"ID cards are the best things ever ever

...Not from our point of view, of course. Not for the British public. But as a ploy - as a political manoeuvre - it can't be beat. I mean, it's wrong in every way, for everyone. It allows an already authoritarian government even greater control over the populace. It grants power that will almost certainly be misused. And yet, because no one believes it will affect them personally - properly, I mean, and right away - it won't be opposed in any significant way.

The speaker is Spares. It is the year 2005. Spares is sitting in the waiting room-stroke-buffet of a train station, somewhere between Birmingham New Street and Whereverborough. He is facing his friend, Benj.

Spares and Benj are typical of most educated young people in Britain in the year 2005. Spares is from a small village in Powys in Wales, while Benj is from Hastings. They might as well be from Macclesfield and Muswell Hill. Or Brixham and Scunthorpe. They are too entirely typical for it to matter.

That is to say they are quite well groomed, and they have fairly individual (but not heretical,) tastes in music and clothing. They don't take themselves too seriously. They use bad language, but are painfully polite to strangers. They would offer to help if they saw someone struggling with a load. They get on well with their families, save for the odd ruction, because they don't see eye to eye about absolutely everything ever (who does?) They have plenty of friends, both male and female, though they're unlikely to stay in touch with most of them. They know someone who has been in an institution. They possess a well developed sense of irony, and do not expect people - particularly people in positions of power - to behave wisely or altruistically, so most of what they hear about all this shit going down is grimly amusing to them.

They are cultured. They are respectful of, but not cowed by, intellectualism. They have read and understood many of the books which despairing elder citizens believe are, to the detriment of the country, no longer being read. They have read more of these books than most of the despairing older citizens. They have had many drunken escapades, some of which, when recounted, seem like surrealism incarnate. They are cynical about careers and families, but will likely drift into pretty decent jobs, and marry, if they wish to. They know someone like your narrator, who is himself similar to them, but hugely, exasperatingly bitter about every little thing and really needs to chill the fuck out. They are afraid of awkward situations, afraid of making tits of themselves, afraid of missing out, but not afraid to admit it. They have done things which require courage, determination and a sense of adventure.

Despite their similarities, Benj is not listening to Spares' considered words. He is preoccupied with the couple who are sitting two tables away. They are the most androgynous couple he has ever seen. He doesn't know if it's a man and a woman, a woman and a man, a pair of gayboys or a pair of lezzers. One is short - baseball cap - freckles. The other is average height - eyeliner - record bag. Their clothes are so baggy that Benj cannot make out which, if either, has boobs or child-bearing hips. They keep kissing each other on the brow.

"It's the same fucking thing with Global Warming, Spares continues. (He mistakes Benj's wayward gaze for deep consideration of the unavoidable Doomsday he describes.) "You need to legislate. No one's going to do anything, no matter how many politicians and celebrities and serious thinkers repeat that 'Must Act Now' mantra. No one's gonna do a goddamn fucking thing because it doesn't stop you, now, today, doing whatever shit it is you wanna do.

Benj is frightened. He is frightened by the idea of a person who would be regarded as attractive whether they were male or female. And here are two of them right in front of them. He wonders if there might be a few minutes, before birth, which everyone is given and no one ever remembers, where you get to make certain special requests of God. Like a kind of last meal before execution. And these two had both said, 'I'm not really sure what gender I'd like to be, so if you could rustle up a flexible chassis, that'd be great.'

Benj ponders what idiot things he might have said in those precious moments. Probably 'Knock yourself out' or 'Do your worst'.

'Think you're funny, do you?' God would reply (God is a wideboy in Benj's imagination.) 'Nah,' Benj would say. 'It's just that whatever I say, it's going to be wrong, isn't it? I can tell. I'm the kind of guy who always makes the wrong choices.' 'Look, you spaz,' God says. 'I've got a lot of people to get through today and I haven't got time for your whining and crying'. 'No, I don't suppose you do.' 'So what'll it be?'

In his imagination, Benj thinks carefully before speaking.

'Make it so I find it easy to daydream.'

'Done, and done,' says God.

Spares is still talking.

"I just wish the order were reversed, you know? From the looks of things now, we're gonna have to flee the country just so we can roast to death, or drown, in some other part of the world. Sometimes I wish Global Warming would just hurry the fuck up and beat the Government to it. It's not as if they're gonna do anything to stop it.

He takes a pull on the water bottle. It's a hot day.

"I'm getting a gun off some guy my brother knows. You're not even listening to me, are you, you shit?

The train has been delayed. Nothing much out of the ordinary will happen today.