HOW TO SPEAK COALITION. THE SILLY SEASON.

FLASHMAN'S CLOSE SHAVE.

 GOSH, YOU CHAPS, I FEEL LIKE A PROPER SOLDIER, BRAVELY EATING THIS BREAKFAST, MUST GIVE MYSELF A MEDAL, WHAT, WHEN I GET HOME, SAFE AND SOUND, AS I WILL.

Now look, the Taliban tried very hard to kill me.  Well, they might have tried to kill me. At the very least, they might have thought about trying to kill me, rather as I think about killing them, all the time, when I'm not thinking of ways of punishing poor people, that is. Look, I know that they actually do kill lots of people, those chaps coming home in boxes and so on, most weeks, but that's absolutely vital if, as a nation,  we are to ensure that America rewards our senior poiticians, in retirement. Now I know that some people have difficulty with the fact that politicians all have stonking pensions and free homes and furniture and directorships and so shouldn't really be getting rich from American terror companies but frankly, i think we all need to be grown-up about this and you should all fucking shut the fuck up or else we'll have to raise your pension-age to seventy.  Or eighty.  Or actually abolish the wretched things altogether, 'snot as though you'v e paid for them or anything. I don't actually need the money from GangsterCorp, not like Mr Blair and his ghastly Scouse bicycle,  but you  know, we Flashmans didn't get where we are by declining stolen money and when, after Christmas, the party sacks me, I might just as well go and lecture in the States. So let's have some sympathy out there;  the Talimen didn't kill me but there was a remote chance that they might have, and that's actually worse.  Look, I mean, just ask some single mother in her forties, biting her nails, in the council home she will soon have to vacate,  if she'd rather have her Darren come home dead or instead be worried by him briefly visiting Afghaniland inside a cordon of steel and  having his photo taken a lot and I'm pretty darn sure that she'd rather have him dead.  So, you see, it's worse for me. But what I always say is that we're all in this together or, as we used to say in the Bullingdon Club, which I was never in, dulce et decorum est pro Davidus mori, it is good to die for one's unelected prime minister, and these chaps are lucky we give them the chance to do so.

ANDROID COMMANDER DATA FATHERS HUMAN CHILD.

DAVID CAMERON, UK PRIME MINISTER, AFTER A FASHION.

LT. COMMANDER DATA,  OF THE STARSHIP ALL-IN-THIS-TOGETHER..
HIS FIVE YEAR MISSION TO STAY IN OFFICE AT ALL COSTS.
"ENSIGN CLEGG, PUT THE CIVILISATION THRUSTERS IN REVERSE"
"AYE-AYE, PRETEND CAPTAIN, FULL SPEED BACKWARDS TO THE GLORY DAYS OF THE NINETEEN-THIRTIES."

And something else. We've just had a working baby, no, no, not working as in common people, working for their betters, like us, no,  fuck that, working in the sense that she's not bedevilled by the old inbreeding germs, good working order, geddit? So that's another reason to love the Coalition of which I am in charge, only not like a proper prime minister.  One who'd actually won an election, against the worst, most despised  govament in history.  Just because I couldn't even manage  to do  that doesn't mean I shouldn't be prime minister, winning elections isn't what it's all about. If I ever do win one, which I won't,  then that will be what it's all about but since I haven't, it isn't.  And Mr Gimp didn't win one either. Look, the fact of the matter is that he lost seats. That's why he's deputy loser.

Now look, just like all the children, little Flo will have to make her way in the world with  the barest fortune of about a hundred million pounds to help her on her way, so, in a sense, she's representative of all the babies in the country. Flo won't have a babybung or whatever they are. And her mother certainly won't be able to stay at home all day, dossing, or bonding with baby, as the idle sluts call it.  That's what nannies and servants are for, just as long as you don't pay them too much. Spoils 'em for other employers, that does. Having little baby Flo as we just have is almost like a pure publicity stunt of the sort performed by Mr Snot, the mad fairy  and Mr Kennedy, the pisshead but Samantha and I wouldn't stoop to that, any more than I would ride my bike with a limousine following behind me, with my clothes and my comb. No, we are just like any other normal couple of fabulously wealthy, land-owning, over-privileged, inbred and actually quite ugly fuckpigs, she equine with a big hooter, and me like an android, pretending that we are all in this together. With you. As if. Why can't people just be fooled, like Mr Coulson says they will, and support the Coalition? It's what they voted for, after all. Full speed astern. Unsteady as she goes.