"Floppo Hood and his Merrie Cabinet Ministers"
Soon to be a movie!
LIST OF CHARACTERS:
Floppo Hood - The luckiest politician of all time.
Friar Gove - The world-leading expert.
Handcod - The horse-loving apothecary. (Soon to lose his stirrups.)
Richie - The biggest tax fund trader ever.
Maid Pretty - Famous for her sweet nature.
Prop - Propaganda chief.
Mapp - Pollster, CEO of CON
An old man.
***********************
A room in Number Ten. MORNING. Ministers sing and dance.
“We are the Tory rich;
We're ripping off the poor.
We're leaving them without a stitch,
The bailiff at the door.
We're the golden boys of politics! Rather!
We are the filthy rich;
We're ripping off the poor.
We take it all without a hitch,
'cos we're above the law.
We're the golden boys of politics. Rather!
FLOPPO:
Well done! We’ll have to stop this dancing, though. Place is falling
apart. I’m glad to hear you’ve all had your three jabs. We must now
work on ensuring we get re-elected.
FRIAR GOVE: Absolutely. There are only four years to go. (Aside) And I need time to prepare my pitch to the voters.
HANDCOD: I entirely agree. (Aside) I need to see the blasted Covid finished and then I can prepare my pitch.
RICHI: I agree entirely. (Aside) Happily, I’m the obvious choice for next PM.
FLOPPO: I’m told there's millions of poor out there. We need to level them up and build them better.
RICHI:
Very true. But we need to look after our shareholders, sorry,
constituencies first. They need their fair share of our GDP
FLOPPO:
Of course! But the poor? They need help. Should I put on my hard-hat
and go and visit them? (Aside) What on earth is GDP?
MAID
PRETTY: But what about all those foreigners that keep popping up at
Dover? There aren’t enough camps to put them. They’ll be wandering about
in our leafy suburbs soon.
FLOPPO: Damned Belgians, are they?
MAID PRETTY: How should I know?
FRIAR GOVE: Excuse me. Can we get back to the point?
FLOPPO: Quite. What is the point, actually?
HANDCOD: Our good friends and donors want more contracts. They say they want to do their best for the country.
FLOPPO: Ah. What does the country need? Is there anything world-beating?
HANDCOD: Actually there is. Scunthorpe Vaccinatory is working on a vaccine for a new variant of Covid.
FRIAR GOVE: Not another variant?
HANDCOD: Yes. And it looks quite nasty.
FLOPPO: Where’s it from this time? Such a bore.
HANDCOD: The Falkland Isles.
FLOPPO: What! I thought they were British!
FRIAR GOVE: We must find out. Ask whatsisname. You know, the Foreign Secretary. Rub or something.
FLOPPO: More to the point, where’s Scunthorpe?
HANDCOD: Up North.
RICHIE: Working class place. Never been there, but I hear it’s dreadful. What’s that din outside?
(Outside – a singing noise.)
OLD MAN:
"Can't get a educashun; can't get no rotten work.
Every rotten politician is a money-making jerk.
Me muvver's in the hospital; wiv a bloke on either side;
Can't find a rotten dentist wivart a forty minute ride.
Drunks lyin' on the pavement; potholes in the road;
Useless rotten government; rotten billions owed.
Thank you, politicians; and all your clever staff.
Are you working for the working man? Don't make me rotten larf!"
FRIAR GOVE: Clearly somebody lacking in education. Working class, no doubt.
MAID PRETTY: I’ll have him arrested. And deported.
FLOPPO: No. Bring him in. I’ll put on my hard hat and we’ll ask him what’s his problem.
(Enter OLD MAN.)
FLOPPO: Please take a seat, old chap.
OLD MAN: Who are you, then?
FLOPPO: Never mind that. Why were you singing outside on Downing Street?
OLD MAN: Where?
FLOPPO: Er. Never mind that, either. Why were you singing?
OLD Man: ‘Cos I’m off. Leaving.
