Everything had been going swimmingly. Theresa May ended Wednesday evening with her Brexit deal passing the Cabinet, a collective, if not unanimous decision. Rather, her biggest concern would have been the absence of a lectern during her statement outside Number 10. No place to stand, only a microphone listening to her thoughts, she had to compete for the airwaves with Mr STOP BREXIT. Granted, if there was ever a collective way to unite the country, it would be to shut that bloke up using necessary force.
But Theresa May had nothing to fear waking up this Thursday. Sure, there were the slightly small hurdles of UK and European parliamentary approval of Britain withdrawal, all 585 pages of it. If there was ever a way to bore a group into submission, nodding their head purposely at everything you say, it had been found. Forget watching a watch, reading only a few pages of the Brexodus document would be enough to make people drowsy, hypnotised into entering the ‘aye’ lobby. But she’d managed real hurdles during her (whisper it) grammar school days, presumably followed by a stint as backstop during rounders. Overcoming these metaphorical hurdles would be elementary dear Watson (no opium required). The first glitch began just after 7.30am. No, Number 10 hadn’t run out of muesli. I can reassure you Philip (May) had remembered to put the bins out. The slight hitch in our supreme leader’s metaphorical hurdles was because of Shailesh Vara’s resignation as a Northern Ireland minister. You know where that is, the small area of land (Not the Isle of Man, silly) next to Westminster – or rather, Great Britain – just slightly separated by the Irish sea. He couldn’t stand the UK being in a ‘halfway house’ after Brexit. He must feel the same about his leader in Downing Street. Not to worry! Theresa could breath, forget about the one (ex) minister and instead focus on the priority for the nation. Just as she entered the Downing Street kitchen, Delia Smith book in hand, Classic FM floating in the background, ready to make some mince pies – ‘you can never be too early’ – the resignation of one Dominic Raab broke through the STOP BREXIT airwaves. There was no chance he could accept an ‘indefinite backstop’, essentially summing up his future career prospects. The Westminster village were quick to expose his hypocrisy on twitter, resigning in opposition to a deal he negotiated. Or did he? Was it the Cabinet Office, Theresa May dressed up or Michel Barnier forgetting which side he was on? The true culprit for negotiating the deal is as clear as the agreement itself. Let’s have a #PeoplesVote: four way, with a third-place play-off. Whoever said politics and sport shouldn’t be combined? Theresa continued in her vital mince pie making task. As the chief whip Julian Smith stated, she wouldn’t be ‘bullied’ or ‘change course.’ She would make her pastry however she liked, thank you very much. Chortling away, she heard voices. This wasn’t classical music. Indeed, Prime Minister, a gold star for you. Instead, the 10am news bulletin announced the resignation of Esther McVey, the work and pensions secretary believing ‘no deal was better than a bad deal.’ Mrs May assumed she wasn’t referring to Universal Credit, or her appointment back in January, but Brexit. She sighed, realizing her half-baked pies would have to be put to one side. The House of Commons awaited her. She spoke, she spoke…and she spoke again. Regarding the deal, Mrs May talked of the ‘jobs, security and integrity’ it protected, except for her own job, the security of the Irish border and the integrity of her government, that is. MPs were quick to criticise the deal, no favourable comment until an hour after the statement began. This was most likely so Mr Speaker would wind up the questioning sooner, the equality of impartiality allowing our fine representatives to return to the bar, while it remains open. The main Westminster game became a large scale ‘Where’s Wally?’, in the form of ‘Where’s Michael?’ The environment security remains elusive, a badger hiding in the woods to avoid culling, a fox anxious every day that the hunt will recommence. He simply could not be found. Due to visit York (or Teesside, depending on your preference), his appearance was mysteriously cancelled. Was he instead looking at a new range of plastic free straws, the prime solution to all our environmental problems? Eventually found, he refused the post of Brexit secretary because of the inflexibility with negotiation amendments. Still, at least he knows how teachers with ever reduced budgets and ever increased bureaucracy feel. It was back to Downing Street for Mrs May. She didn’t know how many times she would be returning, so every occasion through those gates, even if it’s driving to Trafalgar Square and back, would be savoured. Alas, the half-baked (almost raw) mince pies continued to be abandoned, a press conference arranged by her communications director. They clearly didn’t understand the nation’s, and more importantly, her priorities. She discussed ‘sticking to the deal’ and seeing it ‘through’, though whether that meant to its parliamentary defeat remains to be seen. By the end of the day, seven members of the government had resigned. It was their loss, thought Theresa, sitting in her armchair admiring her latest pair of ‘commander’ shoes. They would be unable to taste her mince pies, listen to her well-crafted puns at future ministerial discussions, contribute to how the government can last another week. Turning on the Television, she saw a man dressed in Edwardian attire, speaking in 19th century technical verse about a ‘manifesto commitment’: obviously a protester. Those were the days, reflected Theresa, gazing back to that simpler time. Switching on Eggheads, scarf knitting in hand, she looked forward to what tomorrow would bring. After all, those mince pies wouldn’t make themselves.
1 Comment
CK
20/11/2018 11:05:31
Brilliant!
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