A Resignation Issue

A Wad of Taxpayers' Money, which had believed itself destined for the modest glories of public service, discovered that it was, instead, an involuntary participant in a transaction between a Respected Parliamentary Figure and the firm of Tapps, Crapper and Flush, luxury bathroom refurbishers by appointment to the well-heeled and the mightily-bowelled.

"You will, I am sure, pardon my asking," said the Wad of Taxpayers' Money, in pardonable discombobulation; "but in what manner or fashion will the outfitting of your bathroom in the party colours, with gold fittings and computerised towel rack, help to serve the public weal?"

"In all probability, it will not," replied the Respected Parliamentary Figure, squatting tranquilly above the National Honour and preparing a major release of political fallout.

"But you are not using me for the purpose for which I was intended," protested the Wad of Taxpayers' Money; "surely this is a resignation issue."

"I am glad you take such a realistic view of the matter," said the Respected Parliamentary Figure; "it may help you to continue in your healthy attitude if you remember that others have to resign themselves to considerably worse."

And, rising with a grunt from his throne, he screwed up the Law of the Land and prepared to utilise it in the retroactive purification of his parliamentary seat.

Embarrassment of Riches

There will be no meaningful deal from the Copenhagen climate change chatroom; and even if there were it would be sabotaged by the United States, ignored by China, sneaked around by everyone else and bitched about by the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland for at least as long as our world-saving, paradigm-busting, bank-reforming recovery from recession continued to assist us in meeting our international obligations. Meanwhile, there have been flood warnings in Wales and in three counties of England, and there is a possibility of "extreme danger to life and property" in Dorset. Cross-channel ferries are being cancelled because of violent moisture levels, and there are reports of floods half a metre deep in Cornwall. The hills of Dartmoor, Exmoor and Wales could get three inches of rain, and much of the rest of the country will get one inch. "People should be aware that there will be a lot of water around," said the Environment Agency's director for the southern region. Naturally, our greatest ally has chosen this auspicious moment to discover about eight toilet flushes on the moon.

They're Coming to Suck Out Our Britishness

A calamitous new catastrophe of immigrant-related calamity was averted this week as Brazilian police seized a British trafficker who was trying to smuggle a thousand illegal non-Europeans out of the country in his suitcases.

Global warming means that Britain's insect life is undergoing change as the Earth adjusts to new economic realities.

This makes Britain an attractive prospect for foreign wildlife, some of which works hard and plays by the rules.

The voracious, venomous and hairy-legged Brazilian immigrants were bound for London, where they probably expected to blend in with the indigenous population.

It is not clear whether they were intended as decorative domestic slaves or as medical personnel to destabilise the National Health Service.

Much will depend on whether the arrested British man is found to have acted from motives of non-corporate profit or because of the European Declaration of Human Rights.

Plenty And To Spare

A Natural Resource, which had been almost entirely transmogrified into urban pollution and luxury goods, approached the Minister of Depletion with an urgent request for succour.

"This is outrageous," said the Minister of Depletion as the remains of the Natural Resource crawled like a terminally damaged cockroach through the holy portal of his office. "Not content with filling the room and hardly leaving me space enough to breathe, you are dirtying the walls, scraping the ceiling, interfering with the furniture and blocking a fire exit. The bodyguards will escort you from my Palace of Austerity, and you will please have the goodness to come back when your condition has attained a more governable degree of severity."

"Alas, sir, you are mistaken," said the Natural Resource; "thanks to decades of exploitation, I am barely large enough to fill one of your chairs, let alone crowd you out of this humble yet spacious suite."

"Perspective is everything in these matters," said the Minister of Depletion; "the burden of my responsibilities to the soldiers and stockbrokers of tomorrow means that my eyes are focused almost entirely on the future."

"So I observe," said the Natural Resource, gazing closely at the watery little orbs whereby the Minister of Depletion attained his visionary perspective. "Indeed," it continued, "a couple of Executive Directorships, located at the limits of your foresight, appear to have precipitated some remarkable adjustments in your sense of scale."

Thus reassured that the Natural Resource was much smaller than his charitable vision led him to believe, the Minister of Depletion had it cooked into a hamburger which he fed to his daughter live on television in order to prove that there was plenty and to spare.

Big Brother's New Clothes

The Ministry of Tough has announced its plans to exclude the DNA profiles of innocent people from the national police database, which plans involve keeping the DNA profiles of innocent people on the national police database. The original idea, if that is the word I want, was to keep DNA profiles of people arrested for "serious violent and sexual offences" for twelve years whether the data-inputee was found guilty or not; the European court of human rights has ruled this illegal and the House of Donors is wobbling a bit, so the Ministry of Tough has decided, after its usual inimitable fashion, that the measures are not draconian enough. The new plan is to retain for six years the DNA profiles of anyone whom the police feel like arresting, regardless of such fripperies as the presence or absence of evidence against them; to retain for six years the DNA profiles of children who are not cautioned or convicted of an offence (or three years if the offence for which they are not cautioned or convicted is a minor one); and to retain the DNA profiles of people who are not guilty of terrorist offences ("suspects" in modern parlance) until the day they die. A spokesbeing for the Home Secretary and science buff Alan Johnson said: "The reality is that many investigations of counter-terrorism actually take a very long time indeed"; so long, in fact, that the process of trial and verdict, far from being the conclusion of the case, is merely a single, vaguely inconvenient, rather wishy-washy phase of the ongoing battle for optimal toughness. Britain's leading liberal newspaper, which apparently has been reporting on a different Ministry of Tough to the one by which the rest of us have been watched all these years, refers to all this as "unexpected".

