Frozen out
Cardinal rule of politics – never take sides, it simply encourages unpleasantness. My loyalties are certainly being tested now. Skids presented his Two Nations budget: squash the non-Tory poor, especially those on wheels, fluff the Lumleys, job done. Alas, Shitter went into a nasty sulk and resigned. He has of course felt besmirched since 2003, when he was laughed out of the leadership. Who remembers that excruciating conference speech – “I am the purry man” – when he prowled the stage in a leotard, meowing? And there have been terrible provocations in Cabinet recently. The last time Shitter raised the Europe issue, Skids looked interested while quietly humming the chorus to Let It Go. Everyone joined in. A humming, taunting swarm. Shitter snapped. Shouted about his army days. Gave the minutes secretary a Chinese burn. Stormed out. Then Piggy rang Shitter to try to shut him up. Bad move. A swift escalation. Terrible things were said on both sides, eg “Lego villain”, “political haemorrhoid”, “moon-faced narcissist”, “prolapsed cock”. No-speaks all round. It’s going to be a Cold Civil War.
Neo-Classicism
Bump into Shitter at Nanny’s Pantry, the spanking-themed supper club. He seems much happier; a softer snarl at least. He’s here for an ironic anti-EU Moules Frites Soiree hosted by Bo-Job, the mayor of London. We discuss alternatives to the ghastly third person singular “Brexit”. “Breximus” is correct, although “Brexeamus” (Let us leave!) has more of a swing. Eventually we decide on THEY leave, “Brexeunt”, which has a pleasant Shakespearian resonance. Bo-Job devises one of his amusing dirty limericks, delivered as usual in a comedy “Northern Power’ouse” accent.
Academic
To the Lung and Prostate, Fleet Street’s oldest pub, where some of Britain’s finest journalists are gathering for an “advance wake” to mourn the Independent. Education secretary Thicky Morgan’s there, thrilled that they’ve promised her a massive personal profile piece next week. Tiddly BOSH, mes amis!
