Many of you will know that my house is a mess. I’ve recently discovered that this is not my fault. It turns out that my house is built on a nexus of wormholes in the space/time continuum. (Also on a Native American burial site, but I had that moved here to add character to the neighbourhood, so it doesn’t count)
Into these wormholes fall pens that I just put down, phone numbers I wrote on the backs of envelopes, paperwork that I absolutely mustn’t lose and all manner of useful gadgets like needle adaptors for pumps.
Out of the wormholes come socks that aren’t mine, crumbs, receipts, loose change, junk mail other household detritus that accumulates so quickly that the line between ‘clutter’ and ‘strata’ is often blurred.
However, it turns out that some of the wormholes are connected to the future, where they’ve solved the problem of waste collection by simply dumping their crap into the past. Hence my receipt for a Tesco Value Fusion Toast-o-matic and Emergency Contraception device.
It’s good to know that in the year 2525, not only does man still survive but that he’s prospering and happier than ever. By attaching sticky labels with questions about our future to every biro in the house I’m able to sporadically communicate with my far-future counterpart, who replies by means of post-it notes inserted into my jeans pockets during the wash cycle. The writing’s a little blurry but, as far as I can gather, just as the world is on the blink of social, financial and climatic collapse, a new world order will arise.
It turns out that The Green Party will suddenly realise that the words ‘Green’ and ‘sustainable’ have become so indelibly tainted by the lentil-bake, hemp-sandalled, hair-shirted, holier-than-thou, hippy angst of the chronic do-gooder that their ‘brand’ has all the market appeal of ‘Tramp Flakes’ – the cereal that helps the skin-diseased helpless to help themselves.
They rebrand themselves as a professional, technologically savvy, forward-thinking party who aim to use cyclical design principles to improve quality of life and suppress any move to start harping on about composting toilets by even their most staunch supporters.
Two years later, the sheer frustration of not banging on about organic vegetables and homoeopathy, along with the suppression of their smug moral superiority has caused such a psychic resonance amongst diehard Greens that it has taken physical form as a new element composed of resentment and sub-atomically reconfigured patchouli oil. This new element christened Opprobrium and it turns out to be the catalyst for cold fusion. The earth is pulled back from the brink of extinction, the lion lies down with the lamb and God emerges blinking from a strip club in Wolverhampton, admits that the last century was a practical joke that got out of hand and with a single, mellifluous hand gesture, eliminates the sub-sub-microscopic particle that causes impotence, reality television and the need for bankers.
You heard it here first. Green politicians, begin the revolution.