Floppo: Where are you going?
OLD MAN: France. If it's any business of yours, young man.
FLOPPO: France? But that’s in the EU.
OLD MAN: Aye, France. It's warmer there and they have baguettes and citizens' banks. And that's where I'm going.
RICHIE: Taking lots of money with you, are you?
(The Ministers all laugh.)
OLD Man: Aye. Although what its got to do with you, I don't know. Who are you lot anyway, with all your impertinent questions, eh?
(Enter PROP, Director of Propaganda.).
PROP: I say! Stormer’s going on Channel 4 tonight! About the NHS!
FLOPPO: So?
PROP: He’s going to lead a clapping tribute. Followed by one minute’s silence.
And
then he’s going to outline his plan for the future. Big money for the
NHS! And he’s going to say the pay-rise of 1% is a kick in the face. And
remind everybody that they saved your life!
FLOPPO: Oh God. This is all your fault, Richie!
RICHIE: Er… Er…
FLOPPO:
Didn’t you think of the consequences? 1%! Didn’t you learn anything
when you were working at Rothschilds? Too busy drinking Coca-Cola, I
suppose.
RICHIE:
Here, that’s a bit rich! I discussed it with you. But, it was clear you
weren’t interested. You were reading the quotes for your refurbishments
and and for the media room.
FLOPPO:
Anyway, I’ve been thinking. (Astonished looks all round.) I want you
to meet our new polling consultants. (Enter MAPP, a very attractive
young woman.)
This is Mapp Svelte, CEO of Consolidated Opinionating Numerology. CON for short.
She
is going to make sure that none of you make promises, or express an
opinion, that the voters might not like. And we must all co-operate.
This is how it will work.
Before
making a promise, or a big statement, you must first text the text to
CON. This will be immediately submitted to an opinion poll by Mapp and
her team using algorithms, with results back in three minutes. If the
poll has above 60% approval, you can go ahead. If not, you kill the
idea. Is that clear? No? Mapp will explain further.
MAPP: Is there any coffee? This will obviously take a while….
*********************************************************************************
BRITAIN’S BROKEN DEMOCRACY
Only 36.4% of the UK electorate voted to leave the EU,
the biggest trade group in the world
(referendum turnout was 70% - of them 52% said leave
which equals 36.4% of the total electorate)
the votes of just over one third of Britons – deliberately misinformed, misled
and even lied to by their leaders started the biggest peacetime initiative ever in British history
now the UK needs to negotiate with 27 EU countries on exit terms
needs to negotiate with 162 WTO countries to agree trading terms
but the government has no experience of negotiations
and has hired consultants to do this
estimated cost to the taxpayer £3 billion +
exiting the EU means saying goodbye to
the UK's major trading partner and its access to many
other markets under bilateral agreements
rising prices
rising unemployment
businesses leaving with resultant loss of jobs
Broken….Britain
RIP GB
******************************************************************************
And Now! The InterContinental Cup Final 2020!
As
many of you will remember there was a huge technical failure which
resulted in millions not being able to see the Final on TV. We are
therefore very proud to be able to bring to all those disappointed fans a
transcript of the game, as commentated by John Atkins and Wilf Baker.
John:
Well, welcome Ladies and Gentlemen, to the InterContinental Final here
tonight between Europa and Latino. It's sure to be a cracker!
Wilf:
Absolutely, John. These two teams represent the very best the game can
offer. The best players in Europe. Taking on the best players in Latin
America. Each team has fought hard to get here, tonight, and they'll
be looking for a result.
John: That's right, Wilf. There was a
strong challenge from MidEast but they failed on penalties against
Asia. And then Africa were disqualified when their Captain kicked a
steward after drawing with Scandinavia.
Wilf: Yeah. That sort of behaviour's not good for the game.
John: No, Wilf, but sometimes the excitement of it all can overcome even the best of players. Not good, though.
