Not Cairo, Rome. Ordinary women, out on the streets, telling the filthy old fraud, nonce, slag, thief and pimp, Berlusconi, to fuck off, more than clever stylish Italian man can manage, the useless fucking wop bastard. A million women, damning Tony Blair's holiday host for a national disgrace. Please God it happens here. Ordinary women, instead of these crows and hags and witches, Toynbee and Greer and Philips and Alibhai-Muslem, good for fuck all, save pushy, money-grubbing, cheesy, self-promoting, vapid, sloganising,hypocritical horseshit, grisly dessicated phonies, up their own arses; Tessa fucking Jowell, a twittering Blairbabe shitbag, Teresa Shoefetish, Sarah Dumpling Tether and Dame Pauline Neville Corpse, the Thief, along with Douglas Turd, of Yugoslavia, ten million pounds, they had, between them, for laundering Slobo's money. A pox on their bluestocking, head girl, I know bestism.
Ordinary women out on the street, and coming closer to the fags and fairies and freaks and shiteaters in MediaMinster; a load of overdue library books thrown at the ghastly shit, Cameron, that would do, for a start.
Someone, mr yardarm, I think, said a while ago, that, just maybe, things might be unravelling among the agents of Ruin, he might be right.
Listen, I simply say, Silvio's a great guy and like me, he obviously, y'know, can't be charged with anything. If he has done anything wrong, which I very much doubt, then, like me, he'll have to answer to God and his conscience. And since there isn't one of the first and neither of us, obviously, has one of the second, we'll both be fine. That'll be fifty thousand pounds please, quick as you like, gotta go and sort-out Egypt, busy life, being a pretty, straight guy and a peace envoy for WarCorp. Ciao, as we say in Tuscany.