" no new taxes....puff....no new taxes....pant...no new taxes...".
" I love it when yoy talk dirty to me, Alastair...."
HM Chancellor of the Empty Exchequer, Mr Alastair Darling, celebrates a traditional family Easter with his wife, Mrs Darling, in the garden of number 11, shortly before he is thrown out of it, the useless, shit-eating bastard, either by a rejuvenated Prime Minister Snot or by Mr George Osblow, of the Cocaine and Unionist Party or indeed by the electors of Edinburgh South West; one way or another, though, he's waved his last red box. Still, a generous pension awaits him. And probably a seat of the boards of Northern Rock, RBS, Barclays, HBOS, Lloyds - all of them really, duly grateful, to him, obviously, not us.
