The Political Manifesto

A Political Manifesto, finding itself thoroughly starved of ideas, went begging from door to door around the various Departments of one of the world's numerous Greatest Democracies in the World.

It went first to the Treasury, where an Alchemist sat poring over an immense and complicated tangle of equipment. "Go away!" yelled the Alchemist when the Political Manifesto announced its presence. "Do you not see that I am busy turning base public utilities into gold for the financial sector?"

So the Political Manifesto went to the Department of Agriculture, where it found two Specimens of Obesity listlessly throwing food at each other.

"What are you doing?" asked the Political Manifesto. "Is this some new and efficient policy which will usher in yet another new and efficient era of peace and prosperity for hard-working families?"

"Go away!" yelled the Specimens of Obesity in antiphonal indignation. "Do you not see that we are busy settling the question of this year's monosodium glutamate crop? We are trying to work out whether African corruption has caused it to fail, or whether European intransigence has precipitated a surplus."

"Democratic debate followed by decisive action?" chanced the Political Manifesto, timidly holding out its begging bowl; whereupon the saggier of the Specimens of Obesity grabbed the bowl, filled it to overflowing with freshly-microwaved chocolate and chutney ossobuco, and flung it at his baggy colleague's head.

The Political Manifesto went next to the Department of Justice; but it found only a Person of Swarthy Aspect being hit and humiliated by unseen hands.

"What is this?" demanded the Political Manifesto. "Are you trying to demean the name of Justice in this, the Greatest Democracy in the World?"

"Not at all," said the Person of Swarthy Aspect. "I should be only too happy to stop this miserable spectacle, but I am unable to apply for release from my bonds because nobody is responsible for my confinement."

Driven to extreme measures, the Political Manifesto dragged itself to the Press Department, where an Empty Suit with Megaphone Attachment sat blowing hot air into some deflated reputations. "Please help me, kind sir," said the Political Manifesto, "for I am thin and insubstantial, with barely an idea inside me, and virtually indistinguishable from the Manifesto of the Other Party, which is an object of near-universal loathing and derision."

Horrified, the Empty Suit with Megaphone Attachment seized the Political Manifesto, subjected it to a thoroughgoing cavity search and stuffed it with photographs of happy children, beautiful pensioners and hard-working families. "There," said the Empty Suit with Megaphone Attachment; "you are no longer thin, indeed you are positively thick, but without anything in you that might cause problems later."

Despairing, the Political Manifesto flung itself into the path of an Approaching Election, whereupon it was adopted by Public Apathy and lived a happy and prosperous life for nearly two months before being torn up because of an unforeseen alteration in macroeconomic circumstances.

Norsemen Plunder Almost-British Carbon Sinks

Thanks to the golden thread of imperialism that runs through our history, which has brought good business practice to Nigeria, democracy to Uganda, peace to Palestine and call centres to India, Britain is able to maintain a special relationship with many former colonies around the world, thus pandering to Whitehall's delusions about our still being a global power. Two years ago one of these ex-colonies, Guyana, approached the British government with a proposal to give Britain control of its remaining rainforest - an area larger than England - in return for aid and assistance in building a low carbon economy, which would include limiting the deforestation that accounts for a fifth of the world's emissions. Whether because Lord Mandelbrot the Infinitely Recurring had better things to do than talk to a lot of little chaps with funny names, or because the Lower Miliband was busy building airports and nuclear power stations, or just because the Ministry of Equipment Shortage couldn't spare the troops to teach the uppity natives the true meaning of democracy, the British government did nothing; so the Guyanese did a deal with Norway instead. It is thanks to this level of British leadership at the forefront of the war on climate change that we are now firmly on the road towards catastrophic levels of global warming. That, at least, is one bus even Britain won't be able to miss.

Hypocrite Pasteur, Mon Semblable, Mon Frère

The Archbishop of Canterbury has confirmed, for the benefit of those Catholics who were unaware of the fact, that the Anglican and Roman faiths both believe in God. With his usual touching ignorance of what is going on around him, Dr Williams also claimed that the Anglican communion, which has been tearing itself apart over the private activities of consenting adults for almost ten years, is proof that churches can stay together in spite of their differences. The ecumenical glass is "genuinely half-full", in that many Anglicans are so close to the Catholic position that the sixteenth Daddy Goodspeak can pull off an adroit bit of bigot-rustling at the price of a few nominal concessions. Dr Williams appears to believe that this is the first stage on the path to pontifical acceptance of female bishops: "When so much agreement has been established in first-order matters about the identity and mission of the church," he wheedled, "is it justifiable to treat other issues as equally vital for its health and integrity?" Dr Williams insisted that "there was more uniting the denominations than dividing them"; but if he considers this a basis for unity his ignorance of human nature must be matched only by his ignorance of the history of Christianity. The very first adherents of the Jesus cult were a sect within first-century Judaism, who were persecuted by people with whom they had more than a little in common, namely fellow Jews like the Inquisitor of Tarsus. The Inquisitor himself, after his hallucination on the road to Damascus, got into an undignified squabble with his fellow cultists, Peter and James, over who was the best apostle and whether the burning issues of kosher and circumcision were vital to the health and integrity of the faith. A couple of hundred years later, the military power of the eastern Roman empire was placed at the disposal of the noisiest, most ruthless and most ethically flexible among the various competing versions of Christianity, the adherents of which duly went about eliminating those of their co-religionists who disagreed with them on such fascinating questions as whether the god of the Jews was different from the god of the Christians, whether Jesus was created or begotten, whether he was human or divine, and so forth. There are few better fuels for mutual hatred than having a good deal in common.

