Mr Moan’s been ‘interviewing’ Theresa May with the omnipresent Philip May close by. Read on …
Showing unsurpassed resourcefulness Mr Moan tracked down Theresa (“TM/PM”) and Philip May (“Phil”) to their secret hideaway near Dolgellau in central West Wales. He was helped by a lapse in the rigorous security protection arrangements as PC Ivor Puncture was unable to reach his post.
Theresa and Philip May
The meeting in the hillside cottage was initially affected by an air of tension. It transpired that TM was cross with Phil. As she explained to Mr Moan:
“He knows my rules. Just as the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius had a servant walking behind him so that whenever he received a compliment he whispered in his ear ‘You’re just a man’ to keep him humble, he (pointing at Phil), when we go to church, is supposed to keep three feet behind me to make me seem regal and never smile at the cameras.’
TM to Phil: “You can have your Harry Potter book when I am satisfied you are really sorry for your lapse. Now go and clean out IDS”
Mr Moan: “IDS, PM?”
TM. “It’s what he calls his pet hamster.”
Leaking National Secrets
Mr Moan: “PM, you’ve had a sensational week. You must be delighted with the strength you showed in sacking the Minister of Defence for allegedly leaking national secrets?”
TM: “That’s not why I sacked him! We have no secrets. There are so many Russian Oligarchs bribing, I mean paying, members of the House of Lords, that Putin knows our secrets earlier that I do. He shares them with China.”
Mr Moan: “So why did you…?”
TM; “Williamson did not share my opinion on security matters. If you don’t agree with me, you go. That is why, since I became PM, forty-eight ministers have left office.”
Mr Moan: “But your highness, err PM, didn’t you and several cabinet members have dinner with Lubov Chernukhin, the ex-wife of a Russian Oligarch?
TM; “That photograph was wonderful. I tipped off the press. Made me look like Pussy Galore.”
Dinner With Oligarchs
Mr Moan: “But she paid £135,000 for the dinner at the Goring Hotel, Belgravia.”
PM: “Yes. That’s how the Conservative party works. If you have the money you can have what you want.”
There was a pause as Phil returned. He was told to open a tin of baked beans and then to attend to the PM’s press cuttings.
Mr Moan. “PM, I must ask you a straight question. Your party’s losses in the local elections are horrendous.”
PM: “Mr Moan. My civil servants and I planned the whole thing. They are on promises of bonuses, honours and gilt-edged pensions so they do exactly as I tell them. We deliberately handed over as many councils as we could to the Lib-Dems so, as the economy runs out of money, we simply blame them and Labour in London.”
No Brexit?
The PM had a coughing fit.
“I can do that to order now,” she said. “When I don’t know the answer, I cough.”
The PM checked her hair in the mirror.
“Mr Moan. My plan is watertight. I shall stay on until June 2022 and surprise the whole nation by serving another five years. We’ll still be in Europe and everybody will blame Jeremy Corbyn.”
Mr Moan: “But PM, you have publicly said you are resigning”
PM. “That was for the media”.
Mr Moan: “But PM, in December you could face another vote of no-confidence.”
No Confidence, No Deal
PM. “Mr Moan. Your understanding of politics is poor. Over one-hundred and sixty MPs are on my payroll as ministers, PPS and so on. They’ll vote for me because they want the money. I’ve spread some knighthoods around to secure my position.”
Mr Moan: “But PM, you said we’d leave the EU on 29 March 2019.”
PM. “Mr Moan. I was right. In fact, I’m right about everything. If the MPs had voted for my deal, we would have left. So, it’s the fault of everybody who did not vote for my deal.”
The PM was now shouting out orders. She told Phil to pack her cases as they needed to return to Downing Street.
Mr Moan. “PM, what do you really think of Jeremy Corbyn?”
PM: “He’s cuddly, isn’t he?”
At this point Mr Moan was instructed to leave the cottage. As he departed, he could hear sounds of shouting as Philip May was made to rehearse next week’s Sunday church walk. The last thing Mr Moan heard was;
“Stay three feet behind me, Philip!”
END…of democracy.