Wilf: Too right. Look at the American goalie who head-butted the ref. No excuse for that, is there
John:
Here they come! The two best teams in the world! Coming out of the
tunnel, now! They've got those big banners spread out over their heads
'Say No to Racism'. And there's Becks leading the stewards carrying
the huge solid silver trophy!
Wilf: Weighs a bit that, by the look of it. There's England's new coach, John!
John: Six and a half million quid, he gets.
Wilf: Can he speak English, yet?
John: Good question, Wilf. Had a word with him earlier today - said he can't say anything without his lawyer present.
Wilf: That'll be because he's got a law suit back home.
John: Europa have won the toss and they're going to kick off.
Wilf: Er. John. Got a little problem, here.
John: The ref is shaking hands all round.
Wilf: 'Scuse me, John.
John:
They had a hard time choosing a ref for this game but they settled on
Tsbeki Ungawa from Mugamba-Ogowe. Good reputation.
Wilf: John….
John: Mugamba-Ogowe was the second country in the world to play football. What's the matter, Wilf?
Wilf: They haven't sent up the team lists to us.
John: Well, go and get them, then.
Wilf: That's it. Can't. Door's locked. Big security for this game, John. Expecting a lot of fan trouble.
John: Bloody Hell! You mean we have to give a commentary without knowing the names of the players? I can't believe it!
Wilf: I'm trying to e-mail the desk but it won't go through. What we gonna do?
John: What info do we have? I suppose they've given us something.
Wilf: Well. In a manner of speaking, like.
John: Well, what then?
Wilf: They'v given us the last transfer price of each player.
John: Oh, bloody marvellous! Is that it?
Wilf: That's it.
John:
Alright, then. Here's what we do. We give the commentary by referring
to the transfer price, OK? Instead of their names, right? Let the
viewers figure it out.
Wilf: We'd better get going. Ten minutes has gone already.
John:
Right. There's Europa's captain, £53 million, passing the ball out to
the left wing, to the £45 million striker who's charging in to the
centre. He's gone through two Latino backs worth £77 million and he's
lining up to score! Only the goalie to beat! He's skyed it! At least
thirty feet over the post. What an opportunity! Latino was caught
napping there, Wilf.
Wilf: He's holding his head and looking up
to the heavens! His team-mates are a bit disappointed. And the coach
is chewing even faster than normal. Bad sign that, John. Means the
tension's rising already.
John: The Latino goalie, £45
million, has kicked it well up field where it's gone to Europa's £58
million mid-field player. He's sent a long ball right to the feet of
..of…oh, it's Latino's play-maker. £80 million there, Wilf. He's
precision passed to his right-winger, the £25 million young lad who's
making a big impression here. He's running with the ball. A heavy
tackle from - oh! He's punched him! I mean, the lad has punched the
Europa back who tackled him. The back is rolling on the floor, looking
at the ref. He's screaming in pain! It's a free kick to Latino. But
it's a yellow card for the lad.
Wilf: The coach doesn't look too
pleased with that decision, John. He's thrown his tie on the floor and
he's stamping on it.
John: It's that hot-blooded temperament,
Wilf. Latino's captain's going to take it. Must be all of 28 metres.
He's belted it - but it's gone straight into the wall. It comes right
out, Latino's £63 million winger has come racing in - he's passed two
Europa defenders, £72 million, the Europa goalie's come out, Europa's
£36 million deep back has grabbed the shirt of the Latino winger. The
Latino winger has dropped like a stone to the floor, he's rolling around
in agony, he's rolling up like a ball, he's looking at the ref.
Wilf: What a waste of time! Get up, you big ponce!
John: The ref gestures on the medical team. They give the winger a quick spray. He's up on his feet again, running about.
Wilf: I reckon they take lessons in falling over, some of these players.
John:
Yes, well. Free kick again to Latino. The lad takes it and it's
close! But it hits the post. Bounces out, bounces on the foot of
Latino's captain and it's in the net! Latino have scored! It's One
Nil. After 35 minutes.