Don't Worry, It May Never Happen

As the Lower Miliband announces panic-building of nuclear power stations before the sustainable uranium becomes too plentiful to make them a profitable enterprise, the Government has suddenly discovered the merits of renewable energy, and has published plans to allow wind turbines to be installed without planning permission. The proposed changes to the system would also attempt to make it look as if the Government were interested in making it easier for solar panels to be attached to stadiums, schools, railway stations and offices. "The people who want to greenproof their homes should get a helping hand, not a stop sign," said the Minister of Homelessness and Repossession, before announcing the various stop signs which he will personally put in place: "strong safeguards in relation to noise levels, size, location and the potential impact on an area". It is certainly reassuring to see that nasty, noisy things like wind turbines are not being treated as though they were something clean and quiet like a new airport runway. There will also be a "clean energy cashback scheme", which will place the Government in the invidious position of bribing the public to undercut the energy companies. Fortunately, the plans are to be put out for "consultation" for three months, by the end of which time the election campaign which has been going on for the past two years will have reached the pre-orgasmic stage; after that, the Daveybloke administration will bury the whole idea, thus keeping safe his ministers' prospects for corporate directorships once their duty to Murdoch, the Mail and the White House is fulfilled.

Elective Affinities

The shadow secretary for Cultchah, Jeremy Hunt, has denied the accusation by Lord Mandelbrot the Infinitely Recurring that Daveybloke's Cuddly Conservatives have adoped New Labour policy and struck a deal with Rupert Murdoch. Of course, the very idea is "completely wrong and totally improper". Daveybloke's Cuddly Conservatives, according to Jeremy Hunt, are going to "allow media operators more flexibility to own businesses operating on both the same and different platforms", thus permitting the likes of Rupert Murdoch to extend their charming and civilising influence yet further into the British media. Daveybloke's Cuddly Conservatives, according to Jeremy Hunt, "will strip away the regulations in the same way that Big Bang [deregulation] revolutionised the City [in 1986] to make it the major financial centre of the world" and to provide some of the necessary conditions for that brilliant success of the banking industry which has made the British economy what it is today. One can only guess at how far from their minds was the desire to please Rupert Murdoch when Daveybloke's Cuddly Conservatives thought that one up. Daveybloke's Cuddly Conservatives, according to Jeremy Hunt, will emasculate Ofcom and give the BBC another kick in the balls at the first opportunity; hardly the kind of policies for which the consent of Rupert Murdoch needs to be sought by means of a formal contract. Indeed, Daveybloke's Cuddly Conservatives - aided no doubt by Daveybloke's Cuddly Coulson, whose connection with Rupert Murdoch is, for the moment at least, almost certainly non-contractual - have about as much need of a deal with Rupert Murdoch as a paedophile has need of a written blessing from the Pope. They are mutually complementary, and each sustains the other.

Misguided, If Not Downright Indiscreet

The Glorious Successor is to apologise for the transportation of a hundred and fifty thousand children to faith schools in Australia. This particular golden thread, which ran through our history between 1929 and 1967, involved taking children out of social or charitable care in Britain and placing them in the tender care of the Roman Catholic church, which subjected them to the usual loving regime of slave labour spiced with physical and sexual assault. The object of the exercise was to ensure that the colony not be lost to the Asiatics, and the scheme might therefore be seen as a precursor of the Glorious Successor's present policies of holding back the mongrel hordes by imprisoning children at home and sending teenagers to kill children abroad. The main difference, of course, is that the terms in which the policy was originally couched are no longer fashionable in present-day political discourse; hence the Glorious Successor's description of the British Commonwealth's use of kidnapping and fraud as a means to ethnic cleanliness as "misguided". The Secretary of State for Tiny Human Resources was careful to emphasise the public-relations aspect, stating that it was "important that we say to the children who are now adults and older people, and to their offspring, that this is something that we look back on in shame", rather than going all politically correct and writing it into the history books.

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, excuse 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.