Evil infectious moronic megadeath

I am aware that my current keen interest in matters political might be a tad wearisome to some of my readers (aMToNW), so I thought I would focus upon matters religious and philosophical, and in so doing, piss off the rest.

On this week’s News Quiz on the electric radio, the subject of Michael Gove came up, and there was some banter about whether this was an argument against intelligent design, to which that nice Jeremy Hardy pointed out that it didn’t really support the argument for evolution much either.

Here is a picture of Michael Gove.

He is the minister for Education. I am assured that this appointment was made with no ironic intention.

It is cruel, childish and anti-libertarian to judge people on their appearance. Please do not do this. Listen to him speak, or read his works (the first government papers to be written in crayon) before you decide that he is a prize plonker of the first order.

Now, what say you, you promoters of the notion that the Creator has made man in his own image; that we are the result of painstaking research and development in the kingdom of heaven? That God, having created Michael Gove, gave himself a pat on the back (He can do this, because he is God) and took a day off. Did the Almighty, when showing his friends what he had made, pause for a long period when he came to the Gove Room, and stand back with a particularly smug smile?

Or, you heathen followers of Dawkins, is this what natural selection has given us? Is this the result of 13 or more billion years of adapting to the environment?

I think you can see that there is a third way. Let’s call it Govism. The first tenet of this new and proud religion/cult/philosophy is that the God who created all was not driven by concerns of intelligence, but rather by the intention of having a bloody good laugh, with a touch of vindictiveness to give it some edge.

The snail's on the thorn

I am obliged to Mr Rufus Hound, (not his real name), an amusing chap of whom some of you may have heard (not Dave, obviously).

On Twitter, Mr Hound mentioned a rather large cheesecake that had been delivered by room service to him at his hotel. He was then challenged to eat it.

Here is the result.

I hope you can all see this, and don't need to log in to twitter to see it. (Dunno what I can do about it if you can't).

I done a lol. So much better than going to bed with visions of the prime minister being beheaded in parliament square.

You make me feel so young

Thank you for indulging me these last two weeks, while I told you all about George. I think that it is perhaps time to give him a rest, as he has some jolly important decisions to be made for him, and could do with a nap.

However, I find myself still focussing on politics and have found a new interest in said bed of dung. Hardly a day passes when I am not to be found COLing (cussing out loud) at one form of electric medium or another. Only yesterday you may have observed me, had you been in the vicinity of the A325 at Buck’s Horn Oak, using all sorts of ungentlemanly language at dear old Liz during her little speech. I know that these displays, particularly in public and in Jane Austen Country, are unseemly and serve no purpose other than to stabilise my blood pressure, but it is nice to have a reason to get up in the morning.

I calmed down, and even while watching slimy Dave on the electric television, I thought he did quite well, considering*, I remained tuned in despite drifting in and out of consciousness during old Kaufmann’s ramblings, but finally succumbed to the desire to stave off the grim reaper when Beith tossed in his two penn’orth.

Then I got quite cross again with Boris and the Brian Haw story. For the benefit of those of you of a foreign disposition, I shall briefly tell you something of Brian Haw.

Brian Haw is a loony. He is the sort of fellow most of you would cross the street to avoid. However, for the last eight years or more he has undertaken a protest against the UK’s involvement in war(s) in Iraq and Afghanistan. His protest has been conducted close to parliament. Latterly he has been joined by several more pacificists, hippies some or all of whom may also be loonies, who have formed a small encampment in Parliament Square. Like most of you, I would probably not want Brian and his mates camping in my garden, however sympathetic I may be to his views (although I have allowed Tom to stay at my house on more than one occasion. Call me sentimental). Boris has taken the view that the Square was being damaged.

What is distasteful about this as much as anything is the timing. While his new slimy friend was across the road telling the nation about a new era of politics, in which freedom and fairness was to be at the forefront, Boris instructed Inspector Knacker and his men to clear a demonstration for peace and freedom in a less than sensitive manner.

This morning, (Wednesday 26th) without a trace of irony, we had that prize rectum Gove telling us that in order to eliminate bureaucracy schools could apply to become academies, but in order to do that needed to produce a “business plan”.

Congratulations, Gove, you tit. I thought I had long ago given up all hope of education in this country exciting my passions, geared as it is to produce 4 trillion unemployable business studies and marketing graduates each year. But no, here I am feeling the urge to shout “fuck off” every time I see your hideously deformed visage or listen to words flow through your just-begging-to-be-throttled neck. A school is not a fucking business, you twat. Fuck off.