Wilf: He looked a bit surprised, that captain.
John:
He's running around holding his shirt above his head, his team-mates
are hugging and kissing him, the coach is hugging the assistant coach.
They're doing a samba or something.. They're running on to the pitch!
The ref is trying to get the game started again. Exciting stuff, Wilf!
Wilf: Too right! Let's see what the passing accuracy is. Hmm. 65%
John: 65%?
Wilf: Yeah, 65%. Wouldn't be much use if you was a carpenter, would it? Hit your thumb every third attempt with the hammer!
John: Or a dentist! Drill the wrong tooth every third time! Ha ha!
Wilf:
Or an opera singer. Miss a note every third warble Ha ha ha. Wouldn't
last long at Covent Garden, would you? Ha ha ha ha!
At this stage
there was a total breakdown in transmission. Europa equalised in the
90th minute. Three days later the two teams are still taking penalties
to decide who is the InterContinental Champion.
*************************************************************************************************
Brexit Got Done...and celebrated.
In
a luxurious banqueting hall in Westminster, quite close to Number Ten,
standing around drinking champagne are Mugg, Gov, Handcod, Richi, on
whom the many other Ministers of the British Cabinet who are also
present, fawn. Suddenly the double doors open to reveal Floppo, their
Leader. The Ministers cheer and clap him. He massages his head and
grins. Mugg hands him an overflowing glass of champagne.
Floppo: Ha! My glass floweth over, what. We got Brexit done!
The
others laugh and giggle and slap each other on the back, and start to
sing ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’, ‘Rule Britannia’, and ‘Floreat
Etonia!'
Floppo: Most kind. Most kind.
But it’s not just my leadership which makes our country great. We’re
world-leading in everything, aren’t we? World-beaters. The envy of the
world. Even more so now we’ve left those upstarts in the EU!
The others cheer, slurp their champagne and elbow each other trying to get closer to their leader.
Mugg:
I say. Did you see what those ghastly people at UNICEF are doing?
Sending food to working-class kids over here! Damned nerve!
Gov:
Ridiculous. If there are any starving kids in England, it’s a
pity their parents don’t work harder. Have another glass. Anyway, who
cares? In a party poll, 98% of taxpayers say they’re happy and would
vote for us again. Jolly good, eh?
Mugg: Send 'em back down the mines, I say. Do they think we're made of money?
Floppo: On that subject, Richi, how much money do we have in the bank?
Richi: Well, um, nothing actually.
Floppo: Nothing?
Richi: No, nothing at all.
Floppo: Well, what the devil are you going to do about it? We can borrow some more surely?
Richi:
Absolutely. I’ve been in touch with the Sino-Arabian Global Investment
Bank concerning their core offering, the multiple derived layered
confidence bond.
Mugg: I know them. I do hedge funding with them. Utterly reliable. Been in business since 2018.
Handcod: And they’ve funded many last-minute NHS contracts.
Floppo: What interest rate do they expect?
Richi: None!
All: None?! None?!
Richi: None. The only stipulation is that at the end of each appointed term, we give them one seat in the House of Lords.
Floppo: No problem. We’ll give them Labour seats. Is that all?
Richi: Well, not quite. They ask for Chinese chefs to be appointed in the Commons dining room.
Floppo: No problem.
Richi: And no alcohol to be served.
All: What?! Are they mad?
Floppo: Sorry, not possible. Absolutely impossible.
Richi:
Their Vice-President Important Customer Relations said he thought that
might be a problem, so they’ve calculated what he calls a low level of
financial repayment instead.
Floppo takes him by the arm and leads him away to a remote corner of the room where they talk quietly. They return smiling.
Floppo:
I shall agree to their terms. (Sigh of relief from all.) I want a
press release about the new arrangements something like:
‘The
government is again showing its world-leading concern for visions and
values and is proud to associate with a bank of such integrity, in the
sole interest of the British people in these difficult global times.’
The Minister for Posture and Prating leaves the room at the trot.
