Loaded. Charged. Wireless. Roaming. A revolution was happening. Oh, sorry, hadn’t you heard? The Free-Marketeers were the children of the new world. But too late had they arrived. The party, it was over. The heady days of Cocaine Socialism. Over. But irony. Irony was not over. And nor would it be. Not even the day after the revolution. How else to explain London suddenly finding herself with a new party to host? The hottest ticket-in-town, no less, according to the big business of exclusive invites. The people, so the propagandists-elect quipped, had voted for change. Too long had they been force-fed the lie that things could only get better – for whom, of course, it was never quite said. An end to state-sponsored prejudice and greed was their bag. And this, their hand-delivered ballot-box mandate. A veritable purple finger to those defenders of the realm. And who could blame them? They could, put simply, carry on like this no more. Never had they been had so good! What rotten luck, therefore, that their names were not down on the guest list. In no way were the people coming in. No, not tonight. Their collective plea to find a cure for this corporate disease, erased. Rewound. They needed not an alibi but a fire escape. An open window. And as for London. London knew better than to believe the hype. It was never but a sequel. The writer is the Deputy Managing Editor, Daily Times. She can be reached at mirandahusain@me.com and tweets @humeiwei Published in Daily Times, September 6th 2017.