* considering that he is an arsebrained, mendacious, slimy pig turd.

George's new job - Part 14

It had been one of George’s favourite birthdays, ever. Dave had given him a new house, called Dorneywood, (not Dorkywood, as PC Collins, who followed George everywhere, had called it). George had been driven there in the shiny new car that Dave had given him. George knew that he must be doing very well in his new job for Dave to give him so many presents.

For tea, Frances had baked a cake for George. It was a sponge cake, with THREE layers. There had been raspberry jam in between the bottom layer and the middle layer, and blueberry jam between the middle layer and the top layer. George had been quite giddy trying to decide which bit was his favourite.

Last year, at his birthday, Frances had arranged some entertainment for George. His friend Theresa had dressed up as Sophie Tucker, and when she sang ‘Man I Love’, George had been so pleased that he knocked over his dandelion and burdock. Frances had already told him that Theresa was too busy this year, because she was now the home secretary. George seemed to have lots of secretaries at home, but didn’t remember seeing Theresa. Perhaps she had worn a wig to look like Ms Tucker.

George was just having his second helping of Viennetta ice cream, when he thought that the entertainment had arrived. His new friend Vince came into the room, looking very cross and started shouting. He partly spoke in Polish, which George didn’t understand, and partly in English, which George didn’t understand. George was clapping his hands and laughing, and breathlessly said to Frances, “He’s very funny isn’t he? But I’m not sure who he’s meant to be!”

“I’ll tell you who I’m fucking meant to be,” said Vince, “you great gormless, public school, bottom feeding twat! Your worst fucking nightmare, that’s who I’m meant to fucking be!”

By this time George was laughing so much he thought that he might be sick!

“First of all they put a useless fucking wassock like you in charge of the fucking economy”, continued Vince, becoming even redder, “then I have to report to you, even though you don’t know your fucking six times table,” (this bit wasn’t true, noted George), “then I find out that my department does fuck all, and then, to put the icing on the shit, you fucking cut my fucking budget more than that of any other fucking department!”

George still, couldn’t recognise who Vince was impersonating. He thought that it might be one of these ‘alternative’ comedians, who George didn’t much care for, on account of them being nasty to Mrs Thatcher.

“Well!” said Vince, who was clearly just getting into the swing of things, “I’m going to make sure that everyone knows what a double-dealing, mendacious, fucking stupid sack of shit you are. I know, for a fucking fact, that you don’t have a fucking clue what’s in your fucking budget, and you are the most incompetent fucking boob in a fucking Tory front fucking bench of prize ball sacks! And no, I don’t want any fucking ‘scrummy cake’, and you can stick your trifle up your fucking arse!”

With that, Vince turned round and stomped out.

“Priceless!” shouted George, tears streaming down his face, “Frances, remind me to thank Dr Cable in person at tomorrow’s meeting, please.”

George telephoned and asked Mr Sutcliffe, the butler, to tip Vince a fiver on the way out if he hadn’t already left. George got his favourite pen from his pocket, and wrote “eight times six is seventy six” on his napkin.

George's new job - Part 13

George had had a very exciting week. Dave had arranged for him to go to Brussels, where George had shouted at a lot of foreign people, and told them that he was better than they were, and he wasn’t going to give money to Greece.

“They’ll be wanting the Elgin Marbles next!” he said, and thought that was very funny.

He told them all off for wanting to spend more money this year, but let them do something or other about hedge funds, which was OK with George, who didn’t have a hedge anyway.

On the way back on the train, George asked Kylie to go and see whether the driver would mind if George sat next to him for a time, and perhaps could have a go with the steering wheel. She came back with a jam (strawberry) doughnut and a puzzle book, and he soon forgot about her mistake.

A couple of days later George had gone back to Brussels, and had been a lot tougher. He had insisted on blackcurrant jam in his doughnut. Dave was going to ask William to go with George this time. George wasn’t sure why, so he went ‘online’ and changed William’s booking to a trip to Afghanistan. George didn’t see why he should have to share his doughnuts. Anyway, William came from Yorkshire and would probably prefer the tripe and onions that they served on the aeroplane.

George had also given an important speech at the CBI, and told them how much he supported their efforts to provide affordable furniture for poor people.

George met some very clever people who were able to do foreign accents frightfully well.