Alas, Thou Hast Misconstrued

The Metropolitan Police, as it appears in some of Jack Straw's damper daydreams, is becoming flesh in South Africa, where it seems that somebody doing a wonderful job in difficult circumstances has made an honest mistake and shot a three-year-old dead. The protector of the public allegedly mistook a pipe for a gun which the potential criminal was pointing at him; the fact that nothing resembling such a pipe was found at the scene has been made public rather precipitately, without any of the attempts to soften the family's grief which constitute the norm in more civilised countries. The South African shadow police minister made express mention of the case of Jean Charles de Menezes, whose bulky jacket and suspicious behaviour featured so prominently in Scotland Yard's efforts to soothe his relatives' pain. "You had people falling on their swords and feeling honour bound to do so," she said; strangely enough, apart from Cressida Dick who was punished with a severe promotion, and the honourable Ian Blair who was forced to resign mere years later over an unrelated spat with the London Haystack, the self-impalements that come to mind are distinguished by their fewness.

A Personal Gesture

The Glorious Successor has been carrying out his unique brand of public relations again, this time by mis-spelling the name of a significant casualty in the Great Game whose mother, after the fashion of bereaved parents, has flung herself into the bosom of the scumbag press. Significant casualties have been piling up a bit of late, and somebody in the Glorious Successor's press corps has hatched the idea that a personalised, hand-scrawled note to "acknowledge the debt of gratitude owed by the country to those who have died to protect the people of Britain" might have some sort of relevance to those whose relatives have been thrown away in a sordid and incompetent exercise to further the interests of multinational corporations. As a result, the Glorious Successor "takes a great deal of time writing letters of condolences", doubtless in much the same image-emollient spirit as he takes time to check on the welfare of singers or to push second-rate celebrities for the European presidency. A spokesbeing stated, for those who might not be aware of it, that whatever else he may be prepared to inflict on the British squaddie, Gordon "would never knowingly mis-spell anyone's name".

The Ceremony of Remembrance

In between starting wars, a Vigorous and Upstanding Statesman found time to claim some extra expenses from the taxpayer and use them in an attempt to buy a Wreath of Poppies.

"Unhand me, monster!" screamed the Wreath of Poppies as the indignity penetrated. "How dare you despoil me thus - I who am a symbol of peace and remembrance of the dead?"

"There is nothing wrong in remembering the dead," replied the Vigorous and Upstanding Statesman, "but one must also encourage the living. My ministrations will transform you into a symbol of military glory and noble sacrifice, of conquest in the name of liberation and of civilian casualties buried under tales of derring-do."

"Bestial and depraved creature!" gasped the Wreath of Poppies in horror. "Know that I shall never consent to serve so nefarious a scheme!"

"Since we live in a Democracy, you are of course entitled to your opinion," said the Vigorous and Upstanding Statesman; "but you have somewhat exaggerated ideas regarding the importance of your consent."

Whereupon, thrusting home his point with characteristic aplomb, he threw down and laid the Wreath of Poppies right beside the Intercontinental Ballistic Memorial Cenotaph.

The Piece of Intelligence

A Piece of Intelligence, having been purchased from a Decent Alien by a Security Serviceperson of the Free World, expressed a degree of curiosity concerning the treatment it could expect in its new existence.

"You have nothing to fear," the Security Serviceperson of the Free World reassured it; "you can look forward to a life of liberty and prosperity in the name of universal human values and market forces, once the appropriate corrective surgery has been applied."

"Corrective surgery?" said the Piece of Intelligence. "But I am perfectly correct as I am, at least within the generally accepted limits. And anyway, if you did not like the look of me, why did you buy me from that Decent Alien?"

"Mere correctitude is not the same as fitness for purpose," said the Security Serviceperson of the Free World. "There is always a bit of twisting involved, and perhaps a minor amputation here and there in obstinate cases. Nothing serious - merely a few adjustments to bring you in line with Government policy."

The Piece of Intelligence was so appalled at this prospect that it fled from the Security Serviceperson of the Free World and sold itself to a Journalist, who left it in a taxi while keeping a tryst with an Official Fabrication.

Still Up For It

The Glorious Successor, who bankrolled, in the name of national security, the wars which did so much to encourage the July 2005 bombings; the Glorious Successor, whose government has paid fulsome tribute to our brave servicepersons while closing military hospitals and quibbling over compensation for the maimed; the Glorious Successor, who cannot spare money for proper housing, health care or equipment for those fighting abroad, but who spares no effort or expense in kitting out riot police at home; the Glorious Successor, who presumes to lecture the Afghans about the corruption of their government; the author of Courage: Eight Portraits, who has probably been almost as near the field of battle as might potentially tend to cause him the possibility of a not excessive degree of personal inconvenience, plans to pledge not to walk away, nor to be "deterred, dissuaded or diverted from taking whatever measures are necessary to protect our security" by continuing with the measures that have endangered it. Doubtless the Glorious Successor will be wearing a poppy as he makes his pledge; and doubtless, thanks to the usual cosmic oversight, the miserable assemblage of paper and plastic will not wither in his buttonhole as he speaks.