 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| Letters From London |
| Humorous Views on London Culture, Royals, Gossip and Politics |
The Emperor's New Clothes - 28 November 2008
Stand back, duck for cover, run; it’s the new (not) improved Gordon, all puffed up and full of
himself to the point of implosion. Gordon is utterly giddy. The Prime Minister gleefully grins his
new scary ‘smile’ and we should be scared. Giddy Grinning Gordie is drunk with power. All these
massive save-Britain-plans are devised to save Gordon.
Boris Johnson, the Mayor of London, has used his own Daily Telegraph column to launch a
personal attack on GB, accusing the PM of – among other things - behaving like a drunk. "…he
is like a drunk who has woken to the most appalling hangover, and who reaches for the whisky
bottle to help him dull the pain…” just like Bush.
He continues: “You know what, I have now heard more than enough about how much Gordon
Brown is enjoying this recession. Every time you read about the Prime Minister, they tell you that
his mood is getting better and better…they say that he was giving a speech the other day, and
his mobile phone went. ‘Aha,’ quipped funster Gordon Brown, ‘that'll be another bank going bust!’
Isn't he a scream?" That scream is us….
GB’s new 45% tax rate for the rich set for 2011 will affect only 1% of earners, raising at most
£1.6 billion a year…and as everybody knows, the rich don’t pay taxes…we do. Fools that we
are. GB cut VAT by a pathetic 2.13%, costing businesses a small fortune to make the changes,
if they don’t pocket the tax cut themselves. We can save 1p on Mars bar. Brilliant. I’ll have two.
More gesture politics.
GB has employed the returning Blairite Peter Mandelson (now Business Secretary) as his life
coach in an attempt to establish him as Cameron’s equal opponent during the weekly bantering in
the House of Commons.
“Peter! Peter! Transform me into Tony straight away! I’m late for the Commons!”
“Temper, temper Gordon. Really. You detest, despise, deride Tony. What are you saying?”
“Correct. But I loathe Cameron even more. I am on top and I plan to stay there. Do you hear
me?”
“How marvellously Machiavellian of you, GB. I am the right man for the job. By the way, how are
your smiling lessons coming along?”
“You haven’t noticed? Am I not positively beaming from ear to ear!”
“Give it a try. Hmmm. Next it will have to be the jaw GB, the jaw – please. Before the next
election.”
“I think of nothing else. But what’s this about my jaw?”
It has been reported that ‘Mandelson is chauffeured to No 10 where he advises the PM on
tactics, strategy and suitable jokes for his half-hour ordeal at the Despatch Box…rehearses six
different killer answers before they come face to face. His approach is clinical and forensic.’
Touché, Brute.
Left to his own devices, GB clearly displays moments of bloated self-importance. He has been
writing individual personal letters to all 12 of the finalists of The X Factor. In his letter to
swimming pool cleaner Daniel Evans, Brown addresses Simon Cowell’s view that only
pensioners were voting for him. "On a personal note, can I say that the next time Simon says
that you are only supported by the over-60s you can tell him that my wife Sarah and I disagree,
although you would be better off mentioning Sarah rather than me as she is much further away
from 60 than I am!" Dear me. Not an exclamation mark…. Giddy Gordy also offered words of
support to Spanish-born Ruth Lorenzo, whom Cowell had criticised for not singing in her native
language. “Keep singing in English, girl. You're doing a great a job going against Simon’." Girl?
Girl? Next he’ll be asking if he can add his special note to the letters Prince Charles sends out
every twenty minutes.
Mandelson fancies himself on Strictly Come Dancing. GB might consider himself expanding his
horizons and ego with a stint at a Christmas panto. Swinging five feet above the boards, Dumbo
in a net tutu, the Wizard of Oz’s great green head, Captain Hook with a patch over his single
functioning eye or the crocodile with a clacking jaw, one of Cinderella’s ugly step-sisters jamming
her foot in the glass slipper; seriously - he’s a natural.
“Mummy! Mummy! Look! The emperor is naked!”