"Go on - do that Sarkozy chap!", demanded George.

George's new job - Part 12

George was very pleased when the telephone rang, and it was his friend Dave who asked if George could call round in ten minutes. It actually took 15 minutes to get there, because George could never remember which door led from his house to Dave’s and when he went out of the front door could never remember whether to turn left or right. When PC Collins, who followed George everywhere, caught up with him on the Victoria Embankment, they had had to jog back.

George was pleased that Dave wanted to see him, and hoped that Dave had arranged a trip for him. He knew that Dave had already been to Scotland BY PLANE and was going to Wales, and that William had already been to Washington. George was very jealous of William. George couldn’t see the point of sending William. George couldn’t understand why William got to go to Disneyworld – he was too short for all of the rides.

“George, you silly ass,” said Dave, jovially, “Settling in all right?”

“Oh yes”, said George, “although Frances hasn’t unpacked my gameboy yet”.

“George, do you remember that meeting we had a few months ago, about the OBR?”

“Yes, Dave, of course! The Oxford Bullingdon Reunion. Absolutely fantastic! I had two helpings of jam roly-poly!”

“No, no, you twerp, the ‘Office for Budget Responsibility’. You remember. We explained to you that when we won the election you would be very busy, so we would privatise part of your job, and leave you more time to do a bit of chancelloring?”

“Yes, I remember now, of course. We had muffins and blackberry jam.”

Dave introduced George to Sir Alan Budd who he seemed to have met before somewhere, but George wasn’t really concentrating. He kept trying to see Sir Alan’s shoes. He remembered that there had been an athlete called Budd who ran in bare feet, and wondered whether it was a family trait.

“So, George, we already have Dr Cable and Mr Laws to blame if you get your sums wrong, and Sir Alan here will carry the can if the forecasts are wrong. He has already issued a disclaimer – go on, Al, tell him”.

Sir Alan cleared his throat and said, very importantly, “We are not claiming that we shall get the fiscal forecasts right; it is easy to demonstrate that that is impossible.”

Dave obviously thought that this was very amusing, so George laughed too. “At this rate” said Dave, still chuckling, “we’ll be able to abolish the Treasury by the end of summer, convert the building to flats, and the rent on those and the savings on salaries and pensions should pay off the national debt in about six weeks. Don’t tell Sir Nicholas about this, will you George?”

But George hadn’t been paying attention. He had noticed that Sir Alan was wearing some very cheap looking brothel creepers, and was very disappointed.

George wasn't sure whether his new friend Dave was copying him out of admiration, or trying to make George look silly.

George's new job - Part 11

George was more than a little perplexed. He had suggested to Sir Nicholas M. that he could solve the government borrowing crisis by getting an overdraft from the Natwest. While this had seemed like a good idea at the time to keep old Macpherson quiet, now that George had had time to think about it, he was very troubled. In short, he did not like banks.

The first time he had been in a bank was with his father. George was very young and bored, and didn’t like the look of Mr Kermody, who was the manager at Coutts. Kermody had asked, in a very creepy way, whether George “wanted to show him his portfolio.” George had had incidents like that with the big boys at Eton, and hadn’t enjoyed them at all.

When George had become a grown up he still didn’t like banks, and suspected that banks didn’t like George either. George had lots of good ideas about how he could improve things, but the bank managers always seemed to be in meetings, and when they replied to his letters only said that they found George’s ideas “interesting”.

He asked Frances whether, if she wasn’t doing anything else, she would mind going to the Nat West and asking Mr Witherspoon whether they could have an overdraft for, say, 910 billion pounds. Frances started to speak Polish again, but then smiled in her lovely way, and said that she was busy that morning, as she had to alphabetise the wine cellar.

After a great deal of head scratching, George decided that action was needed. He telephoned the Chelsea branch of Lloyds and arranged an appointment. He said his name was “Gideon Usborne”. He didn’t want to give his own name in case they started sending him letters and suchlike.

(Usborne was like his own name, but with one letter different. Gideon was what he had been called at school. He didn’t like the name, because people kept thanking him for the bible, even though George was sure he had never given anyone a bible. So George had changed his name to “George” and no one ever mentioned bibles again. Result! As the young people said these days.)

The meeting had not gone well. Mr Jackson-Pollock, the manager of Lloyds, Chelsea, had begun by saying “Thanks for the bible”, and laughed like a drain when George told him that the wanted to borrow 910 billion pounds at 0.75%. In the end George had come home with a new current account, an accident insurance policy and a shiny pen, which, although it was nice, was not as nice as the pen that Kylie had bought for him from WHSmiths.

