20.1.09 | Forty Four
When all the poetic rhetoric is done.
When all the fine speeches are crafted, then read out with a grace lacking in your thuggish simian predecessor.
When a million people have hung breathless on your every word, intoxicated for the almost Messiah-like hopes you have instilled in them..
(And that's just a few of the citizens who will be there with you in this sunny winter day)
When the world too pauses just for a second, watching their television sets and listening to their radio's. Some with more cynicism than hope. After all... we practically have seen it all before, if you think about it long enough.
Remember that you're just a man. Whatever you do now, can probably just as easily be undone by the 45th or a million other variables. In a thousand years, no-one will remember much about you anyway. Just do your best. Do as little damage as possible, if nothing else.
(And i... for my part will remember our Albions 72th... and the adulation and hope he brought with him... only to see all those hopes dashed and a country and it's democracy shattered upon the wheels and cogs of money and greed. My country is fucked. You have a much bigger responsibility, and the world awaits your arrival. Godspeed.