There were two bins on the ballot in Clacton.

The first was made of silver plastic. It wore a cape, spent thirty quid on its campaign, and admitted up front that it was filled with absolute rubbish.

The second was made of velvet and tweed. It took a five-million-pound crypto bung, treated the town like a temporary photo-op, and called the grift democracy.

The hopeful lined up at the polling station, defying the maths. Hoping a silly plastic lid might somehow seal away the smell.

The tally came in. The cameras flashed.

The plastic bin packed up its headpiece and went home.

The actual trash got elected to Parliament.