George liked his new shiny desk.

When no one else was in the room, he could bend over it, and see all the way up his nose.

George's new job - Part 10

George was very cross this morning. He hadn’t finished dunking his soldiers, let alone decided whether to have plum jam (from Waitrose, wink, wink) or marmalade on his toast, when Kylie came in and told him that Sir Nicholas Macpherson was on the telephone.

“Dash it all, Nick,” said George, “Can’t a chap have breakers these days?”

“It is 10:30, Chancellor, with all due respect”, said Sir Nicholas.

“Stop showing off! I was working on my diary with Kylie well before 9 this morning”.

“Well, I’ve been at my desk since 6:15”, said Macpherson.

George thought that that explained why Sir Nicholas was being so short tempered. George knew that the secret to a happy disposition was a good night’s sleep and lashings of kedgeree for breakfast.

“I was in my office at 4 this morning, so there” said George. He didn’t add that he had only been looking for the biscuit tin. It was the second time that he had woken up hungry in the night since taking this new job. Being important wasn’t as easy as people thought.

“We really ought to be talking more about the new budget,” said Sir Nicholas.

“Can’t it wait until Friday?” asked George. “I’m going down to Rymans on Thursday afternoon with Kylie and PC Collins, to pick up some nice notebooks to write things in, and I might even buy a new calculator, so I will be fully prepared by Friday”.

“But Chancellor, we are in the worst economic situation ever, the national debt is mounting, and it needs urgent attention”

“Oh pooh!” said George, “How much is the national debt anyway?”

“All told, it is in excess of 900 billion pounds, Chancellor”.

“Lumme!” said George, he didn’t want to appear silly in front of Sir Nicholas, so wrote down the question ‘How many billions in a hundred?’ to ask someone later. “I’ll get Frances to pop along to Natwest and see if we can’t arrange an overdraft, and let you know.”

“Most risible, Chancellor”, said Sir Nicholas, and rang off.

George telephoned Sir Nicholas back straight away, and tried an accent he had been practising. “This is Jeffrey Osborne from the Financial Times”, he said, trying not to giggle, “I wondered if you could settle a little wager we’ve been having here in Fleet Street. How many billions are there in a hundred?”

“Seven, Chancellor,” said Sir Nicholas and put the phone down again.

George was very excited, and wondered which of his friends would be the first to say "George Osborne, this is your life."

He hoped that it would be Nick, because William's accent made George giggle.

George's new job - Part 9

George had had a very good day. He had been to an interview with some chaps from the Financial Times. Not only had he remembered the advice that his new friend David Laws had given him, but had remembered to say it out loud:

“One of the things you learn as a new chancellor of the exchequer with the Budget less than 50 days away is that you don’t talk about things.”

He was very pleased with that. He had also told them how much he liked the Liberals and agreed with them on everything, and wouldn’t even mind living next door to one! He had, of course, had his fingers crossed the whole time, and they hadn’t even noticed. On the whole they seemed very silly people to George, because they didn’t know that he lived next door to David Cameron who certainly wasn’t a Liberal, and on the other side were just some offices or something; George wasn’t sure what was there, and made a note to knock on the door and introduce himself – hoping that there were no common people living there.

When he got back to his new office, David Laws was there and politely asked how the interview had gone. George told David what he had said about not talking about things, and David was very pleased. But when George told him that he had talked about spending cuts, David wasn’t very pleased.

“It’s all perfectly in order, old chap.”, said George. “I told them that I was not afraid to face the challenges and would be leading by example. I told them that I had asked Frances not to buy any more of Fortnum and Masons organic plum jam, and that we could jolly well make do with the Waitrose own brand. (I didn’t tell them that I had stashed 12 jars of the F&M jam in the cupboard under the stairs!). They didn’t know what to say to that!”

David Laws said “Jesus” and something in Polish, and left, which George thought was a bit rude, but put it down to David Laws being new, and not used to statesmanship and ruthless decision making.

George was surprised how many people spoke Polish to him. He asked his secretary, Kylie, to find out if there were any classes in Polish in the Westminster area.

“Monday nights would be best, because Frances likes to watch Panorama, and she won’t notice if I’m in a bit late,” he said.

“Don’t you watch Panorama, Chancellor?” asked Kylie.