“It’s not the emperor, darling. It’s the Prime Minister.”
Stand back, duck for cover, run; it’s the new (not) improved Gordon, all puffed up and full of
himself to the point of implosion. Gordon is utterly giddy. The Prime Minister gleefully grins his
new scary ‘smile’ and we should be scared. Giddy Grinning Gordie is drunk with power. All these
massive save-Britain-plans are devised to save Gordon.
Boris Johnson, the Mayor of London, has used his own Daily Telegraph column to launch a
personal attack on GB, accusing the PM of – among other things - behaving like a drunk. "…he
is like a drunk who has woken to the most appalling hangover, and who reaches for the whisky
bottle to help him dull the pain…” just like Bush.
He continues: “You know what, I have now heard more than enough about how much Gordon
Brown is enjoying this recession. Every time you read about the Prime Minister, they tell you that
his mood is getting better and better…they say that he was giving a speech the other day, and
his mobile phone went. ‘Aha,’ quipped funster Gordon Brown, ‘that'll be another bank going bust!’
Isn't he a scream?" That scream is us….
GB’s new 45% tax rate for the rich set for 2011 will affect only 1% of earners, raising at most
£1.6 billion a year…and as everybody knows, the rich don’t pay taxes…we do. Fools that we
are. GB cut VAT by a pathetic 2.13%, costing businesses a small fortune to make the changes,
if they don’t pocket the tax cut themselves. We can save 1p on Mars bar. Brilliant. I’ll have two.
More gesture politics.
GB has employed the returning Blairite Peter Mandelson (now Business Secretary) as his life
coach in an attempt to establish him as Cameron’s equal opponent during the weekly bantering in
the House of Commons.
“Peter! Peter! Transform me into Tony straight away! I’m late for the Commons!”
“Temper, temper Gordon. Really. You detest, despise, deride Tony. What are you saying?”
“Correct. But I loathe Cameron even more. I am on top and I plan to stay there. Do you hear
me?”
“How marvellously Machiavellian of you, GB. I am the right man for the job. By the way, how are
your smiling lessons coming along?”
“You haven’t noticed? Am I not positively beaming from ear to ear!”
“Give it a try. Hmmm. Next it will have to be the jaw GB, the jaw – please. Before the next
election.”
“I think of nothing else. But what’s this about my jaw?”
It has been reported that ‘Mandelson is chauffeured to No 10 where he advises the PM on
tactics, strategy and suitable jokes for his half-hour ordeal at the Despatch Box…rehearses six
different killer answers before they come face to face. His approach is clinical and forensic.’
Touché, Brute.
Left to his own devices, GB clearly displays moments of bloated self-importance. He has been
writing individual personal letters to all 12 of the finalists of The X Factor. In his letter to
swimming pool cleaner Daniel Evans, Brown addresses Simon Cowell’s view that only
pensioners were voting for him. "On a personal note, can I say that the next time Simon says
that you are only supported by the over-60s you can tell him that my wife Sarah and I disagree,
although you would be better off mentioning Sarah rather than me as she is much further away
from 60 than I am!" Dear me. Not an exclamation mark…. Giddy Gordy also offered words of
support to Spanish-born Ruth Lorenzo, whom Cowell had criticised for not singing in her native
language. “Keep singing in English, girl. You're doing a great a job going against Simon’." Girl?
Girl? Next he’ll be asking if he can add his special note to the letters Prince Charles sends out
every twenty minutes.
Mandelson fancies himself on Strictly Come Dancing. GB might consider himself expanding his
horizons and ego with a stint at a Christmas panto. Swinging five feet above the boards, Dumbo
in a net tutu, the Wizard of Oz’s great green head, Captain Hook with a patch over his single
functioning eye or the crocodile with a clacking jaw, one of Cinderella’s ugly step-sisters jamming
her foot in the glass slipper; seriously - he’s a natural.
“Mummy! Mummy! Look! The emperor is naked!”
“It’s not the emperor, darling. It’s the Prime Minister.”
