From the Vault: The Bomb

Now a few weeks later, there's a knock at the door.

And it's our local councillor canvassing for the big upcoming local elections.

He tried to introduce himself, but I knew who he was.

I mean, I had his post on my wall.

Big chain mace, old shebang.

He asked what concerned me, locally like.

Instead, I told him that I was terrified of nukes, and that my body was changing, and maybe I'd be alone forever.

And that this kept me awake at night.

He looked at me, and smiled.

Come to the council meeting tonight, he said.

Then he strode off.

I shouted after him, but why? But he'd already gone.

I mean, it was only next door to Mrs Roach, but she was chewing off his ear about how wheelie bins were one of the great aesthetic crimes of the century, and it felt rude to interrupt her mid-flow.

That evening, I walked to the council chamber, and I couldn't believe it when I was ushered straight in by two birdie security guards.

Straight past the paparazzi, and I couldn't believe it.

This guest list for this place was so exclusive.

Vinegar Barons, Undertakers, Bluestars.

It was like a Studio 54 for the civically minded.

I raced for a seat.

I did not want to miss anything.

Apologies? Approval of minutes? Orders of business? This was going to be epic.

Like the Beatles at Shea, only with new motions and amendments.

I took my seat.

I was enraptured.

But in a flash, it was over.

Now a few weeks later, there's a knock at the door.

And it's our local councillor canvassing for the big upcoming local elections.

He tried to introduce himself, but I knew who he was.

I mean, I had his post on my wall.

Big chain mace, old shebang.

He asked what concerned me, locally like.

Instead, I told him that I was terrified of nukes, and that my body was changing, and maybe I'd be alone forever.

And that this kept me awake at night.

He looked at me, and smiled.

Come to the council meeting tonight, he said.

Then he strode off.

I shouted after him, but why? But he'd already gone.

I mean, it was only next door to Mrs Roach, but she was chewing off his ear about how wheelie bins were one of the great aesthetic crimes of the century, and it felt rude to interrupt her mid-flow.

That evening, I walked to the council chamber, and I couldn't believe it when I was ushered straight in by two birdie security guards.

Straight past the paparazzi, and I couldn't believe it.

This guest list for this place was so exclusive.

Vinegar Barons, Undertakers, Bluestars.

It was like a Studio 54 for the civically minded.

I raced for a seat.

I did not want to miss anything.

Apologies? Approval of minutes? Orders of business? This was going to be epic.

Like the Beatles at Shea, only with new motions and amendments.

I took my seat.

I was enraptured.

But in a flash, it was over.