“Oh no”, said George, “it’s all about politics and the economy, and I don’t like to take my work home.” He fell about laughing at this. It was a really good joke, because now he worked at home, you see. It was the best joke he had made since the cabinet meeting a couple of days ago when he had said “Ee by gum” every time William said anything.

George was so pleased with his new joke that he telephoned his friend Iain who was in charge of Work and Pensions, and told him about it.

Iain said something in Polish.

George was very confused about having too many friends called 'Dave'.

They all looked like a blur to him.

He was beginning to think it was a plot to make him look silly.

George's new job - Part 8

George was sitting in his office drinking a cup of strong Assam that Kylie had made specially for him, trying to remember his password for the computer, in case he ever needed it, when his new friend Vince arrived.

Vince had a young man with him. The young man’s name was Dave. George found this very confusing.

"How will I know which one is calling?", he asked Vince.

“Well, Chancellor, you are David Laws’ boss, and he will probably begin by saying ‘Hello, Chancellor’ whereas David Cameron is your boss, and will probably begin by saying ‘Hello, arsehole’”.

George wasn’t entirely sure that Vince was not teasing him, but he had never seen Vince so much as smile, so he let it go.

“Before we start talking about all this money nonsense,” George said to his new friend Vince, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. There was another chap, I’m sure his name was Vince as well, and he once said that I was ‘out of my depth’. You don’t know who he is do you?”.

“No idea, Chancellor”, said Vince, very positively.

“Well, if you find out, let me know, will you, I am going to go round to his house, IN MY NEW CAR that my friend Dave gave me, and tell him that I am Chancellor of the Bloody Exchequer.”

“I am sure that that will scare seven shades of shit out of him”, said Vince.

George didn’t like Vince being so crude, but overlooked it, as Vince hadn’t been to Eton, and was therefore probably lacking in vocabulary and good manners.

George wasn't particularly fond of his new friend, Dave, who seem a bit on the smug side, but at the same time did not want to let go of him, because if he did, he would have no-one to take him back to his office - he was pretty sure he could find it, but didn't want to take the risk.

George's new job - Part 7

George was very surprised to find out that he was in charge of a very big house called “The Treasury”.

It was only a couple of minutes walk from his house, but George liked using the shiny car that his friend Dave had given him.

“Does it have sirens?” he asked.

“No,” said PC Collins, who seemed to follow George everywhere, “Boris has said that the only sirens in London are to be used to fetch mad people to the asylum. You’ll probably be hearing them soon enough.”

George was quite fond of Boris, but thought that power had gone to his head.

George wondered if it would be a good idea to put a tax on Mayors.

When they got to the Treasury they were shown into a jolly big room and were told that Sir Nicholas would be with them soon.

George wondered whether this was the same Nick who had become a very good friend of George’s friend Dave.

George was a little bit jealous, until Dave explained that he was just stringing Nick along because he needed his support, but would “knife the little shit in the back at the first opportunity.” This made George feel better.

George looked in all of the cupboards, and was sad that he could find no treasure; he reasoned that it would probably be kept in a chest somewhere, and would ask someone about it. There was no point in being in charge if you didn’t get to see all of the secrets.

Sir Nicholas came in, and George was relieved to see that it wasn’t his friend Dave’s new “friend”, but was still uncomfortable because Sir Nicholas looked a bit like that fool Alistair Darling, who was the chap who used to have George’s job, and George didn’t like Alistair at all.

“What do you do round here, then?” asked George.

“I am the permanent secretary, Chancellor”, said Sir Nicholas.

“Well, we’ll see about that, old boy” said George, “I’ve got more secretaries than I can shake a Pritt stick at round the corner, and, call me old-fashioned, but I’ve always seen it as a woman’s job. I certainly don’t need another one, permanent or not!”

George felt quite silly when Sir Nicholas explained that he wasn’t that kind of secretary.

George didn’t know what else to say. Eventually he ‘remembered’ an important meeting back in Downing Street.

“We’ll probably meet again one day,” said George, “what with being neighbours and all. You do live here, don’t you?”

“Alas, no Chancellor,” explained Sir Nicholas.

“Well, I live upstairs from my office!”, boasted George, “My friend Dave arranged it for me – he lives next door you know – he said that if I lived anywhere else I would probably get lost on the way to work. He’s a proper joker is Dave. Oh! I know what I was going to ask, can I come round tomorrow and look at some of the treasure? About 11 o’clock, would that be all right? Don’t want to hurry breakfast. Frances says it gives me wind.”

