He had been sitting at his desk for 23 and a half minutes, and even though he had told Kylie that he should not be disturbed, he hoped that the telephone would ring, or that Kylie would bring him some bourbon biscuits and one of those exotic coffee thingies that came out of the machine that he could never operate without his tie getting caught up or spilling cinnamon powder down his trousers.
George sighed.
He added a fourth underline to the word “Budget” that was on his notepad.
This reminded George of his days at school when he had sat at the back of Madame Thierry-Henry’s class and got very depressed while all the other boys were writing and he couldn’t even remember whether his vacances were male or female.
It just didn’t seem fair.
He knew that whatever he wrote in his budget would not be popular.
He knew that whatever he wrote in his budget would be crossed out by Dave and replaced by something that his new friend Dan wrote.
He knew that Sir Nicholas had told him what to write, and wished that he had been paying attention, instead of counting the pigeons on the pavement opposite Sir Nicholas’s office. It wasn’t George’s fault that Sir Nicholas was so boring, after all.
Even when George thought that he was being very witty someone or other told him that he was wrong. John Bercow, who George seemed to remember had once been on his side, had had the temerity to tell him off. George had thought that saying “And the same to you with knobs on!” was a pretty good riposte to that oik Alistair Darling. Who did Bercow think he was, anyway? George was Chancellor, and Bercow didn’t even get a vote any more.
Eventually George wrote:
Sell the Treasury.
Send Dan out to get a paper round. Morning and evening.
Put a tax on bingo winnings, fish and chips and Coronation Street.
Sell the BBC to Mr Murdoch.
Make John Bercow clean the toilets in parliament, and sack all of the cleaners.
Will this do?
4 comments:
An amazingly accurate prediction. Have you bugged his office?
I misread. But I think a tax on bingo-wings would be a good idea anyway. It'd motivate us ladies to keep fit.
Sx
Then George heard the merry jingle of an ice cream van.
He wished he hadn't blown all his allowance at the weekend, he'd read his comics by bedtime on Saturday and finished his Liquorice Fountain during the second hymn on Sunday morning.
However Kylie kindly agreed to lend him £2.50 so he could pop out and buy himself a '99. Once out of his stuffy office, George cheered up!
Sunshine made everything seem rather jolly. He even found the 50p piece he had lost in one of the inside pockets of his jacket the week before last. "Hurrah," thought George greedily, "I can buy an extra flake now!"
He knew that really he should save the coin to pay Kylie back some of what he owed her, but he figured she probably wouldn't be keeping track of his expenses.
(Ed: I'll leave the joke about the corgi to you.)
Never mind who's ghosting for whom, what a team, Jax and Vix, the only contemporary political satirists who bite with their own teeth!
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