Vaulting Ambition
Cygninia Progressive MP Joseph Benson found attending the House of Commons tiring at best, but his most recent visit was particularly draining.
Not only did he have to endure other MPs arguing and causing general raucousness in the Lower Chamber, but the Themse also burst its banks and flooded the hallowed institution.
The subsequent evacuation of the Palace of Westmynstre brought MPs and Peers together, as everyone crammed into life rafts allocated to people from vaguely the same geographical area.
It gave Joseph Benson a chance to catch up with the other politicians from Waeringshire, including George Darcy, the 9th Marquess of Cygninia, who he got on famously with despite being slightly more Left than him.
“This will be an amusing anecdote to tell the constituents back home,” George said, watching his pace of work disappear as he bobbed away on a life raft.
“Yes, especially after all the wildfires earlier in the year,” Joseph said, chuckling.
George scanned the people on the life raft. “Flooding wasn’t in the Commons, was he?”
“No. Certainly I didn’t see him today,” Joseph said. “He very rarely shows himself.”
“I thought not,” George said, grimacing at the thought of Christoph Flooding, the Fascist MP for the seaside constituency of Claccingatūn, even though he lived 177 miles away in a mansion just outside Cygninia, making him a closeish neighbour of George and Joseph. “He’s an embarrassment to Saxonian Parliamentary democracy.”
“To be honest, I’m quite glad,” Joseph said. “I don’t think I could stomach being stuck with him on the train.”
George scoffed. “As if Christoph Flooding would demean himself by riding a train with the peasantry. His chauffeur would take him home in his Rolls-Royce.”
“Of course,” Joseph said. “I suppose I’m the only one who uses public transport to get to Londinium.”
“Yes, I suppose you would be,” George said. “However, I’m sure my chauffeur would be more than happy to take you home, if you’d wish.”
“Thank you for the offer,” Joseph said “But I’m fine. I quite enjoy taking the train; I get some work done that way.”
“Very well,” George said, clearing his throat.
Harold Perceville, the Traditional MP for Chinewrde and Sucham, turned towards the mass of politicians squeezed onto the small boat.
“If any of you require a lift, my driver Smythe has agreed to make several detours before taking me home to Perceville Hall,” Harold said.
The crowd of people mumbled amongst themselves, gawping at Harold and shrugging.
Harold’s father, Ambrose Perceville, 10th Earl of Waering, grimaced at the morass of flesh in front of him.
“Please only accept my son’s offer if you are a fellow member of the Traditional Party,” Ambrose said, wrinkling his nose. “We cannot be seen sharing a vehicle with representatives of other parties, especially if they’re from the Left.”
George smirked at his Waering subordinate. “Good to see you being co-operative in a crisis, Ambrose.”
Ambrose leered at the Marquess and pivoted round to observe the skyscrapers zoom past the boat.
“Do you sometimes wish you could have a joint trip to Parliament with William?” Joseph said, glancing at George.
“Not especially,” George said. “My son decided to enter local government, and I respect his decision.”
“Gordon speaks very highly of him,” Joseph said. “He’s a great asset to the Administrative Board.”
George scoffed. “Soon to be engulfed by your party’s proposed MegaCouncil, which William is quite concerned about.”
“Yes, of course,” Joseph said, laughing awkwardly and rubbing the back of his neck. “I admit I didn’t realise this was the direction my party was going when I replaced Cygninia District Council with the Administrative Board.”
“Indeed. I suppose you didn’t,” George said, stoically observing the Londinium skyline.
Eventually, the life raft arrived at a reasonable stop to enable Joseph to get to St Mary-burne train station, so Joseph bid his fellow passengers farewell and hopped off.
The journey to St Mary- Burne station was reasonably straightforward, not too dissimilar to the commute Joseph would’ve taken even if the Houses of Parliament hadn’t flooded. Still, Mr Benson felt rather uncomfortable the whole time.
He hadn’t given the government’s decision to merge all councils across Britannia into MegaCouncils for each county much thought since the government first proposed the idea. Still, now George Darcy ensured it came back to haunt him.
Joseph did not know what would become of his Administrators once Waeringshire’s MegaCouncil came into being, and it was beginning to eat at him from the inside.
Once the MP got to St Mary- Burne station, he sat at the platform waiting for his ride home, staring vacantly in front of him.
His cup of coffee did nothing to soothe his anxiety, not even the extra two spoonfuls of sugar he requested to have in it.
Joseph’s heart rattled in his chest, beating faster when he heard his phone ringing.
He gasped for air when he answered the call, and heard the distinctive hearty laugh of General Sir Gordon Ainsworth on the other end of the line.
“Joseph, my good man!” Gordon said, hooting. “I’ve just caught up with the news. Are you quite all right?”
“Yes, Gordon, I’m fine, so is Lord Cygninia,” Joseph said. “We were evacuated from the Palace. I’m currently waiting for my train home.”
“Excellent,” Gordon said. “I know you’re a skilled swimmer, but I just wanted to make sure.”
Joseph glanced at the train arrival times and saw that his train had arrived at platform three, so he leapt off his bench and ran towards it.
“Are you free during the week at all?” Joseph said, sprinting towards his train despite having plenty of time. “I want to talk to you about the planned MegaCouncil.”
Joseph leapt onto the train and flopped into a window seat as Gordon pondered his question.
“Yes, of course, I’m more than happy to have a drink with you any evening,” Gordon said. “But I thought the MegaCouncil had bitten the dust after the government got cold feet.”
“We’ve only paused it for review, following legal advice,” Joseph said. “We still need to discuss what the proposals mean going forward; I can’t guarantee you’ll have as high a position in the new MegaCouncil as Chief Administrator.”
