The Cabbage Patch Twit

Last week was terrible!

Things were looking good on the Sunday, when Gordon gave his opening speech to a conference with almost nobody there. I mean, he looked like a complete twat, standing there talking to no-one. It was great!

(I'm not sure if I'm allowed to use the word "twat" on a serious news website. But on Monday last week, I found out I am actually allowed to say it on radio. Some nice people had complained that I had used it during my interview on Absolute Radio. I had suggested that people who used Twitter were, indeed, twats. It really was a slip of the tongue - just one vowel, you know? But anyway, the regulator let me off with it. Nice man. Just right too - it's not a swear word, is it?)

Well, the night before had been a bit heavy, so it was late on Sunday before I saw the papers, I was in a good mood after Gordon's speech, and then, wham! - I read in the Times that Peter Mandelson would be my controller once we win the election. "No way," I thought, "the British people will never have that!"

Then on Monday, my Lord Mandy got up, and before I knew what had hit me, everyone was in love with him!

Now, I knew this NLP stuff was powerful. But I never realised that a slimey, odious little so-and-so could hypnotise people quite so thoroughly. I need to get some lessons. The papers the next day, as well, all pink and full of love hearts. I almost threw up on the spot.

In the Times article he had said he wished to "serve his country." What a pile of manure! He's going to be my controller, and between him and Ken Clarke, there ain't gonna be any change if (when!) I become Prime Minister, I can tell you. Same old agenda, don't you worry.

The one consolation last Monday was that the "key-note" speech by Darling went down like a lead balloon. People were still swooning over Mandy, and Darling's performance was so ineffectual, that no-one really even noticed him yammering on.

On Tuesday, Gordon gave his keynote. I mean, it was good! What am I going to do? I can't match that! Maybe I should get a prescription for some Prozac?

You know what this means, don't you? Its not good, let me tell you. I'm going to have to suck up to Nat if I'm going to get elected. Normally, I leave that to George. Could be that my only real shot is if the directive comes out from Chez Rothschild to editors everywhere to ramp up the hatchet job on Labour.

Well, I'm off down to Ken's hotel room to practice for Thursday's speech. He sits there with a Tory whip you know. Any time I fluff my lines, he gives it a good crack. Fairly makes me jump!

See you soon,