Subject: Brewer’s Droop
I hope that you are now recovered from that dose of Montezuma’s Revenge, Delhi Belly or Tigris Tummy that meant you spent four days in the home khazi. When I phoned over the weekend ,your good lady wife seemed totally lacking in sympathy or the milk of human kindness. She held the phone up against the door of the little place of ease and I could hear your cries of anguish and the gurgling of the pipes.
I assumed it was something you caught in foreign climes, but her Ladyship said it was a consequence of a Vote Leave beer and chips party in your constituency – guest speaker IDS. Enough to give anyone the runs after listening to his spiel.
So you missed the Derby which was a super day out: Lady Mary drove me down in the Bentley and we met the Soames family in the more select enclosure. Soames himself on fine form, laying into a number of equine quitters who were singing the praises of M.Gove and “Independence Day”.
It will have cheered you up that the polls have your side in the lead mainly because of fears of being flooded by illegal immigrants crossing the Channel in small boats. Hysteria all round, with Sir Henry Bellingham organising the Sea Fencibles and Coast Guard to patrol the inlets of North Norfolk, just as his ancestors did two hundred years ago (when not assassinating Prime Ministers) to stop smugglers bringing in French brandy and Dutch gin. Meanwhile, Wing Commander Sir Gerald Howard MP RAFVR has mobilised a number of former crab flight sergeant UKIPpers to patrol the coast of Suffolk in tiger moths and cessnas. I hear they’ve been grounded after the Yanks at Mildenhall nearly shot them down.
Mild panic in Downing Street over the latest polls – and so we have a Popular Front of DC, Harriet Harperson and that little fellah who leads what’s left of the Lib Dems. Meanwhile, the Mayor of Uxbridge (aka B Johnson) and the other leader in waiting Justice Gove have been chasing after Farrago’s Enoch Powell impersonations, and these former reptiles are not letting facts get in the way of a good story. That minister in a swim suit who runs the army – Penny Mordred, Mandate or whatever, has taken a knock in the leadership betting after making a horlicks of herself on that chap Marr’s Sunday Worship programme. The one to watch is Mrs May, who like a crocodile, spends a lot of time below the surface, and only emerges to carry off some rival who has stupidly been paddling in shallow water.
Soames has been tweeting like a good’un and has the Mayor of Uxbridge in his sights – who he has described as “like a rabbit on crack”. But the Mayor’s supporters have been leading him through the lobby and introducing him to colleagues. (Mind you, I would have thought he would have known who Matt Hancock is by now.)
I had to chortle when I heard the quitters main office had been evacuated after internal flooding. It appears that the loos above got blocked and effluent descended upon that weird pointy-head Cummings who was in the midst of an e-mail rant to various reptiles. The joke is that the plumbers sent to repair the damage were Poles. But then “buggers can’t be choosers”, as Soames said.
If I ever get depressed about our dear old Party I only have to look across the Chamber at the funereal-like atmosphere amongst the brothers and sisters. The old Wykehamist Marxist S. Milne Esq has announced to the world that the reason Comrade Corbyn is a complete loser at PMQs is because there is a mole in his office who leaks all the questions! In fact, there is no need for D Cameron to get any advance notice and now the old Bolsheviks are starting a purge which makes Stalin look like a rational human being.
I don’t know whether you saw that Franco-Canadian TV series called “Louis XIV on the job” otherwise called “Versailles”? Not much in the way of dialogue – and far too much of the explicit and your humble servant, who spent an embarrassing hour explaining to Lady Mary the story line, and who was doing what to whom. I think in future we’ll stick to Dr Starkey and the Tudors.
Mind you, Soames and I attended a private viewing at the Museum of London – through the good officers of Tim Loughton, cultural guru and leading quitter – of all those recently discovered Roman writing tablets on the site of the Bloomberg mega tower. Lots of shampoo, and the company of the wonderful Professor Mary Beard – Corbynista and general leftie, but very sound on the Mayor of Uxbridge (“knows little beyond dog latin”). All those bits of writing wood were nearly two thousand years old, and showed that even in those days London was a financial centre of disreputable traders, financers with poor judgement and generally louche figures: in the words of M Bloomberg “a European City”. One in the eye for Loughton. Soames, Loughton, Beard and I, much cheered and refreshed, retired to a wonderful hostelry, “The South Sea Bubble”, for a serious contest with knife and fork.
We narrowly escaped an Urgent Question on Monday care of Brother Vaz – “The Life and Times of M Ali, Boxer Extraordinaire, US National Treasure and My Part in His Success”.
Soames and I have been invited to the opening of a new hostelry off the King’s Road, “The Brewer’s Droop”. Our convivial host is that former Riding Master from the Life Guards who retired early after some extra mural lessons with the female stable hands. You are invited and it should be a jolly evening – I’ve cleared it with the Whips.
Yours till Polling Day,