“You have no idea how much I look forward to it, Chancellor”, said Sir Nicholas.

“That meeting went jolly well, Collins” said George to PC Collins in the car. With that he rolled down the window, stuck his head out, and made siren noises all the way back home.

George's new job - Part 6

George had a telephone call from a man called Mervyn King, who said that he was governor of the Bank of England.

George was very surprised, because his own bank manager was very difficult to get hold of, despite George having lots of advice for him. George’s bank manager had been in a meeting for ever such a long time, and George couldn’t help but think that he must have needed a wee by now.

Anyway, Mr King was very nice to George and said that he was looking forward to working with him. This stumped George a bit, because nobody had told him that he would be working with Mr King.

“You know what, Mr King, I’ve always thought it would be a good idea to have your photograph on cheques.”

Mr King didn’t say anything

“And what would be really fantastic would be to have a different photograph on each cheque, so that when you flicked through the book it looked as if you were moving. Do you think we could implement that? I think it would make people think I was very clever to have thought of it”.

Mr King didn’t say anything.

“Shall I send Mr Cable round to see you to sort it out?”

“It’s Dr Cable actually, although I’m not surprised he doesn’t use the title, it makes him sound like a third rate television installer from Berkhamsted.”

George hadn’t known that his new friend Vince was a doctor. George telephoned Vince and told him that he was very worried about a rash on his bottom, and would Vince mind having a look at it next time he came round.

Vince didn’t say anything.

George's new job - Part 5

George liked his new house, and couldn’t wait to explore it. Downstairs was where he worked, and they had photographs of a couple of old chaps called “Gladstone” and “Disraeli”.

He asked his friend Michael about it. He chose Michael because someone told him that Michael was now in charge of education “he brings a refreshingly uncluttered perspective to it” they had said.

“Oh, those two”, tittered Gove, “they were a famous double act in the old days, like Little and Large.”

“Or Cameron and Clegg” someone muttered. George looked round angrily, but the only person there was PC Collins, who seemed to follow George everywhere, so it couldn’t have been him.

“Yes,” continued Michael, (showing off a bit too much for George’s liking) “Disraeli used to pretend to make fun of Gladstone – that was the basis of their act. One time he said that Gladstone was inebriated by the exuberance of his own verbosity.”

Gove seemed to think this was amusing or clever. George didn’t think Gove was amusing or clever.

“What did Gladstone say?” asked George.

“Fuck off, you Tory cunt”, said PC Collins, and George stared at him with a very displeased expression.

“I think we ought to modernise,” said George. He asked his secretary, Kylie, to try to find some photographs of Nervo and Knox to replace Bill and Ben.

Upstairs there were lots of boxes with things for George’s flat. Frances had unpacked some of them. “Wow!” exclaimed George, “Some of this stuff is just like the stuff we had at the other house!”

Frances said something in Polish, which made George think that she had been having lessons from his new friend Vince.

George's new job - Part 4

George was very pleased to have an important job with a very important title, but he did not really know what a Chancellor was, or was supposed to do.

He asked his friend Oliver Letwin about Chancellors, even though he knew that Ollie liked to pull George’s leg. “Well, Osborne, you dozy pillock, Hitler was the most famous Chancellor, probably.”

George knew about Hitler, because he had read history at Oxford. “Oh dear, Ollie,” he moaned, “does that mean I shall have to invade Poland?, Only we usually go to Barbados for the summer.”

“You oaf, Osborne, of course you don’t, get one of your new friends to do it for you – ask Vince to draw up the plans.”

George asked Vince, and was pleased to learn that Vince could already speak Polish – at least he guessed that “ferfucksake yertwattywassock” was Polish.

George's new job - Part 3

George did not understand Dave’s new joke, which was to refer to his friend William as the “foreign secretary”. William wasn’t even a girl, (George was fairly certain of that, what with William being bald and having a deep voice and all) and as far as George knew, William came from Yorkshire.

George knew that Yorkshire was in England, and that although the people spoke in that funny, lower-class northern way, they still spoke English, even though they obviously hadn’t been in Mr Pomphrey’s English class at Eton, and probably didn’t know how to conjugate.

George didn’t really know how to conjugate either, but at least he knew how to speak in a manner that led some people to think that he must be clever.

