THE PENGUIN PHENOMENON

A Fable For Our Time

It was the opinion poll on the Thursday before the general election that woke the country up, showing that the Penguin now had an eight point lead. There had been straws in the wind prior to that, particularly the now famous Question Time appearance when the Penguin had squawked his belief that the country needed to become truly an island again. An island surrounded by a sea stocked plentifully with fish that belonged to us all. The audience had been given copies of the Penguin’s statement, but even at this stage some claimed to be able to understand penguin. They had greeted every squawk with rapturous applause.
In the weeks that followed the Penguin momentum built, everywhere you saw Penguin posters, Penguin button badges or stickers. The ubiquitous Penguin seemed to dominate TV and press coverage of the election, though for all the coverage it was difficult to establish what the Penguin actually stood for beyond a love of the fact that we were an island surrounded by fish. All the coverage was soft focus with few probing questions. Whenever the Penguin was pressed he simply flapped his wings, made a strange noise and waddled off. Instead of putting people off however this seemed to endear the Penguin to the public even more. I overheard this conversation at a bus stop.
“Did you see the Penguin last night? He gave that prat of a reporter what for.”
“Yes, wasn’t he brilliant? He doesn't give a damn about those Westminster wasters. I'm definitely voting Penguin.”
On the Day before the election the Sun headline read, “THE SUN SAYS VOTE PENGUIN,” as the Penguin gazed out of the front page looking particularly Churchillian.
As the polls closed and the first exit polls flashed on the TV screen it was clear that there was going to be a Penguin landslide. I went to bed early.
The following morning in the newsagent the papers were full of it, ‘LANDSLIDE,’ ‘PENGUIN POWER,’
‘THE NEW POLITICS OF PENGUINISM,’ and The Guardian, ‘THE PENGUIN PHENOMENON.’ Deeply depressed I paid for my paper. “It seems,” I said to Mr Patel, “we have a penguin as Prime Minister.”
“Yes,” he smiled broadly, “isn't wonderful?”
Back home as I fiddled with the keys of my flat I found a note lying on the floor, printed in bold Ariel font it said, “LEARN PENGUIN OR GET OUT.”


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