HAD a terrible nightmare the other day – sent a shiver down my spine.
It was Friday, June 9 2017 and the most extravagant party was taking place in a mansion fit for a king.
Champagne was flowing, sumptuous food was everywhere, loud music tested the ear drums and wild dancing was the order of the night.
Rupert Murdoch was having a great time. You know, the guy who controls our media and wrecked our national sport by flooding it with money. He proposed a toast to all the country’s billionaires.
Yes, and I’m sure I recognised Richard Branson. All smiles, he was drinking to the next leg of his clean-up of what used to be called the National Health Service.
Fat cat bankers were flashing the cash. More seven-figure bonus heading their way – what’s not to like about that?
Men from the city whooping it up. Plenty more winnings to come from that casino some call the stock market.
I’m sure I spotted a few big wigs from the corporations mopping their brows in relief – no need to worry about increased taxes for another five years.
Bosses from the rail companies tapped busily into their phones. How much more could they now put the fares up? The sky’s the limit….
Oh, and I’m sure that was Mr and Mrs Hedge Fund…such a lovely, prosperous couple.
Barging his way to the front was Donald Trump, boasting loudly that the special relationship was safe and sound
Even Royalty was there. The Prince of Saudi Arabia surrounded by men in dark suits wheeled and dealed into the early hours.