Breakfast at the Blairs 14

Mrs B enters humming the theme to ‘the Young Ones’ and shakes herself a combination of ‘Scooby Doo Berry Bones’ and ‘Honey Smacks’.
Mr B (mouth full of toast and Vintage Marmalade) You seem in a good mood today. Nothing to do with Conference finishing, I suppose.
Mrs B Actually I’ve just been watching David Cameron’s webcam. It’s really rather good, shows him like an ordinary guy, doing the washing up and all that. Why don’t you get one, darling?
Mr B If you think I’m going to start doing the washing up….
Mrs B No, it doesn’t have to be that. You could do your Celtic supporter impersonation or sing Cliff”s ‘Just don’t say goodbye’….
Mr B Hmm. That’s an idea…. Next time you’re down at Tesco’s see if you can pick up one of these webbed cameron things.
(later)
Master B How’s the webcam going then?
Mrs B Not too well. First he tried to plug it into the microwave, then he asked whether there was a timetable for the Serial Bus, finally he took the thing back to the shop as he said there wasn’t anything to click on it to take the picture. Still, he did offer to do the washing up….

Breakfast at the Blairs 13

Mrs B enters wearing a chiffon kung-fu outfit she bought on ebay as Mr B picks up the morning paper and has a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Mrs B What’s up, darling? Has Mr P made another of his speeches?

Mr B Nnnnno, it’s… (pause while Mr B chokes on a cornflake and is revived by six Protection officers who were enjoying a game of ‘Shoot ’em up’ in the adjoining room).  It’s …. (tears streaming down his care-worn face) did you really belt that little oik who thumbed his nose at you in Glasgow?

Mrs B No, I certainly did not, if anyone says that, I’ll sue them.

Mr B Well you should have done. He deserved a good hiding, the snotty little Scottish bugger.

Mrs B I just, well, you know, took a vague swipe at him.

Mr B Good for you, poppet. Now if you need any more practice, we’ve got a Cabinet meeting this morning…

Breakfast at the Blairs 12

Mrs B is on her last cup of Lyons instant when Mr B comes in looking bleary-eyed. The demonic sounds of the Frozen Monkeys can be heard thudding through the floor of the flat above.
Mrs B Sleep all right, darling?
Mr B No, course I bloody didn’t. What with the jet lag and that ******* noise I hardly got a wink. It’s like being in the middle of those ***** protesters in Beirut again.
As the volume of the Frozen Monkeys is lowered, the insistent pitter patter of tiny feet stabs through the heart of the peaceful breakfast scene.
Mr B What the hell’s that , didn’t we get the Rodent disinfestation people in last week?
Mrs B Well, actually, darling, it’s the new neighbours.
Mr B What new neighbours?
Mrs B Er, a very nice family moved into the flat upstairs, he’s a bit fat and grumpy but the wife does a very nice rhubarb fool.. and there are some young children…
Mr B What’s all this? The minute my back’s turned a bunch of rowdies move into my house?
Mrs B Shh, darling, Gordon will hear you.
TB What’s he got to do with it ?
Mrs B Well, you see, darling….it’s like this……
The rest is drowned as the Frozen Monkeys upstairs belt out their hit ‘Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not’.

Breakfast at the Blairs 11

Mr B sits glumly thumbing through an atlas, nibbling at his toast which is already cold . Mrs B wafts in, an ill-fitting dressing gown revealing generous stretches of Barbadian tan.
Mrs B Where are you going today, darling?
Mr B Off to Ramallah, actually.
Mrs B Why don’t you try Debenham’s they’ve got some very nice things there.
Mr B No, Ramallah, it’s on the West Bank.
Mrs B Well Debenham’s is in the West End, too.
Mr B No, the West Bank, darling, in Palestine. It’s near Galilee, where Jesus walked on water.
Mrs B Well, I hope you’re not going to try anything silly like that.
Mr B No, of course I wouldn’t compare myself to Jesus. .. but he was betrayed, too, you know.
Mrs B Well take your scarf in case it gets cold.
Mr B I don’t think I’ll be needing a scarf in the Middle East.
Mrs B The Middle East? You said you were going to the West Bank. The Middle East! Isn’t that where there’s all that fighting, people sniping at each other everywhere?
Mr B (grimly) Not half as many as in Westminster, I can tell you. Now.. Tenerife, Palm Beach, Porto Rotondo, where is this bloody place…….?

