Ah, Prime Minister!

Parliamentary Meeting Room. Ministers are seated around a table. Door opens.

John: Ah, Prime Minister! Ready to start?

PM (looks uncomfortable as he sits down): Yes, I think so. Have you a copy of the agenda? I wore a hole in mine...from reading it so much.

John: A hole, Prime Minister?

PM (impatient): Yes, a hole. Could I please look at yours?

John (hands it to PM): It would be my pleasure.

PM: Ah yes, the Parliamentary vending machines. Something to chew over. Let’s start then, shall we?

John: Yes, I thought we’d quickly deal with that before moving on to more pressing matters...

PM: Moving on? I imagine that subject alone will occupy us for a good hour. But we shall see, we shall see.

John: In that case, Prime Minister, perhaps you’d consider discussing the Fuel Crisis first?

PM: Well, if you insist...

Home Secretary: If I might interrupt, I’d very much like to discuss the vending machines first – it’s of the outmost urgency. Some Ministers with allergies aren’t being properly catered for.



One Hour Later


PM: So we’re willing to sacrifice chocolate peanuts, provided ordinary peanuts are available?

Ministers murmur and nod assent

PM: Very good. Now then, what about crisps?

John (leans over to whisper in PM’s ear): Umm Prime Minister, time is running rather short.

PM (looks at watch): So it is! Alright then, we’ll continue this discussion next week – and shift everything else on the agenda to then as well.

John (alarmed): Prime Minister, the Fuel Crisis...

PM: Yes, next week.

Home Secretary: Isn’t next week the start of Lent?

PM (thinks for a moment): Christ, I think you’re right! Forgotten about that. Well, we can’t hold any meetings during Lent. George, shift everything on the agenda back by forty days and forty nights.

John: Prime Minister, the Fuel Crisis won’t wait forty days!

Home Secretary (to John): He’s the Prime Minister! I think he understands what’s best for the nation, don’t you?

John (ignoring Home Secretary): Prime Minister, is it necessary to celebrate Lent? I mean, you’re an elected official and the public expects...

PM: Of course it’s necessary to celebrate Lent! Don’t want people remembering me as the Infidel Prime Minister!

Home Secretary (nods firmly): We must celebrate Lent

John (incredulous): For forty days?

PM: And forty nights. Well then gentlemen, crisps will have to wait, but I’ll instruct the kitchen staff to make the other changes we’ve agreed upon. Good day.

Ministers leave

PM: Have you ever played badminton, George?

John: Badminton, Prime Minister?

PM: Yes, badminton. You know, shuttlecocks - little feathery things.

John: I’ve played it once or twice. Why d’you ask?

PM: Playing the Home Secretary next week. He’s always bragging about some trophy he won. I really want to wipe the smug grin off his face.

Uncle Jude

Uncle Jude rarely smiles, but when he does you’d think he’d done nothing but grin all his life. I think he saves up little ration tokens of gladness over weeks and months, then cashes them all at once in return for a single blissful afternoon. This does make sense – I’d rather have one big cake on my birthday than lots of little slices throughout the year. All the same, I can’t help wondering why he doesn’t simply choose to always be happy.

Last year he came to the Summer Fair. I’m not sure why, because seeing all the children play only seemed to make him more melancholy. That was the first time I wondered why he didn’t have a family of his own, but Dad said not everybody wants one. I could tell Uncle Jude wanted one though, and I vowed to always make him feel included in ours.

Often at night he walks along nearby beaches with a torch, picking up any piece of glass or metal which catches his fancy. Nobody else much likes these peculiar keepsakes brought home to display on his mantelpiece, but he insists they’re beautiful. Once he told me to gather up scraps of joy in much the same way, finding reasons to be cheerful wherever I can and placing them in my mind’s casket. Then when I need them most, all those nice thoughts and memories will be waiting there to dispel my gloom. This didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but I understood it must be important from the way he said it. I want to find out more, but haven’t seen him since.

Children Have Such Vivid Imaginations

My friends haven’t come to play today.
Will you help me find them?

Could they be under the carpet?
No, they’re not under the carpet.

Are they behind the stairs?
No, they’re not behind the stairs.

Maybe they’re in the shed?
No, they’re not in the shed.

Perhaps they died?
No, they never existed at all.

In Retrospect

Even our so-sorrowful times,
Will inspire nostalgic rhymes,
If skies fume.

Leave Me On The Roadside

Formulate no death arrangements,
Why conceal our life estrangements?

Would a mighty monument erect,
Somehow compensate years of neglect?

All these corpses to whom you’re giving,
Desire nothing – help the living.

Man Walks Into A Bar

Barman: Hiya, what’ll it be?

Customer: I’d like a hat please.

Barman: That some kinda cocktail? How do you make it?

Customer: I’m not certain - but it involves felt. Can I have my hat please?

Barman: A hat? This is a bar! We don’t sell hats!

Customer: That’s handy, because I don’t want to buy a hat.

Barman (relieved): What’ll it be then?

Customer: I’d like my hat please.

Barman (angry): Look, if you’re gonna mess around...

Customer: I’m not messing around. Just want my hat. Left it here on Friday.

Barman (comprehension dawns): Oh I see. Left your hat here? I didn’t find it.

Customer (insistent): Well it must be here.

Barman: How can you be sure?

Customer: Because whenever I walk somewhere, I wear it. Meaning I could only lose it while I’m sitting down.

Barman: And this is the only place you sat down on Friday?

Customer: I’ve already checked the other pubs I went in that day.

Barman: Big drinker?

Customer: Not especially. I enjoy a tipple now and then.

Barman: Well I’m sorry, but you didn’t leave your hat here. I would have found it.

Customer: Fine.

Barman (glad they finally seem to be agreeing on something): Fine.

Customer (turning to leave): I’ll be going to the police station then.

Barman (worried): Why?

Customer: To press charges against you.

Barman (even more worried): For what?

Customer: Stealing my hat.

Barman (desperate): You can’t be certain you left it here! Didn’t you go anywhere but pubs on Friday?

Customer (affronted): Of course I did. Off licence.

Barman: And?

Customer (shaking head): Checked there. They don’t have it.

Barman: What about work? Couldn’t you have left it there?

Customer: No, I’m not allowed to wear my hat at work.

Barman (genuinely interested): Why not?

Customer (sighing): They got sick of me hiding whiskey underneath it.

Barman (knowingly): I see. So you are a big drinker?

Customer: That an accusation?

Barman: No, it’s an observation. Look, what makes you think I’ve stolen your hat?

Customer (simply): You’re wearing it.

Barman (removing own hat to examine it): This old thing? I’ve had it for years!

Customer (suspicious): Never seen you wearing it before

Barman: I save it for weekends. And how would you even know? Never seen you in here before!

Customer: I wore disguises. Don’t want people to see me in pubs. They might get the wrong idea.

Barman (with renewed politeness): Whatever you say, sir. I still haven’t got your hat.

Customer (shrugging): Let’s see what the police make of it.

Barman (urgently): I don’t want any trouble! How about a drink on the house and we’ll say no more about it?

Customer (wanting to clarify the situation): Are you trying to bribe me?

Barman: Two drinks.

Customer: Make it three.

Barman: Three drinks and we’ll say no more about it?

Customer (extending hand): Deal.

Barman (grudgingly shaking it): Alrighty then. What’ll it be?’

Customer (automatically): I’ll have a pint of vodka please.

Seaside Reflection

Messages scrawled in coastal sand,
To infant authors, relics holy,
Vanishing, licked away by tide,
Beach washed clean. You understand?
If love diminished just as slowly,
Maybe we could take it in our stride.