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It's six months since the Assembly election, so it's worth catching up with some of those who lost their seats to find out what they're up to now.
Leighton Andrews : Dating Agency
A sign sticks out prominently amidst a row of stone terrace shops in Porth, reading: 'Plenty of Sheep'. The advertising promises, "long-term, sustainable personal mergers....or a one-night task and finish group". Inside, near the door, is a poster of Leanne Wood peppered with dart holes.
Leighton explains, "I get a number of pathetic people coming through the door groveling for dates. That's because their own company is so bad they dread spending extended time with themselves, so they need to selfishly force their existence onto others.
"But I'm just a romantic at heart."
One of the regulars had just come in; a divorcee in his 40s with a large proboscis. Leighton greets him, "Hello, 'Big Nose'."
"My name's...."
"'Big Nose'. It could've been worse; I thought 'Schnozilla' might work too." Leighton is momentarily distracted by a shadow approaching the door. "Is that the sound of cloven hooves? It can only mean one thing."
A hesitant, pear-shaped woman enters. "Welcome back, 'Fat Arse'", he points to the other client, accompanied by a self-satisfied grin. "Didn't I promise you success?"
After they've taken their seats, he addresses each in turn, "Big Nose....Fat Arse....I'm pleased to announce I've decided to bring you together in a merger." He slides two paper coupons across his desk. "Please accept these complementary McDonald's vouchers to speed the negotiations along."
"Negotiations?" asks the woman. "Negotiations for what?"
"I'll put it diplomatically. A shag obviously, you silly bint!"
The two hastily exit, with Leighton chasing after them, "Wait, where are you going?" He shouts down the street, "I've got an app now!"
He shrugs his shoulders, "Well, it couldn't have been something I said?" before hurling another dart into the Leanne Wood poster.
Eluned Parrott : Butcher
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"Carnists, how does it feel knowing your stomach's a graveyard!?" the loudhailer screams.
Eluned's 'Bird Meat' outlet on City Road is regularly protested by Cardiff University's Cis-Vegan Collective, whose pallor during daylight and garish cyberpunk fashion results in them being mistaken for vampires....which is ironic.
"It's not fried chicken!" blasts lead protester, Emmie Whistle - who's studying for a postgraduate diploma in Narcissism. "It's misogynistic murder! It's smothering a mother's carcass with her periods then throwing them into a pot of boiling oil!
"You necrophagists ram a once living being into a dark cavity, then smash it with protruding bones and force it down into a pit of acid with a meat tentacle, after which you absorb its essence and turn it into energy....
"....No! There's nothing awesome about that at all! Respect my safe space!"
Emmie always takes a dislike to to Cardiff University's Metal Society showing up and giving her the devil horns as if saluting a prophet, "GO AWAY AND STOP BEING MEAN! YOU SHOULD ALL BE SHOT! BUNCH OF WEIRDOS!" She blows a whistle and stomps on the pavement, "HATE SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!"
As a Lib Dem, Eluned's used to being on the wrong side of students. Now she's more upbeat, having become the destination of choice for posers looking for something more exotic than quinoa and avocado-on-bread for Instagram, or who are used to paying £14 for a meal that would be priced £8 in a less fashionable postcode.
"I think this might be gorilla", she whispers as she continues a task symbolic of the struggle facing her party - attempting to neatly present pieces of endangered carcass. "I deal in strictly under-the-counter pretentiousness as any other Lib Dem, but it's proving popular in the uncertain times we live in. At least people can control what they eat, not politics." She passes a brown paper bag to a over-tattooed man with a beard and ear expanders.
"The fightback has started!" Eluned hurls a cleaver into a giraffe shank. "Would you like to know a secret?
"When the store's closed and the lights are off....I like to come down here to sit in the darkness and smell the flesh."
I backed slowly out.
Lindsay Whittle : Classified
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It was very hard to find out what happened to Lindsay Whittle. When making enquiries, the conversation was inevitably cut short by, "It's classified" ,"He's on a very long holiday", "He's getting in touch with his primal being".
Some of the rumours were that he was carrying out medical experiments in orbit around the Earth, was eaten by a whale or was working on a perpetual motion engine. The strongest rumour – which to date hasn't been confirmed or denied – is that he jumped out of a plane over Laos.
The second hand account says he ripped the door open, muttered under his breath that, "Killin' is as easy as breathin'", clenched a hunting knife between his teeth, then dived into the jungle below - reportedly without a parachute.
Gwyn Price : Mime Artist
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The room is adorned with with posters of Marcel Marceau, Blue Man Group and Buster Keaton, a sign of the passion Gwyn Price had for miming. It's useful skill for a politician, but not when you're expected to actually do something for £50,000+ a year too.
He immediately pursed his lips whilst holding up a single finger, then attempted to escape an imaginary box.
Gwyn's first public gig will be to play the role of a new statue of The Unknown Soldier atop Blackwood cenotaph.
William Graham : Stand-up Comedy
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| "Live at the Apocalypse" |
William is making his final preparations before going out on stage in Newport, "I've catalogued some of the best contemporary jokes in order to test the ground and see what sort of comedy people like these days, then I can work on my own act."
His agent – who was doing it because he was too nice to say no – gave me a look of apprehension then crossed his fingers.
William walks out on stage carrying pages of notes, then activates a spinning bow tie for five seconds. The audience is mostly picked at random.
"Good evening," he clears his throat and turns to the first page. "West Ham were recently congratulated for being the only football club named after the two things ISIS hate." *drum roll*
"What kind of children go to heaven? Dead ones." *drum roll* The audience remain unimpressed. "After knocking a kid down with my car, my wife told me to turn myself into the police. So I bought a uniform and started shooting black people."
The joke is met with groans. William decides to abandon his several pages of notes marked 'Sickipedia' and moves on to 'Good Old Days'.
"Paddy and Mick are working on a building site...."
"....Irish jokes?" A heckler interrupts. "Is it 1972?"
"Uh...no....no, of course not...." He moves to the notes marked 'Frankie Boyle', "Uh....Did you hear about the new anti-speeding campaign? It's footage of Richard Hammond trying to remember his own wedding day." *drum roll* "....the Queen went to her doctor recently, and they told her she's so old her pussy's haunted."
"That's both ageist and sexist," another heckler grumbles.
An increasingly flustered William rifles through his notes once again, thinking it was the right time to use jokes to prove he supports women in comedy, but he skips over the jokes listed 'Fey' and 'Poehler' and goes straight for the nuclear option 'Schumer' : "My vagina was feeling itchy today...."
The audience had finally had enough and start booing and throwing beer mats at the stage, which William manages to dodge, "I didn't want to do this!" he shouts. "I didn't want to do this!" The audience calms down.
"Yes, I might've been a bit dull, but I managed to competently chair a committee and was a dignified presence on the Conservative benches for 17 years. When the other parties were actively looking for a talent upgrade, I got deselected in favour of Mohammad Asghar."
The audience are left in raptures as William is applauded off.
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