Stephen Harper was sitting in his seat in the jet that was taking him back to Ottawa. He was so happy, so content, so satisfied.

Everything was going his way and he was going to see to it that things continued like that. Everything going his way. He would go back to Ottawa and be the Golden Boy, the Golden Prime Minister, the Golden Prime-Minister-for-Life.

Maybe, he’d get a little golden crown, nothing ostentatious, just a coronet, a golden token of his prestige and authority.

There would be no more need for a Governor General, not even a girl one that was so easy to push around. Forget it. He could represent the Queen – he could be King. Well, maybe not. They might not be ready for that just yet. But perhaps, his son. . . .

He leaned his head back on the head rest of the chair and sipped at a mineral water. Aah, when that puck went into the net and the hockey Gold Medal was ours, he knew, he knew that his ratings would skyrocket and he could call an election any time and the great Canadian public would return him to power with a huge majority which he would never lose again.

Maybe, by then, he could prorogue parliament forever. Who needs them? They just fuss, raking over old news, looking for faults in his new legislation, going on about the rights of this group and that, whining that some people were poor – so what!

People everywhere are poor. This is the best country in the world; a few poor people keep it normal. If there were no poor people, no problems at all, everyone in the whole world would want to come here. They didn’t think of that, did they, all those stupid do-gooders.

It was such a brilliant move to shut Parliament down New Year’s Eve. Brilliant. Prorogued – how he loved that word! – shut tight! – until after the Olympics. He was going to convince this whole country that it was really he, their natural Leader-for-Life, that actually won those medals – the Gold ones – he was ready to admit the lesser silver and bronze medals could have been won by others: skaters, skiers – whoever.

But that huge list of Gold Medals – that was his doing. The rumour that it had been he who invented the expression, “Own the Podium” was taking the country by storm. And that’s what pushed the winners to win.

By now, who even remembers that Ignatieff? Harper wouldn’t even mention the guy’s name to the press just to see how long it took until someone finally remembered him. What an egghead – nobody likes eggheads in Canada.

And those other guys – one is sick; the other’s a joke – who cares about them? Nobody, and he would see to it that the Nation understands they don’t matter. The Nation will come to believe that only he should lead them.

Now anything and everything bought to the floor at the new session of Parliament will be a matter of Confidence.

He would grind the other parties into nothing because no matter what they bring as disruption and no matter what he brings as legislation, the ensuing vote will land them all in an election – it will always be up to the so-called opposition! Ha!

The great Canadian people don’t want another election; they know full well the country can’t afford it – not with the war in Afghanistan and the deficit. So, at every turn there will be another opportunity for the “opposition” to defeat him in the House and then, he will nail them in an election he “didn’t want” (so he will claim), that was “forced upon him” (so he will say in hundreds of television/ radio/electronic and newspaper ads).

It was perfect. What a circus he would give them, running circles around them, embarrassing them with his superior intelligence and bigger bank account and, of course, the wealth of the Nation at his fingertips.

It is not as though the public understands what fund pays for those ads, which are, truth never to be told, rather misleading to say the best of them. Who cares! As long as the ads do the job, as long as they keep the public convinced that he, their Leader, must always be their Leader.

A lackey was standing quietly at Harper’s elbow. His presence disturbed the Leader’s beautiful reveries. He snapped at the man: “Whadda want?”

Completely humbled, the lackey bowed deeply. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, sir,” he said with unctuousness, “but we are about to land. The pilot asked me to tell you so that you might like to fasten your seat belt. If quite convenient. Sir.”

Mollified but still annoyed, Harper dismissed the man with a gesture and did up his seat belt. He had not completely lost his mood, though, and he felt the buoyancy of his dreams lift him again so much so that he hardly knew it when the airplane landed.

He was almost ready to be with his family. He signalled that they could join him in his cabin and the children came in, sedately as always.

No foolish exuberance or silly talk. They knew their father didn’t like to listen to a lot of nonsense. But they were allowed to speak to him if he was happy and in the mood to chat.

And, actually, as he regarded his son as potentially a future king, he felt a deep benevolence toward the boy.

In the Leader’s mind, the lad could have a great future – as long as he understood that Father (always) Knows Best.