Month: May 2017

The Lib Dems Know Something We Don’t

Tim Farron, much like of the rest of the UK, is musing upon the actual point of the Liberal Democrats. With an ambiguous policy on homosexuality and a pathological intention to overturn Brexit, the party is neither particularly liberal nor especially democratic, it would seem. As he strokes a chin untroubled by stubble or growth of any kind, his lovely wife Rosie stumbles abruptly into the room.

“Oh my!” she exclaims. “Who are you and what are you doing in my lounge?”

“Why, I am Tim Farron!” Tim replies. “Leader of of Liberal Democrats. Your husband.”

Rosie squints slightly, before nodding with some relief.

“Oh yes. Of course you are.”

Tim sighs. If it hadn’t been for the upcoming general election, no one would know who he was at all.

“Tim, I’m doing some breakfast. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Many people like a hot beverage with breakfast and that’s absolute fine by me,” says Tim in his typically nondescript manner.

“Yes, dear, but would you like a cup?”

“I’ve got nothing against tea and coffee is lovely too.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee, then?”

“Whatever drink people decide to have for breakfast is fine by me,” says Tim, his words bumbling out of his mouth like drunken bees. “What I have for breakfast is, frankly, irrelevant.”

“Look, the kettle’s on – do you want a drink or not?” huffs Rosie. “That’s four times I’ve asked you, now!”

“Listen, I haven’t got time for that,” replies Tim. “There are far more important things to think about.”

“If you’re going to bang on about that new PorterGirl book, I already know all about it,” says Rosie. “Everyone who’s anyone is talking about it!”

“Aha, yes – but do they know about the transatlantic launch party being hosted in the heart of historic Cambridge?” gasps Tim excitedly, leaping to his feet. “Being broadcast live across Twitter and Facebook and featuring American author and blogger Dan Alatorre?”

Rosie staggers slightly in shocked awe.

“What – not the two of them, together in real life?”

“The very same!” Tim claps with glee. “Giving interviews, potted histories of Cambridge, exclusive Q&As with fans and even a drinking competition!”

“Oh my!”

“Yes – there’ll be no empty chairs at this grand debate and that’s for certain!”

“But when is it happening?” asks Rosie, scrabbling for a notepad and pen. “I must order a new hat!”

“That’s the thing,” says Tim, folding his arms. “It will be announced any day now. I won’t be able to tear myself away from the internet until I know for sure. The whole thing is a closely guarded secret.”

“Ah, much like the raison d’être of the Lib Dems,” Rosie nods, sagely. “Now I understand. I’ll leave you to it.”

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More details coming soon!

Calamity At Corbyn HQ

Up and down the country, Tories are rubbing their hands together with glee whilst Labour MPs (increasingly becoming an endangered species) are standing precariously on railway bridges, wondering where it all went wrong. Meanwhile, their brave and fearless leader, Jeremy Corbyn, sits at home cheerfully weaving a basket whilst mumbling incoherently at a papier mache bust of Ken Livingstone. His exasperated wife pops her head round the door.

“Jeremy!”

“Sshh, dear, I am conversing with Ken.” Jeremy looks up from his basket only briefly. “Please excuse Laura, Ken.”

“Jeremy, you’ve been weaving all morning,” says Laura. “Will you at least have a little something to eat?”

“Is there any of my homemade jam left?” inquires Jezza. “Perhaps some jam and scones.”

“That jam has gone off,” Laura replies. “It’ll give you the trots.”

“Oh, but we love the Trots!” Jezza turns to the bust on his desk. “Don’t we, Ken?”

“Look, dear, I really think you ought to put down that basket and get to work. There’s the general election to think about and the party is in disarray…”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Jezza retorts, defiantly. Laura sighs.

“Yes, I know, dear, we all know.”

“No, no – I mean I’m really not going anywhere. Lucy Brazier is due to make an announcement soon about the release of her new book, PorterGirl – The Vanishing Lord and I don’t want to miss it.”

“Lucy who?”

“She writes about a great British institution that is lead by out-of-touch old crusties who contumaciously adhere to obsolete and dated ideas and practices, regardless of what the rest of the world think and societal progress. Fancy that!”

Laura sighs again.

“Yes, Jeremy. Just fancy that.”

 

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COMING VERY SOON!