Tuesday, August 10, 2004

If that’s who I think it is, I’m not in….

I’m expecting a phone call any day now.

A grovelling, snivelling conniving phone call from a suitably low-life, slime-ball jobsworth.

He won’t be selling double glazing.
He won’t be asking me to participate in a survey "that’ll only take 35 minutes of my time".
He won’t be asking me to invest in the U.S stock market, or to change my electricity supplier.

No, this phone call, this phone call will be an awful lot worse than that.

And when Mr Snivelling-Conniverer does ring me, the answer will be the same as last year.

"No, the Blairs’ cannot – repeat cannot stay at our house for a few days at the end of August. They are a bunch of freeloading cretins dedicated to bumming around the villas of Europe and the Caribbean, pushing themselves onto unsuspecting hosts, eating them out of house and home, using up all their bog paper, then moving on.

"Just because Tony ’the weasel’ is Prime Minister and ‘mad as a mad March mare’ Cherie is scary, doesn’t give them carte blanche to squat wherever they feel like.

"Sorry, ‘worm-tongue’ – chez Alfie is absolutely out of bounds to the Glorious Leader……. Not for any price, not even if they offer me The Lord Chancellorship, with a £2.5 million pension and free access to posh wallpaper. Not even if they offer me The Commissioner of Europe (Gravy Train Ministry) and give me Peter Mandelson as my ‘goffer’……

"Alfie cannot be bought – and anyway, I’ve already got Michael Howard in the attic, Charles Kennedy in the airing cupboard, John Major is doubling as a water feature and Robin Cook’s fraternising with the gnomes by the pond"……