Gordon sighed heavily, which made Joseph’s chest constrict.
“So I feared,” Gordon said, making Mr Benson feel worse. “But still, Cygninia will still need a mayor, won’t it?”
Joseph swallowed and took shallow breaths. “Not exactly. Since Waeringshire will only have one or two MegaCouncils, we may only need one leader for the whole county.”
Joseph gnawed on a singular crisp like a small rodent, occasionally meeting eye contact with the passenger sitting opposite him, gawping blankly.
“Well, surely it would be best for a highly decorated General to lead the MegaCouncil rather than the young whippersnapper currently calling the shots in Waering. He’s only there on a technicality,” Gordon said.
Joseph guzzled down some water, gripping the plastic bottle tightly with a shaky hand.
“I know, Gordon, but I have no control over how the MegaCouncil will be organised and who will be on it,” Joseph said. “We may have an election beforehand or we may not. That’s why we need to discuss it over a drink of some sort.”
Joseph gazed at the rolling green fields and livestock zooming past his window in a blur.
The bucolic scene did nothing to soothe him.
“Fine, fine. How about tomorrow evening?” Gordon said. “I’m happy to host; I’ve got a lovely collection of Scotch whisky.”
Joseph managed to conjure a small grin, despite Gordon not being able to see it. “That sounds wonderful, Gordon. It would also be wise to have an emergency meeting at the Administrative Board. All Administrators must know where they stand.”
“Very well, I shall put it forward to them tomorrow morning,” Gordon said.
With the plan in motion, Joseph bid farewell to his old friend and ended the call, sitting in silence for the rest of the journey.
After a brief stopover in Waering, which made Joseph extremely glad that Ambrose Perceville decided to return home in his son’s Rolls-Royce rather than join him on the train, and another half-hour train ride later, Joseph finally arrived back home in Cygninia.
Except, rather than complete the fourteen-minute walk from the train station to his house, Joseph lumbered over to a bench and flopped down on it.
A full day of enduring political verbiage from within the House of Commons, escaping a flood of Biblical proportions, and feeling guilty for not fully explaining the implications of the Government’s MegaCouncil proposals to his beloved Administrative Board and old comrade General Sir Gordon Ainsworth had left him completely depleted.
He was sitting at that train station, exhausted, feeling someone place a hand on his shoulder.
Joseph glanced to his right, to find none other than George Darcy sitting next to him.
“I found myself driving past the station and wondered whether you’d got home safely,” George said.
Joseph wrinkled his forehead. “To the point that you bought a ticket just to get onto the platform?”
George grinned at his friend. “Anything for you, my good man. We may not see eye to eye, but you’re a decent chap for a Leftist.”
“Thank you,” Joseph said, bowing his head as an act of deference to the Marquess. “And you’re not bad for a Trad Aristo.”
George chuckled to himself.
Joseph gazed at George and simpered. “I know this is a stupid thing to ask, but would you mind driving me to my house? Somehow I can’t stomach walking.”
George guffawed and slapped Joseph on the back. “Of course, Benson. The car’s just waiting outside; follow me.”
The Marquess groaned as he rose from the bench and made his way out of the station.
Joseph inhaled and used all of his willpower to get off the bench and trail the Marquess to his car.
“Now then, Joseph, old boy,” George said, placing an arm around the MP’s shoulders. “I’d like some advice.”
“Of course, fire away,” Joseph said. “What do you want advice on?”
“How do I go about ensuring my son has as high a position in the MegaCouncil as he has now as Second Administrator in Command?” George said.
Joseph gawped at Lord Cygninia, and gulped.
“I’m afraid I have no real power in that regard,” Joseph said. “I have no idea whether he’ll automatically have a role in the MegaCouncil or if he’ll need to stand for election again.”
“I see,” George said, gazing at the floor. “I suppose if the Traditional Party gain a majority in the MegaCouncil, then William has a chance of becoming Leader of the MegaCouncil,” George said.
The two men waltzed out of the station, and Joseph slid into the back seat of Mr Darcy’s Rolls Royce, whilst the Marquess of Cygninia rode shotgun as he always did.
“It’s certainly possible,” Joseph said as he fastened his seatbelt. “But he’ll have Gordon to contend with.”
George chortled. “Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about Ainsworth. Has he considered enjoying his retirement?”
“He seems pretty set on having as much influence as possible in the new MegaCouncil,” Joseph said, shrugging. “My fault, I fear. I’ve given him power that he’s not willing to give up in a hurry.”
“Very well,” George said. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
“Yes,” Joseph said. “Hmm.”
After a pleasant five-minute drive, George dropped Joseph off at his majestic Georgian townhouse in the old part of town, bid him farewell, and drove back to his sprawling country pile, Rosewood House.
Joseph stood statue-like outside his home, staring at nothing in particular.
Finally, after what seemed like a very long day, he was home.
He slowly pivoted round, and clambered up the steps to his door.
Joseph retrieved the door keys he had placed under an upturned Oxenaforda shoe on the top step and unlocked the door.
He entered his home, and upon closing the front door, shuffled into his living room, and flopped into his favourite armchair in front of the fire.
Joseph let himself decompress, relieved he could spend the rest of the day relaxing.
But then his phone vibrated.
Tentatively, Joseph took it out and glanced at the screen.
It was a calendar reminder: he was due to open a new wing of Cygninia Hospital in an hour.
Joseph hit his head on the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed.
He groaned, rubbed his face, and pushed himself off the chair.
Joseph then strode out of the living room and got ready for his next engagement as an MP.
The life of an MP never really stops.
