2030:THE LOTTERY by Peter Moore

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Peter Moore's new novel is a political satire set in an alarming future UK.

Disillusioned and bitter, ex-EU President Tony Blair returns to his old office in 10 Downing Street, and shoots himself. It is 2030, and Britain is being ruled by Titus Cromwell, a megalomaniac prime minister, who controls the populace through the power of the national identity card.

The country is being buried under drugs; the National Health Service and the education system are failing; infrastructure is collapsing, the armed forced are still fighting the war in Iraq, the prisons are overflowing, and everyone is living too long.

Cromwell comes up with his own solution: a grotesque lottery.

He is the only one who knows what’s right. He bullies his crony Cabinet, and dismisses the House of Commons out of hand. Civil unrest is rumbling and he is forced to set up Red Zones, guarded by tanks and troops around major cities, and facilities.

Rebellion grows after he bulldozers draconian measures, including the banning of real money, through Parliament.

Pandora Tyler leads a peaceful protest march of tens of thousands of women and children on Whitehall. Cromwell orders police and armed troops to open fire on them. Anger erupts and the nation splits between Cromwell and Pandora supporters

Is this the start of a new civil war? Is this really a comment on modern politics?

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An excerpt from Peter Moore's new novel...

President Tony Blair was dead before he hit the floor. The bullet slurried his brain, along with most of the back of his skull, six feet away on to the dark oak-panelled wall of his old office in Number 10, Downing Street.

It splintered the toothy grin that had made him so loved and hated all through his long years as a player on the world stage.

The force of the shot had rocked him backwards on to two legs of his old high office chair where it teetered before toppling over and crashing to the ground, leaving him lying on his back, mimicking a grotesque sitting position, hands outstretched like some crucified saint.

He had been on a meander down his memory lane, visiting his ghosts. He had walked slowly up the wide, sweeping, semi-circular staircase to his old room, pulling himself up every tread by both hands on the wooden banister, discoloured by the hands of history, stopping now and again to admire the portraits of past leaders of Great Britain.

His mood had grown more sombre with every heavy, leaden step. He had stopped in front of his own likeness of a much younger Blair and stared at it blankly. In those days he still had hair.

Published by Libros International, it will be available shortly
        through Amazon UK and all good bookshops.