THE ONLY GOOD COMMIE'S A DEAD COMMIE.

Well, what can one say, socialismus mortem bellissima, what??  And now my fellow Londoners and myself can press on with the vital task of forcing down wages in order to drive up living standards, well, living standards of myself, what, ho ho ho.  No, confutatis maledictus tradeunionismus.  My own salary, what, ho ho ho, I knew you'd ask that, not as much as I jolly well deserve, what? Health and safety?  Load of old tosh, look at me, I ride a bike.

Boris Johnson is bribed  a quarter of a  million pounds a year by the Daily Filth-O-Graph in order to write dire, predictable and boring anti-democracy stories on behalf of its owner, the Bizarro Twins.  His mayoral salary is much less than this and is widely seen just as coke'n'totty money.

 I SAY, KEN,  DO STOP CRYING

Well, lessbeclear, as leader of the Labour party, I don't believe in working people myself but I must say that mr wossisname was a very effective thingummy  for them, - advocate, is that it? - and he will be sadly missed and my thoughts are with his friends and wossanames.

Well, when they broke him they made the mould. In all my time in well-paid and untaxed public service I never thought this moment would come but now that it has it would be foolish of me to say that I won't stand again for mayor because I will. Without wossisname the people really need me to get rich for them, not that I do it for the money.   No he's right up there, wossisname,  in my own pantheon of heroes, right next to Gerry Adams and Martin McGuinness.  That'll be twelve hundred pounds, please.

sings: Maybe it's because I'm a Lahndunner.

LABOUR TO HAVE MAKEOVER.

HUSH LITTLE BABY, DON'T BE BLUE

DADDY DOESN'T HAVE A FUCKING CLUE.

From BBC Newsnight.

So, Mr Moribund, what's the plan?

Well, Kirsty, mother and baby and, might I say, father, are all doing very well, although a little tired. We have its name down for a good school and have several eminent home tutors in mind, of course we want to raise it bi- or even tri-lingually,  you know, speaking three languages by the age of five gives a child such an advantage over other.......well, shall I say, lesser children....

No, not the plan for the baby, the plan for the country, you are the leader of the Opposition....

Am I..?  Oh...... Yes, of course I am. No...No... David... is fine....about the baby and everything.  Look, he's my brother. And even though he can't actually have babies, or win leadership elections, I love him more than anything. Well, more than a lot of things. We Moribunds, blood's thicker than Evian, knowaddamean....?

But the country..........

Yes, well, there's several questions there and I'll deal with the last one first:  we haven't a fucking clue, Emily, so that's why we're having a strategic tactical review.

Of what, exactly..?

Well, of all the policies we haven't got .  For instance, we don't have one on.....well, as I said, anything.

So, whaddareyagonnado about, for instance, Mr Spit-Gove  removing  Sport from the curriculum.

Is he? Fuck me, I didn't know that. Are you sure?  Well, we do have quite a big garden and I'm sure we could get together with some other well-placed  parents and sort something out;  tennis, badminton, rowing, horse-riding,  the usual sorts of things. So that should be alright. Next question. Gosh, this is easier than I thought....

But what about in the country?

Oh, the country, well, I've already said, Emily, that we haven't a fucking clue and that's why we are having a review...

A review of what?

Of the policies we don't have, why we don't have them, what they're not about and, most importantly, who we can blame. Or is it whom? You know, Kirsty, I'm not afraid to blame somebody, anybody. Look, I'll get Harriet to blame anyone if I think they need it, as long as I'm on leave.  I can't be seen to be blaming anyone.  Like Mr Woolas, who is a perfectly nice chap.  I mean, once he was a liability, though,  he simply had to go.

Like David?

Well theres two questions there. And I didn't come here to answer any of them on national TeeVee. And you wouldn't expect me to.

So, what's your plan, then,  for the next nearly five years.

Well, there's the Royal Wedding about which, as Leader of this Party, I simply cannot over enthuse, which should take up most of next  year as the happy couple, Long to Reign Over Us, Sir and Your Royal Highness, bring romance and joy to a nation at war with itself, there's that, I will be playing my part in that  but a Plan?  I didn't come into politics to do plans. I mean, I know I'm a wonk but plans don't win elections now, do they, govaments lose them. Like we did.  No, we just wait for everybody to get shit on by the Tories for five years and then they'll vote for us and I'll be prime minister. Just like father wanted me to be.  Or David, actually.

That's it? Sit on your hands for five years, let Chaos reign,  and hope you'll be voted back in?

Well, there's obviously important details to be ironed out, the Devil-As-Ever-Is-In-The-Detail, - that's what I always say, and every other bastard, too -  and that's why I have a superb shadow cabinet team  of dunderheads,  half-wits and maniacal careerists, like Mr and Mrs Wotsit, who won't get anywhere near Mr Postman's  er, er...post, Mr Postman's post as shadow chancellor, but basically, yes,  that's it. Chaos and Ruin, but just for the voters, and then we'll be back in. Brilliant, if I say so myself.

So, if you've got no policies and you're just gonna sit around watching jobs and services and homes go down the toilet, hoping it'll mean more votes for you, you might as well be In the fucking Coalition.

Might I, no, surely not. I hadn't thought of that. Maybe we should give it a go. We do agree with everything they're doing, it's just that we don't want to say so.  We could all be on the Front Bench, then, jeering at, well, ourselves really. And a big empty space, where an Opposition used to be.

Mr Moribund, thank you.