A second day with Rutland's most celebrated fictional peer.“Have you seen the results, man?” I demanded as I burst into the Deputy Prime Minister’s office. “It’s a disaster.”
“Don’t worry,” he replied, “I have the answer: Muscular Liberalism.”
Muscular Liberalism? I have my doubts about that. After all: one rarely saw L.T. Hobhouse in footer bags. We Bonkers were ever loyal, however, so this morning I enjoy an early breakfast and then hurry to the barracks of the Queen’s Own Rutland Highlanders (of whom I happen to be Colonel-in-Chief) outside Oakham.
And, you know, Clegg may be on to something. Can it be true, as I have heard claimed, that Hebden Bridge has ceased production of the Bonkers Patent Exploding Focus for use in Marginal Wards? Certainly, it is not unusual today to come across young activists who do not know one end of an orchard doughty from the other. It is clear that Something Must Be Done, and that it must involve Swedish drill and Indian clubs.
So I have summoned all Liberal Democrat MPs and peers for training in unarmed combat under the gentle care of Regimental Sergeant Major Carmichael – it is Indian clubs and Swedish drill all round. Unfortunately, I have to leave early for a gala luncheon, but I am on hand long enough to hear plenty of this sort of thing going on.
“What’s your name, you ’orrible little man?”
“Lamb, Sergeant Major.”
“Lamb? I don’t want you to be a lamb: I want you to be a tiger. Now roar!”
“Greurrrgh! Sergeant Major.”
“That’s better, lad. Now give him one up the [redacted] snoot like so!”
Earlier this week
No comments:
Post a Comment