Occasionally, my sheep-like followers, your political defender Uncle Don is accused of presenting a somewhat fanciful picture of life at Westminster and in the grubby halls that house the retail elite of this increasingly bizarre and benighted country. So it is with some satisfaction that I can point to every fatuous column inch of our loathsome fourth estate over the past week and ask you all: how the bloody hell would you even start to satirise that?
Even in my dark days (last week) of addiction to absinthe, Domestos and Sunny D, I doubt my brain would have been addled enough to devise a scenario in which a national radio interview with UKIP leader Nigel Farrago came as a welcome relief - but only because he directly followed Nick "I can't think of a sobriquet that would not get me sued" Griffin of the BNP.
You can imagine the mood as Darling Alistair hosted an emergency council of war in the DRIP offices (chosen on the assumption that the witless British hackerati have yet to discover the address). Mandy was there, grinning like the Cheshire Cat and fondling his forked tail, and Gordo joined by video link from whatever virtual reality he may be living in - presumably one in which he could walk down a street and not get pelted with excrement.
Obviously I assumed I was going to be asked to form the next government, since competence and honesty are no longer a prerequisite. But the plan was more devious than that. What we needed was a lightning conductor.
Who, Mandy hissed, is less popular even than Labour? Who has a close intimacy with the political machine, born of years of schmoozing at local and national level? Who has a certain familiarity with nationwide contempt?
Step forward the Rt Hon El Tel and his War Cabinet. With David Potts as Minister of Supply, Laurie McIlwee as Chancellor and Lucy Neville-Rolfe as Foreign Secretary, the country will be screaming for the return of the current shower within days. Sheer genius.
Even in my dark days (last week) of addiction to absinthe, Domestos and Sunny D, I doubt my brain would have been addled enough to devise a scenario in which a national radio interview with UKIP leader Nigel Farrago came as a welcome relief - but only because he directly followed Nick "I can't think of a sobriquet that would not get me sued" Griffin of the BNP.
You can imagine the mood as Darling Alistair hosted an emergency council of war in the DRIP offices (chosen on the assumption that the witless British hackerati have yet to discover the address). Mandy was there, grinning like the Cheshire Cat and fondling his forked tail, and Gordo joined by video link from whatever virtual reality he may be living in - presumably one in which he could walk down a street and not get pelted with excrement.
Obviously I assumed I was going to be asked to form the next government, since competence and honesty are no longer a prerequisite. But the plan was more devious than that. What we needed was a lightning conductor.
Who, Mandy hissed, is less popular even than Labour? Who has a close intimacy with the political machine, born of years of schmoozing at local and national level? Who has a certain familiarity with nationwide contempt?
Step forward the Rt Hon El Tel and his War Cabinet. With David Potts as Minister of Supply, Laurie McIlwee as Chancellor and Lucy Neville-Rolfe as Foreign Secretary, the country will be screaming for the return of the current shower within days. Sheer genius.
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