Floppo:
Now. A different subject. There is some trepidation about the after
effects of Brexit. At least, for the first few weeks. Shortages and
stuff like that. Knowing our working-class, there may even be riots. We
need a plan to cope with that. So I’ve appointed Lord Rumble of Belch to
draw up a plan for combatting such riots.
Mugg: A good chap. Reliable.
Floppo:
Yes, I think he’s a good choice. Loves his food. When we were at Eton
together he was known as ‘The Scoffer.’ He’ll shortly issue a press
release saying that Her Majesty’s Armed Forces will be standing ready to
combat any violence. And that everything is being done to ensure that
food reaches every family’s table. I’ve appointed Brigadier Victor Thump
to oversee military operations. He assured me that he will not tolerate
any violence on our streets. Over to you, Gov.
Gov:
Max Hoard will be appointed Minister for Stock-piling and Ration Books,
later today. He will issue a statement saying, ‘Not one person in
Britain will go hungry for longer than three days. Your government will
ensure that the British people – man, woman and child – shall not be
without food so long as they have their ration books.
Handcod:
As you requested, I’ve appointed Yasmine Aspirinoval as Assistant
Minister for Stock-piling Medecines. And she has talked to Brigadier
Thump about troops for hospital wards in case patients start fighting
over prescriptions, or delayed operations or bed linen laundry.
Floppo: Excellent. Well, I think we deserve another half-dozen bottles. There is a loud banging on the double doors.
Floppo: Who the devil’s that? See who it is, someone. One of the Ministers opens the doors to reveal an old man in scruffy clothing.
Old Man: Is this the House of Come-ons?
Floppo: What did he say? Bring him here. The old man shuffles forward. Floppo: Now, my man, what are you doing here?
Old Man: I’m looking for the House of Come-ons.
Floppo: H’m. I think you’ve got the place-name wrong.
Old Man: Well, anyway, lad. I’m ‘ere to see a Mr. Melrose. Ben Melrose. Asked to see me, ‘e did.
Astonishment
all round. Whispers of “Benjamin Melrose is our chief donor,
billionaire, gave millions to the party at the election...”
Floppo: Quiet! Well, he isn’t here. I’ll send someone to find him.
Old Man: Fanks, lad. I’ve come a long way. From up north.
Gasps all round.
Gov: He’s from the Red Wall area! One of Labour’s voters that turned to us!
Mugg: Have a glass of champers, old gentleman!
Gov: You are most welcome, my dear chap!
Handcod: A long journey! Care for some aspirin? It's good for aching feet.
Floppo: Now we've got Brexit done, we shall concentrate on levelling-up.
Old Man: Good! It's about time those bloody pot-holes were filled in.
Floppo: H'm. May we know why you are meeting Mr. Melrose?
Old
man: No problem, lad. The news will soon be out in the ‘Mirror’.
(Shudders all round.) Says he’s fed up giving ‘is millions to the Tory
party. And will give ‘em all to Labour from now on.
Cries of: No! No! He can’t. It’s madness! What will we do?
Floppo: Quiet! Please! And just why is Mr. Melrose doing that?
Old
Man: Simple, really. Got involved in a lot of law-suits while ‘e was
making ‘is millions, ‘e said. Developed a big admiration for classy
lawyers. Seein’ as ‘ow that Starmer is a classy lawyer, Jim wants to
support ‘im all the way to the next election. That’s it, lad.
Enter Mr. Melrose.
Melrose: Ah, there you are, Frank. Let’s go somewhere else. I don’t like the company here. And I don't like continuous U-turns.
He
stares icily at Floppo, looks at the others with a sneer on his face,
puts his arm round the Old Man’s shoulder, and they leave.
The
Ministers are groaning in despair, filling their glasses sloppily,
looking accusingly at Floppo and finally inching towards for the double
doors leaving him standing alone, massaging his head.
Floppo: Sic transit gloria Melrose...
THE END.