Breakfast at the Blairs 10

A dark cloud hangs over the Blair household this morning, but Mr B, following the example of his Monthy Python heroes, tries to look on the bright side.

Mr B. Come on, darling, finish up the Golden Nuggets, we mustn’t miss the train.

Mrs B. Do we have to go?

Mr B Darling, we;ve been through all that

Mrs. B That bitch is bound to start up on fox-hunting again and Charles will drone on about modified foods and the other two will look down their noses at me just because I didn’t curtsy..

Mr B But we have to go, pet, it’s my duty

Mrs B Well you go on your bloody own then, I’m fed up with being woken up every morning by flaming bagpipes… Anyway, I haven’t got anything to wear.

Mr B. You could always wear that rather fetching trouser suit you wore last time.

Mrs B. (unprintable….) And it’s freezing cold and as for those curtains…

Mr. B. But castles and all that.. can be romantic eh love (nudging Mrs B rather painfully in the ribs).. you remember … Leo ….

Mrs. B. Well don’t think you’re starting that again. It’s a horrible place and every time you go out all you meet is grumpy old Scotsmen going on about the cost of living. At least in Downing Street …….

Mr B. What was that?

Mrs B. Oh, nothing, nothing.

a snap from the family photo album (thanks to the Telegraph for reprinting this)

Breakfast at the Blairs 9

Mr B. is sitting quietly gazing out of the window (or ‘grey sky thinking’ as he likes to put it). The house is silent as Mrs B and tribe are still on holiday. The peace of the morning is suddenly shattered by the arrival of a shock-haired harridan waving a sheaf of glossy brochures marked ‘I am your life coach’ as the butler with a pained expression announces ‘Ms Di Versity to see you , Sir.’
Mr B Hello, Di
Ms V Morning, Tony. Oh dear, I see you have ownership of two fried eggs, I told you in no uncertain terms to take delivery of one egg only. Healthy body, healthy mind and all that.
Mr B Yes, but…
Ms V Well, just let’s move on, shall we? Now, what problems are you going to download to me this morning?
Mr B Problems? Well, actually I don’t have any problems, apart form that damned baby at number 11 keeping me awake half the night.
Ms V Now that’s not a very progressive attitude, is it? We all have problems. That’s what I’m here for. Take Africa, for example. A lot of people think you’re obsessed with it.
Mr B Yes, I am. For reasons of moral purpose of course. Also it plays well with some of the kids and doesn’t cost a lot.
Ms V You’re attacked from the right for eroding our traditional British civil liberties…..
Mr B Yeah, big deal, don’t worry about that bunch of tribal politicians.
Ms V ….and from the left for undermining the NHS.
Mr B Who cares. Cross-dressing, that’s what it’s about these days. You’ve got to be open, change with the times, that sort of thing..
Ms V A lot of people say you’re too ambitious in the radical nature of your policy changes…
Mr B (laughs) Ambitious? Moi?
Ms V What about your style of leadership, many people don’t like that.
Mr B Leadership? I’ll tell you what leadership means. It means back your instinct, go with your gut, sock it to ’em, yeah!
Ms V You have many opponents on the subject of terrorism, Iraq etc.Share with me some of your anxieties on these issues.
Mr B Look, Di, I have complete inner-confidence in my values, my ideas, my choice of ties.. Just let me have that second fried egg, would you?
Ms V (sighs) Well, I hope I have empowered you to take forward your agenda for the day.
Mr B Yes, cool. See you around. And send the bill to Number 11 would you?

