When I was a child I had a (very real) imaginary friend called Mrs Kershaw, who was my best friend. If I close my eyes I can see her as vivid as I could when I was a child. She wore her hair in a bun and carried a shopping basket that always had nice things in it. She wore a leopard skin jacket with kind of poppers down the front and a turquoise blouse. Mrs Kershaw had a kind gentle Scottish accent and I told her everything. Where did she go? Who was she? and where did she come from?
When I talk to myself (as I do frequently) I often wonder if I am really still talking to my old friend Mrs K and I smile to myself thinking she must be very much alive and well somewhere hopefully looking after another very lonely and imaginative child. 
What would an ideal far right country look right to those who would vote Reform?
If it’s Wednesday it’s steak and kidney pie.
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