self-serving scum

dave leaned over to me, his speech slightly slurred after a long session in the portobello star.
‘knowwha, mate? i got a corker for conference!’
‘do tell’, says me.
‘i’m gonna start by getting them all on their feet and saluting the troops.’
‘wheel out the poor saps dying in our wrongful war?’ i say.
‘damn right’, burbles dave.
‘radical! i approve. gonna bringem home?’
‘my arse’ stifling a genteel burp as he swigs the last of the laurent perrier, ‘they can damn well stay ’til we’ve crushed the ragheads! and i’ll tell you what’s even better…. i’m getting a general in the cabinet.’
‘junta?’

‘bless you, feller. look at this – they even wrote me a list of policies. top secret.’ he tapped his nose, managing not to miss.

i looked at the list – it was in crayon. it said…
“lovely samantha.
look happy/moved.
dead baby.
look solemn.
struggle about whether to continue.
continue.
look noble/tortured [both if possible - either if too tricky]
labour bad.
tax cuts.
don’t say ‘paki’ [ask bruce if necessary]
flags – songs – kiss sam [no tongues]“

‘policies, big dave?’ i ventured.
‘that’s the speech. “policies” is the other side’
and it was. the word “policies” was definitely on the other side of the paper.
just “policies”.

i smiled thinly.

’see!’ he beamed, ‘that’ll show them!’
‘err and the actual … policies?’
‘oh we’re gonna come up with some if we get in; plenty of time for that. after dinner. still, i have worked out one thing’
i waited expectantly….
‘change’

‘err?’

‘we’re ready for change!’

‘ah’

‘you ready for change?’ he beamed at me awaiting my approval.
’sure, big d’
‘brilliant; then we’ll have a bottle of bolly this time. tired of laurent perrier’

sam was gonna give him such a slap when he got home.