Dateline Newcastle upon Tyne - Sunday 12th July, 2020 10:14
DINOSAURS ROAM THE EARTH
by Tim Jones, 16th June, 2017
The dust has settled now, election fever has subsided, Theresa May remains holed up in Number Ten, afraid to come out in case some more popular person might enter to claim squatter's rights.
She need have no fear. Despite being not only morbidly fearful of other people but also allergic to the wind of change threatening to blow up her corridors of power, some of the older established party members will come over to help.
Michael Gove, Jeremy Hunt, and Amber Rudd will be at hand to ensure that Tory values continue their relentless assault on the good people of Britain.
The forthcoming negotiations with Europe, you know the ones that Theresa May has said will end in failure if she doesn't get what she wants, are set to be a fantasy-feast for the Little Englanders.
There's nothing to worry about. Remember, Boris Johnson is at hand to deliver his coup de grâce by describing the others as, "... a low life shower of slithering sludge, whose grasp on reality is as tenuous as supine protoplasmic invertebrate jellies." Following the negotiations with concentration will prevent him from fermenting his takeover brew.
The real power in the Tory party lies not with the young Turks on the front line, but the elders in the background; the respected old dinosaurs, whose massive frames cause the firmament to shudder when they move.
Stretching out a craning neck, is the John Majordon, its scaly skin creaking with every move. His advice to the young May, concerning her advances to the DUP, "Be careful who you get into bed with" is greeted with cackles from the Edwina Curryvore. She eats Prime Ministers for breakfast. That should appeal to Mrs. May, who has often remarked that Breakfast means Breakfast. Edwina advises against trying omelettes without breaking the eggs first.
Creeping quietly from behind, so as to pounce then surround, the seldom seen Douglas Hurdopod, once Chairman of British Invisibles, has keen advice for Theresa. "Don't mess with Thailand, I did once, but I think I got away with it. Nobody noticed. You would do well to follow my example and resign."
Returning from a whirlwind tour of Hong Kong, Chris Pattonosaur, the perpetually perplexed, advises, "It's not too late to stay in, you know, Theresa. You can't go around just giving away all your colonies. That Europe place is jolly good. Best resign now and let the experts do the talking."
Scottish Tartanosaur, Malcolm Rifkind, tells it like it is. "You don't want to be flapping your kilt in Europe with your trousers down. Quit now, nobody wants you."
Lumbering Kenneth Klarkopod Elephantus, a constant bellow of dissent from the back row, steps forward to tell Mrs. May that she has fallen down a rabbit hole to find herself among scary cats that smile, hatters who are off their heads, and a red Queen about to shake the baby in the bathwater. "Get out of Fairyland right now," he advises, "there's plenty of time to consume the drinkme contents after you have resigned."
The not so vague William Hagueotops, pausing from perpetual browsing in the Yorkshire canopy, tells Theresa that he never really thought quitting was a good thing so far as Europe was concerned, but quitting is just fine for her. "I have betrayed every cause I have ever believed in. Goodness me, Theresa, why can't you do the same?"
Michael Hestletinypod Peacockia, smoothing down his fly away feathers, leans earnestly towards Theresa May's ear. "Helicopters are good for dropping in unannounced, but take it from me, they lead to a lot of trouble. Be like me, gather up your papers and march straight out of Downing Street. You'll never regret it, I know I shalln't."
Shambling from the shadows comes Harold Supermaxus MacMillanus, The last of the Tory taches. "Mmm-wah You know Theresa, it's been a long time since we've had someone in Number Ten whom we could call a statesman. And it's not now either. You've never had it as good as Eden or Baldwin. Time to move over, my dear. Pop home and be a housewife, there's a good thing."
The towering frame of Churchillius Rex is next. "Never, in the course of Tory history has so much been wanted from so few. Even in the greatest victory I have known defeat, and so should you. Begone, and quick about it. Never has the future looked so bright."
Quivering Neville Chamberpod, waving his crumpled note tells her, "I hold in my hand a piece of paper. Now Theresa, think of a number between P44 and P46."
The dinosaurs have spoken. Will the frightened and flimsy take heed?