David Cameron writes

July 17, 2012 § Leave a comment

“David, David, David. Let’s tell it like it is,” comes a voice like smooth mocchiato from the other end. “You’ve bent over and let yourself get shafted by practically every politician in Europe. What is wrong with you? What do you believe in David?”

I clench my hand into a ball, but leave the thumb poking out in case I need to point at someone. My head is spinning.

“Lord Barack, look I am the PM of the UK and I won’t be spoken to like that.”

“Grow a pair of nutz you English Limey. C’mon let’s tell it like it is.  No more beating around the bush. It  is, repeat after me…. A CLUSTER FUCK. Ok?”

I put down the phone and let out a deep sigh.

“What do you believe in David?” The words echo like a vibrating harp in my mind.

What do I believe in? I believe in the forests. I believe in people. I believe in the right to eat and drink. I believe in my pet beagle Alfie. I believe in our daughter….Rachel.

But most of all I believe in music. I was the first boy in Eton to get into hip hop. All the way from Mousse T to Chaka Demus and pliers. They gave me respeck then.

I decide to put on the latest Riahanna remix, and am bogling in the front room when Sam comes in and tells me to turn it down.

“Chillaxe bitch,” I say, when whap, she slaps me across the face.

I’m lying in a heap on the floor and wondering where it all went wrong.

3pm press conference

It’s true things haven’t been easy ride these past few years. They got me on Eton, they got me on Bullingdon, my double first at Oxford wasn’t good enough for them. I’ve tried to dumb down, act black, act poor you know but no. They still hate me. So no more Mr Nice Guy. I walk into the room and smooth my lapels.

“Quite frankly the situation in Europe is terrible. The only way to describe it is as a cluster fuck.”

Later that evening I am curled on the sofa watching the news, really feeling down about life. Obama is being interviewed:

“Describing the situation in those terms is frankly unhelpful and potentially counter-productive. I mean God– and I’m talking black, white or brown– only knows what he was thinking.”

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