It's November 11, 2020, an overcast day in Birmingham, England.

Outside, copper leaves cascade to the ground. A sense of impending renewal

fills the air. Inside, Rob walks confidently into his home office and eases himself into a chair.

It squeaks in protest, its cheap bearings grinding. Rob is the host of a podcast that, to his

delight, has an audience. He's about to record a new episode, but it's

not the anticipation of that which has him in such high spirits. Instead, Rob is looking forward

to gloating. Meanwhile, merely some 15 miles away, Jamie puts down a razor. The impossibly youthful

looking man risks a cautious glimpse into the mirror, casting his eyes,

and then his hands over his newly-shaven jawline.

Suddenly, Jamie's attention is wrenched from the mirror to his laptop.

A Zoom alert brings him panicking into the present.

He's forgotten his appointments.

Rushing over to the laptop, Jamie clicks a key to accept the call.

It's Rob calling.

Jamie can see him in his office, his mouth moving, but no sound. Rob, Rob, Rob, you're still on mute. Rob gives a stricken look

and fumbles for the keyboard. All right, is this working? Can you hear me now? Ah, there you are.

So, what are we doing? Who are we doing? What's

going on? Rob cracks a wry smile. It's the interview with Wicked Game tonight, Jamie. A moment

of recognition bridges the miles between them both as they acknowledge the enormity of their

situation, their lives, and indeed the lives of their listeners will never be the same

again.

My name's Lindsay Graham, and this is Totalis Rankium, election special.

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