G20 + 6 months

Well it all seems to be going swimmingly so far; nobody from across the Channel has walked out or anything and the Red Army Faction haven’t yet  stormed the walls of the Bank of England.  Mind you, new best mates Gordy and Bazza have only had a breakfast meeting so far.  There’s still time for it all to go wrong but let’s not be negative Nevilles. Instead imagine if this summit was taking place in 6 months time with the UK economy sinking deeper into the worst recession ever and all PM/ministerial privileges suspended.

Picture the scene, it’s 7am in the Brown’s private quarters in No 10. Sarah shouts at her husband, ‘That sodding baby sitter’s not turned up Gordon and the bloody President’s going to be here in less than an hour. I can’t look after the kid Gordon; I’m supposed to be taking the First Lady out shopping. Can’t you call one of your Cabinet maties and tell them to get over here sharpish to look after the sprog?’

‘I can’t do that darling they have important responsibilities’.

‘Oh bollocks Gordon, they’re all  trousering amoebas who’ll shaft you if they could. Get that Harriet Harman to come over; she’s had kids. Forget Millibrand, he looks like a molester and that Ed Balls might be Education Secretary but he wouldn’t know one end of a kid from the other’. 

‘Sod Harman; I don’t want that bitch getting too comfortable in No 10. I’ll get little Hazel to come over – she looks like a child minder anyway’.

‘Oh sod it I’ve just laddered my only pair of tights. Gordon you’ll have to pop down to the Spar shop and get me a pair.’

‘For Christ’s sake Sarah I’ve got a brief to read and a communique to draft and I’ve got to get ready myself”

‘Well if you hadn’t suspended all our grace and favour privileges and nanny allowances and gopher staff, we wouldn’t have to live like this, Gordon. President Obama’s turning up with a retinue of 500 people for goodness sake. Do you think his wife Michelle has to get Bazza to run out for fresh tights? I don’t think so Gordon. Mish will have a corps of staff with hands on responsibility for her stockings’. 

The Prime Minister gets a wistful look on his face before answering, ‘I’ll get Hazel to bring a spare pair over with her’.

‘Are you f*cking serious Gordon? I’m 6′ tall and Hazel’s a frigging dwarf’. I’ll be welcoming Michelle to the UK in her beautifully coutured Christian Dior outfit and I’ll be there in my  Top Shop two piece with my sodding gussett down to my knees. Like I’ve cacked my pants’. 

‘OK OK  I’ll get Jacqui Smith to send some over’.

‘Yeh well just make sure her pervert of a husband hasn’t been wearing them or rubbing himself with them’

‘Yeh I’ll check that point with her….. anyway where are you taking Michelle after breakfast; Harrods, Harvey Nicks followed by a bit of the Royal Opera house maybe?’

‘Are you kidding, on the pittance of an allowance you give me? No I thought we’d go over to Tate Modern whilst it’s still free entry – I’ll try and blag us in to the members’ room f0r coffees, then over to Borough Market to pick up some veg for dinner tonight, then over for a bit of bargain shopping at TK Maxx at the Elephant & Castle. It’s blue cross sale day’.

‘Sounds great honey. Say why don’t you give little Sarko’s wife a call and she if she wants to go too. What’s her name Carol, Carlita, Caroline…?

‘Do you mean Carla, the hot little slut you couldn’t keep your eyes off last time she was over?

‘Oh come, come now darling. Was she hot? –  I never noticed’.

‘Oh right…and if you weren’t pleased to see her that must have been a copy of Le Figaro rolled up in your trouser pocket when she and le sarky midget came for dinner’.

‘That’s an outrageous slur Sarah; you know that was a stiff bilateral for me’.

‘Yes we noticed Gord. But as a treat to you darling I have invited one of the girls around tonight for a few drinks and wouldn’t you know it, her husband can’t make it’.

‘Not signora Berlusconi?’

‘No Gordon, Angela Merkel’.

‘Oh wunderbar’.

The telephone in the apartment rings; it’s the familiar voice of the 2 days-a-week housekeeper cum doorman – little Hazel and the Home Secretary are at the door.

‘Ah send them up please Prezza’.

‘Yes Prime Minister’



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