I hear that Julian Assange could be holed up in the Ecuadorian Embassy for a whole year. Well, that’s a very long time to think up an escape plan….or even dig a tunnel to freedom…Wonder what’s on his mind…
Julian sat deep in thought, dipping a piece of pitta bread into a tub of Morrison’s guacamole. On a table before him an old TV was pumping out more images of sporty looking people smiling and crying as pieces of metal, attached to ribbons, are looped around their necks. He felt like his own life was on a loop, or, worse, on hold. Every idea he had to slip out of the embassy was poo-pooed by the staff – from the doorman to the gardener.
His idea of dying his hair black and slipping on an Ecuadorian Olympian’s rayon shirt was met by bemused smiles. His suggestion that one of the team’s wheelchair bikes be loaned to him for a getaway cart was met with similar derision. “You can wheel away, but you can’t hide,” said the embassy cleaner haughtily.
“She has a point,” thought Julian. And then it came to him. In a flash. As a montage of Paralympic highlights ended in a riot of fireworks.
“Yes!” screamed Julian, leaping into the air, and launching into a Mobot around the small antechamber which was now his headquarters. “Just a few weeks and I’m out,” he said to no-one in particular. And no-one in particular was listening.
So he sounded out his plan to the cacti in the corner: “Halloween. October 31. I’ll send out for one of those Guy Fawkes masks and capes the Anti-Cap guys are all wearing outside and when the munchkin kids come calling, braying trick or treat, I’ll slip in among their number melt off into the night. Genius. Most of the press will be occupied kowtowing to their own children – “pinning tails on the devil” party games and bothering the neighbours.
“Well stick that in your pumpkin soup and choke on it press corp! ….You won’t be able to see me for all those other Guys out there.
“Note to self, must remember not to leak the details…”