Breakfast at the Blairs 3

August 11, 2006

Mrs B Tootle-oo! (as Mr B emerges bleary-eyed in his Burberry dressing gown against distant strains of a calypso band playing a Cliff Richard medley)

Mr B Morning

Mrs B So when are you going …?

Mr B For God’s sake don’t you start, it’s bad enough with Gordon every five minutes and that Cameron prat winking at me every time he sees me and now some f—-ing Welsh idiot rabbiting on about guacamole… (continues in thsi vein for another 5 minutes). Can’t I have a bit of peace and quiet on holiday for Chrissake?

Mrs B I was just going to ask when you are going down to the pool.

(later by the pool side as swarthy Calypso singing waiters mix the pink tequilas and serve guacamole with mushy peas)

Mrs B Darling, there’s Mr P on the phone for you, again

Mr B Ask him what he wants this time- if it’s about the security crisis, tell him I talked to Reidy already.

Mrs B No, he says where did you put the key for the drinks cabinet in No 10


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