12/11/2014 19:28 GMT | Updated 11/01/2015 05:59 GMT

Russell Brand: An Imagined Riposte

"You say you want a revolution," sang those lovable moptops, those Dionysian behemoths of the 1960s, those sex chameleons who made girls widdle in their drawers, The Beatles. And who would have thought that just half a century later, li'l old me, your ever-faithful Russy-Wuss, would be the one spearheading that heady pipe dream. And what makes it even better is that you, my fellow man, you 'andsome old devil, you virile son of a gun, you, can join me in making this giant slab of spherical rock a better place. I'll even let you bring your girlfriend along if you'd like - the revolution still needs hot meals, you know; we're not savages!

It's not a task you throw yourself into light-heartedly, this revolution lark, but I've been preparing for it since birth. The moment I sprang from my mother's loins, I gave the midwife a sly wink (she was a bit of a sort) and immediately set about learning the ways of the world and Mother Nature (another sort). Throughout my school days, where the only thing I learnt is that academia - like so much else in the modern world - is entirely superfluous, I would form groups, I would lead rebellions, I would engage my fellow unkempt urchins in the art of protest and disobedience. It was akin to Just William being set in Grays. Obviously this would encourage the wrath of some stuffy headmaster who wouldn't know fun if it bit him on the old meat and two veg, and I was often forced to sit in the corner and read a thesaurus as punishment.

"So, Russell, leader of men, what does such a revolution entail?" I hear you ponder, as the cogs of your thinkbox trundle around, desperately in need of a quick spritz with the WD-40. "Surely it can't be all Bacchanalian orgies with lustrous nymphs?" "I wish!" I'd retort, guffawing whilst growing ever more tumescent at the thought of such an idea. You might think a revolution might involve some sort of military coup but I'm a pacifist at heart, and it's a lot simpler than that.

Since the bloody politicians and their banker cronies left us having to eat Honey Nut Cheerios three times a day just to get a square meal, everyone's been concerned about the economy. No-one seems to have much of the dosh, the greenstuff, the moolah these days (except me that is, but that can't be helped, and isn't of any consequence really) and people are being right grizzlebags about it. But there's a simple solution. Just find yourself a benevolent, multi-national publishing conglomerate with a questionable line in tax avoidance, and they'll hand over a healthy wodge as an advance whilst you pen your magnum opus. No more tins of beans for dinner for you. Gawd love a duck, Russ has only gone and done it again!

I've also had a fair bit of stick from Paxo and his Oxbridge chums about my reluctance to vote, as if my marking a bit of papyrus with a cross is ever going to change anything. Really this is class war. These people are annoyed that one of the oiks, an Essex lad who one day dreamed of changing the world, would have the impudence, the front, the gall, the downright cheek to tell the suits that it's time for change around here. Jump aboard my bandwagon, one and all, don't vote in the next general election (not sure when that is, you can probably find out on Googly-Woogly though) and the whole political system, that sinister cabal, will be brought to its knees by your silent action. We'll be a nation of Hare Krishnas - what a utopia! You might be scratching your noggin wondering how not voting will topple an elected government but you mark my words. I'm sure you can fill in the blanks yourself - you're such a gorgeous creature, look at you, you're practically edible.

There's probably a load of other stuff I should address but look at the time - we can't stand around all day gassing, can we? What are we, a bunch of women or something?! I'm not the messiah, and I've certainly been a naughty boy in the past, but some bloke once said something about sin and stones that resonates pretty well here, I reckon. We're all right brassed off with the state of this nation and over the past 800 or so words - each one as crucial and irremovable and important as the last - you'll surely concur I've provided watertight, incontrovertible, rigorous and downright sexy proof that this revolution will work and that it needs to happen. Until next time, fellow revolutionaries.

As told to Joe Rivers