“I say Carruthers I do believe my knob’s just fallen orf!”
“Well I’ll be blowed old chap that must be a first for medical science. How on earth did that happen?”
“Lord knows. One minute it was there next a clunk as it hit the flooring with a wallop.”
“With a ‘clunk’ you say. Surely even a stallion’s knob would only make a dull thud of a noise. I do find the word ‘clunk’ a poor choice on your part. Should I call for assistance….an ambulance perhaps?”
“What are you on about? There I am beside myself with worry that my desk drawer will now not open thereby allowing me to remove from said drawer the top secret documents the PM has requested and now not a hope in hell of me gaining access.”
“Oh I see, you meant the knob thing on your desk drawer. I could call Perkins that maintenance chappie up from the basement. I feel sure that he will know what to do what with him being as common as muck and all that.”
“No point in that. Perkins does not have security clearance. And moreover I really cannot risk him copping a gander at the secret files and all can I? No a better plan is needed here.”
“Whatever paper does the old boy upstairs want then? Must be hideously important?”
“’Tis so I’m afraid to say. You see by our calculations should it prove to be the case that that awful nationalist Alex Salmond man from the Scottish province of this great English nation of ours achieve his long held desire for an independent Scotland it seems we will for all intents and purposes be left without an army.”
“Surely that cannot be the case.”
“Oh trust me on this one – I can assure you that it is very much the case for all our cannon fodder squaddie type low life soldiers, to a man, herald from the tenement’s of that hovel of a place Glasgow. True all of our officers are Surrey men born and bred but you really cannot for one moment expect them to actually fight Jonny Foreigner should the shit hit the fan. Plainly Surrey men are far too important for any of that malarkey. The thing is all the bleddy facts and figures are in that damn top secret document.”
“I see your dilemma now. How on earth will we ever go to war without a legion of sweaties* to die and get maimed on our behalf. Difficult one I would say – dashed difficult.”
“It gets even worse than that, for the PM is rightly concerned that the Scots may upon gaining independence actually have the temerity to invade us – and there’s us without a fighting man to our name. Bit of a worry I can tell you.”
“God if that lot invaded we would all likely be eating deep fried Mars Bars before you could say Jack Robinson – or should I say MacRobinson.”
“No laughing matter I’m afraid to say. It’s a risk I know yet my secretary Tiffany is a practical gal and although without the proper clearance I think I’ll take a risk and get her to sort this bleddy desk out. Perhaps we could go for a snifter at the club whilst she sets about the task?”
“What a jolly good idea. By the way is Tiffany still dating that Russian diplomat fellow as well as the Home Secretary?”
“Do you know I believe she is the naughty girl. Still she is but young and personally I cannot see anything wrong with her sowing her wild oats thus.”
- A ‘SWEATIE’ is rhyming slang for the Scots in case you did not know.
For more satire of a similarly piss poor standard take a gander at;
And, I am writing for a sozsatire collaborative ‘blog’ The League of Mental Men along with Sir Daniel Aloysius Soz 7th. Earl of Whitechapel & The Squire of Hayling Island aka Gary Ronaldo Hoadley.
Today sees the introduction of THE THOUGHTS OF HARRY PRATT THE RUMMAGING OLD TWAT featured thereon! Harry is a good old soul you will maybe like!