My Prime Ministers and I by Stephen Maybery

Author:Stephen Maybery
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: humour, political, politics, politican, satire, fiction, Tony Blair, Queen Elizabeth, abdication, skullduggery, slapstick, Royal, private eye, hislop, news, current affairs, parliament
ISBN: 9781849891882
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2010
Published: 2010-08-01T00:00:00+00:00

Condo had wasted no time in getting his feet under the moulded plastictables of Buck House, the better to encourage Ivra in whatever follies chanced to engage her attentions, she might have got the job he wanted, but he had by no means given up on his ambitions. When time and fate positioned Ivra for a tumble, he would be on hand to make sure it was fatal, with a damn good shove.

Ivra returned from the bathroom and cheering could be heard through the open windows.

“Oh Condo’ She simpered. “The dear people are cheering me again. I can’t think why.”

“I can Ivra darling.” And he could. Ivra had taken it into her head to introduce purple tinted water into her private loo; Condo had persuaded her to have the appliance to play God Save The Queen whenever the flush was pulled. Ivra was enthusiastic and allowed Condo to organise the installation, which he did with a modification or two. Whenever the lavatory was flushed, the Regents standard flying over the Palace was lit up with a spot light. Word had soon got about for the reason behind the phenomenon and crowds had taken to gathering outside the palace gates to witness the periodic indication of activity in the Regent’s bowels; waiting for

Ivra to crap had become as popular an activity as the changing of the guard had been under the previous regime

“Now then Condo, off we go to the East End.”

“Is this an official do Ivra?” he asked, knowing full well the answer.

“Not exactly. I thought I would drop in and surprise everyone. So much more exciting that way, and people won’t have to go to all the trouble of redecorating on account of me.”

“Not that they would in any case.” thought Condo, taking care that Ivra had no inkling as to his assessment of the situation. “Probably run a mile if they knew you were about to blow in.” he smiled in that special manner of his which made insincerity an act of carnal pleasure.

“Off we go then. The car’s waiting and so is my public.” Ivra was dressed in a pink chiffon ball gown, a tiara perched on her head drew attention to the fact that her roots needed doing; the diamonds of course were fake. It was still only ten in the morning.

The motorcade pulled up in a shabby side street in Whitechapel, besides an old school building which had been turned into a training centre, a vehicle by which those who knew how to manipulate the system, bilked the taxpayer of considerable amounts of money in exchange for doing nothing of any value or use to anyone. This particular example of the genre specialised in running things like courses in public speaking for people who were barely able to master the rudiments of the English language, but who turned up because if you signed the register you received two pencils, a rubber and a toffee apple Ivra, alone except for Condo, who was careful to stand

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