listening in, but someone was sure they heard him say that he had paid enough the year before to cover this year’s licence. Then one of the MP’s shouted out, ‘That’s no EA official, that’s the editor of The Times.’ This prompted a bit of shoving and pushing, but thankfully it didn’t develop too much beyond that. But it did delay the start by two hours.
Peace ruled and all the MP’s began to haul their creels, baskets and rucksacks over their shoulders ready to move off downstream. But before they took one step, the peace was broken. John Prescott was driving along the bank itself, insisting that he alone could drive to his peg. After all, his wife had just had her hair done and the weather forecast today was wet and windy. In addition he had two rods set up, when the rules clearly stated one rod only. The ensuing commotion, although it cleared up eventually, delayed the start of the match by a further two hours.
Surely, no more delays. As the competitors began to move along the bank further arguments broke out. This time Alistair Campbell was the centre of attention. Surrounded by the three Kens, Livingstone, Follett and Clarke, the shouts of ‘cheat, cheat, cheat’ grew louder and louder, as others joined. The object of this latest disruption was the discovery of a set of spinners in the tackle box of Mr Campbell. ‘No competitor must use spinning tactics’ shouted Mr Follett. ‘Shut up, you’re not even an MP,’ snapped back the now embarrassed Campbell. At this, fists began to fly and soon every competitor was involved in a mass brawl. This only stopped when Michael Portillo threatened to call the police on one of his mobile phones.
Unfortunately, another two hours had gone by and now darkness drew near. A quick vote was taken, the eyes to the right (or was it the left) won and the whole match was abandoned. ‘Let’s go down the pub’ suggested Robin Cook and John Major in amazingly accurate unison. For the first time all afternoon everyone was in total agreement. Led by William Hague and Tony Blair a happy band of anglers set off for the local.