Dave’s jokes often baffled George, and so he had adopted the strategy of laughing at everything Dave said. This appeared to be a fairly safe option, because lots of other people laughed at Dave. Unfortunately, Dave did not like this.

It seemed very strange to George that Dave should pick on William, because Dave was always talking about equality and all of that stuff, and was very cross when George laughed at this.

Dave had even allowed the charwoman, a Mrs Wotsit, to sit down at the cabinet meeting with all of the important people, and was very nice to her. He even told George off when George asked Mrs Wotsit to iron the curtains before the next meeting, because they had creases.

George was very upset about this, and secretly thought that Dave didn’t want her to iron the curtains because she was foreign looking, and they probably didn’t have curtains (or irons) where she came from.

George decided to ask his new friend Vince to check whether Mrs Wotsit was in the UK legally.

Vince told him that her name wasn't "Mrs Wotsit", but "Baroness Warsi", as if that made any difference.

George and his friends from the press were dying for William to open his mouth and say something funny and northern. George was afraid that if William didn't say "By 'eck" or something soon, he would probably have to change his pants.

George's new job - Part 2

George enjoyed standing outside of his new house. Lots of people wanted to take his photograph, and he liked that. He wondered whether they all thought that he was handsome.

He was pleased that he lived at No 11, and his friend Dave had to settle for 10. That means that George had one more than Dave. He wasn’t sure one what, but his new friend Vince would probably know.

Vince knew a lot of things, and always had the information to hand. George never bothered to know things, he felt fine unencumbered by data and facts, and found the world a simpler place that way.

While he was posing outside his new home, several people commented along the lines of “Look, George, it goes all the way up to 11!” George did not understand this, neither did he understand why they all felt it to be a funny thing to say.

This would be another thing he would ask his new friend Vince, although he did not expect Vince to be able to tell him why it was funny.

Vince did not seem to find many things funny; usually, when George asked Vince a question, Vince would moan out load before answering. George thought that Vince was sad, but could not understand why, but understood enough to know not to ask him.

George's new job

So far it looked like being one of George’s favouritest days ever! He had a new job, and had remembered to go to Dave’s new office, which was NEXT DOOR! How fab was that? Even he couldn’t get lost! Well, he could, but PC Collins, who seemed to want to follow him anywhere, had stopped him in Horse Guards Parade.

His job seemed to involve sitting round a table listening to Dave and some of the other chaps witter on about something or other, but George was very happy because his secretary had written his name on both sides of the name tag, so he wouldn’t get caught out like that again.

Even better, he had woken up at 4 o’clock this morning with a really brilliant idea! If anyone asked him a difficult question about his new job, such as “What’s an exchequer?” or “Who is the governor of the Bank of England”, he would simply say “I think I will let Vince answer that!”. Brilliant or what? George knew that he wasn’t as dim as some people liked to think. He had practised the phrase in front of his bathroom mirror for twenty minutes this morning, and was pretty sure he could remember it. The only event to spoil the day was when he was in front of the mirror in the gents at number 10, practising “I think I will let Vince answer that!”, and had jumped a mile when the mirror had replied “What are you doing, Osborne you tit, it’s me, Ollie!”. George was a bit cross, but knew he wasn’t the first person to mistake Osborne for Letwin.

George didn’t quite know what to make of his new friend Vince. He seemed quite old and a bit of a swot, and already had a habit of not taking George seriously. Dave had explained “He’s here to take the blame if anything goes wrong.” George thought that Dave was a very good politician, he thought of lots of clever stuff.

Today was nearly as good as the day when he had jumped on Jamie Fitzhugh-Jackson’s back and they had done two circuits of the track at royal Ascot before they had been nabbed by the rozzers. He had been arrested and kept a straight face when they asked him his name and he said “Osborne” (it was the first name he could think of). Dave had seemed a bit cross when he came to collect him from Windsor police station, but George knew that he would do it again next year.

The most exciting thing about the day had been when they told him that he had a new car and driver. He had almost wet himself. If this meeting ended on time he would have time to be driven all the way round the M25. In both directions! If not, he could leave it for another day, and spend the afternoon driving round the city, looking for old Boris to knock him off his bike.

A stable government! Praise the Lord

A timely reminder

Rather than be conceited enough to think that anyone was interested in yet another old fart pontificating on politics, I thought you might like a bit of a giggle.

It may be a little dated now, but I remember seeing this at the cinema. My friends and I were the only ones laughing during this part of the film.

Happy Birthday, I,LTV