Breakfast at the Blairs 8

Mr B walks in jauntily swigging a bottle of Banks Double Strength Lager, wearing the floral trunks given him by Mr R Murdoch (accompanied by a card which read ‘that seat on the board is getting lonely, if you catch my drift, mate’. In the background a calypso band plays the evergreen Cliff Richard number ‘She makes me feel like a Man’.
Mr B Howdy pardner
Mrs B deep in the Daily Mirror (silence)
Mr B I said g’morning sport
Mrs B (silence)
Mr B Hello hello, calling planet earth..
Mrs B Shut up will you
Mr B Oh, is something wrong, darling?
Mrs B “Earlier in the week, Mr Blair had really let hair down at a party when he was pictured with a saucy look on his face as a young British teenager showed off her cleavage” Do I have to read about it in the Mirror?
Mr B Oh that, er. nothing in it, pack of lies from start to finish, you know what lies the papers print about me, claiming I said my policies hadn’t made London more dangerous, that I was going to step down before the election …..
Mrs B That was when you said you had to make an urgent phone call to Mr P about the terror threat wasn’t it? I saw you follow her in there
Mr B It was just, you know, she wanted me to explain more about subsidised carbon audits to homeowners, sustainable development, that sort of thing…
Mrs B (icily) There certainly seemed to be a lot of development as far as that young lady was concerned but whether it will be sustainable remains to be seen.
Master B Hi, Dad, phone for you, someone called Tracey, says she met you last night.
Mr B gingerly reaches for the phone as Mrs B throws the bottle of lager at him and flounces off to the pool.

Breakfast at the Blairs 7

Mr B is shaking a battered short wave radio set that’s emitting groaning noises reminiscent of Prime Minister’s question time while the Barbados Spinners croon the popular Cliff Richard number ‘Just Don’t Say Goodbye’ on the terrace.
Mr B For God’s sake get someone to shut those guys up.
Mrs B But you asked for that song.
Mr B I know I did but it’s the fifth time they’ve played it today already. Why can’t I get the BBC on this damn thing?
Mrs B (giggling) try fiddling with the little knob, darling, I can show you how.
radio splutters into life…..serious failure of authorities.. very serious allegation…….worst crisis for over 100 years …..Pakistan….President Musharraf
Mr B What the hell is going on? Why wasn’t I told?
Mrs B Well, you are on holiday, darling.
Mr B Yes, but this is a national crisis, I should be there, in the public eye, making sombre statements on tv without being interrupted by that Paxman bastard….
Mrs B Oh, I’m sure Mr P will be doing your job for you quite well. You’re not irreplaceable, you know.
Mr B This is outrageous. Where’s the bloody phone?
Mrs B One of the boys is on it, there’s a new girl-friend so better not interrupt.
as Mr B is about to give a passable impression of suicide bomber exploding, the radio finally comes through loud and clear “The final match of the series was the first Test in the history of cricket to be forfeited after umpires….”
Mrs B What’s the matter, dear, did England get beaten again?

Breakfast at the Blairs 6

From the street outside there is the sound of a soca band giving an upbeat rendering of the Cliff Richards classic ‘ A voice in the wilderness’.

Mrs B (casting her eye over the morning papers) oh dear,

hostilities broken out again…. flagrant violation of cease fire….. renewed attacks …. retaliation.. oh dear oh dear

Mr B (with mouth full of finest Sainsbury’s sausage specially flown in in an RAF Hercules) Well, what do you expect with Hizbollah?

Mrs B Actually, darling, this is the Guardian article on the splits in the Labour party.

Mr. B Pass me the ketchup would you love

Mrs B And someone has called George a ‘crap President who can’t even wear a Stetson straight’

Mr B Some other so-called liberal humanitarian hack, no doubt

Mrs B No, darling, actually it was your Deputy Prime Minister….. Never mind, darling, the boy will wipe it up.

Breakfast at the Blairs 5

Mr and Mrs B are enjoying fried eggs (sunny side up) on the good ship ‘Good Vibrations’ somewhere near the Bermuda Triangle. The yacht’s calypso band are singing the famous Cliff Richard Ballad ‘A Misunderstood Man’:

“His origins, his way of life
His motives – they’re all news
No shortage of detractors
To air their noisy views
The man inspires a thousand lies……”

Meanwhile the detectives, their snorkels rising majestically out of the water, circle the boat to make sure there are no underwater News of the World reporters.

Mrs B. I see they’ve sacked David Beckham.
Mr B Well, he was past his sell-by date wasn’t he. The man was nothing but a liability, with him in charge you could be sure the country was going nowhere. They should have got rid of him ages ago. He’s been shit for the last few years but no one dared tell him to go.
Mrs B That’s strange, that’s just what the papers are saying about you, darling.