Does matthew mcconaughey to the vocal portion of john murphy in the house in a heartbeat?

Just as he was about to demand information, Waller took a step back, allowing John to take the lead, вЂњHere we are, Captain. JohnвЂ™s polished shoes moved along the freshly hoovered carpets. They continued silently through the bustle, which thinned considerably once they were inside. He could see that the sky was a cloudless blue as they made their way towards a door, and the summer heat was moderate, but insistent, the sun shining and glinting off his jacket like a sniperвЂ™s scope. He wanted information, not what he could see and discern. вЂњItвЂ™s just inside, out of the heat, sir.вЂќ Waller spoke, just as they rounded a corner, JohnвЂ™s cane keeping pace easily. Something was off about this whole bloody fucking thing.

Likely, his body was trying to battle the cold chill zinging down his spine. Sweat beaded at his brow, and it had nothing to do with the heat.

He had no one at his six, but that had never stopped before. HeвЂ™d gone into hostile territory before, this was nothing new. вЂњI really.вЂќ John tried, as Waller led him expertly through the crowds. John saw, though, that he was being told to do just as Waller demanded. вЂњSir, the parties are gathering this way, if youвЂ™d be so kind as to follow me.вЂќ Waller spoke, a tone that was all that was polite. John to remind himself that Buckingham was not a war zone. Unless, of course, you were in a war zone. When creepy men came up to you, you at least said hello before discerning their purposes. John ventured, вЂњHello.вЂќ His Mum had raised him with manners. Watson?вЂќ Without warning, there was a impeccably dressed man at his side, вЂњIвЂ™m Waller.вЂќ These were the people whose power and indifference had seen him booted out the Army, a worker bee amongst others. He sort of hoped he could slink back to his bedsit and forget that this invitation had ever come along. John supposed he had a chip on his shoulder about it all. He thought these were probably Waitrose people, not that most of them did their own shopping. John moved around the stand once he was on terra firma, through the crowd of important people he saw on the magazine stand at TescoвЂ™s. What was there to recall? The summons from the Lord Chamberlin set John on edge, and made him aware that there was more at play than he could presently observe. Who had seen that he had gotten an invite? HeвЂ™d been introduced to the Queen a time or two, but John doubted the woman remembered him. John wouldnвЂ™t work to rouse her, because sheвЂ™d only want to explore his feelings. If Ella ever heard him say that, she would drop to the floor in a faint, but it was true. The flypast was over, the Royals had waved and looked suitably royal and commanding, and the whole thing was done. John saw reality, saw the boys who had been excluded for being too short or too tall, saw the women who had fought tooth and nail to be taken seriously, saw the sweat rolling off of the regiments as they marched and spun. Instead, he was in what could only be described as a VIP section of stands, and John saw everything they chose to ignore. He wished he could be like the people lining the Mall, so taken away by the pomp and the grandeur. HeвЂ™d gone through Uni and his postgraduate work on the ArmyвЂ™s pound, heвЂ™d gone to government schools, not Harrow and Winchester. Why was he here, amongst all these posh people, who had invitations and cards just like his own? John wasnвЂ™t, despite his decorated Army days, one of these people. He questioned it when his leg began to ache from the rigid seat, and he felt his caneвЂ™s rubber tip melting against the heat of the stands. He questioned it as he sucked it in and stood at attention. It was the QueenвЂ™s official birthday, and if someone demanded on her behalf that John be there, he was not going to question it. When a box lands at your front door, with an engraved invitation from the Powers that Be, you dust off your medals and report for duty. John felt as though he was at once trussed up like a goose over a spit spun by Satan, and had his soul on display via the clink of every medal pinned to his chest.ДЄnd yet, here he was, in June, wearing his bloody dress uniform, at Trooping the Colour.

Only some kind of freakВ liked wearing them. Everyone knew that, because everyone hated them. It certainly wasnвЂ™t the fact that he hated wearing his dress uniform. Oh, not the gambling heвЂ™d indulged in during his tours, when he had combat pay and little sense.

Does matthew mcconaughey to the vocal portion of john murphy in the house in a heartbeat?