Subject: Bugging Colleagues
I must say that the boys at White’s think you have taken your disappointment viz the leadership very well – as Bingo Warton said, breeding will out!
I see that you have spent the past week in darkest Africa following in the steps of Stanley and Livingstone by visiting the Congo. I suspect you could spend all the international budget there and it wouldn’t touch the sides.
The wretched leadership hustings rumble on, and TV interviews in abundance now that Boris’ foot-in-mouth activity won’t influence the electorate. There was a latrine rumour at the start of this week that 50 per cent of the Conservative electorate didn’t vote. More like the fact that many of our retiree members are on their early summer hols whilst you and I are slaving away in the Palace of Varieties.
The Old Bill are being hauled over the coals because the media believes they are being threatened with gaol under the Official Secrets Act. It’s all down to an interview by the Met Policeman on point duty, a cove called Basu, who has the unenviable task of finding the mole who put Sir Kim Darroch in the ordure with the frightful man Trump. Whitehall and the Palace of Westminster being turned upside down by dozens of uniformed coppers and police sniffer dogs putting their noses into sensitive orifices.
Of course Bill Cash and Rees-Mogg are blaming the EU, whilst Ken Clarke thinks the mole is an unreconstructed Brexiteer. Soames and I are in despair, and are depressed that this could all land on the desk of PM Boris J, who can’t tell his arse from his elbow.
The trouble is that this man Trump is electronically incontinent and, much to Lady Mary’s fury, has started denouncing some left-wing Democratic Congresswomen from ethnic minority backgrounds. As she forcefully pointed out to the US Ambassador the other evening, all Americans, apart from native ones, are immigrants, so there! I slid out of the room and retired to a well-upholstered library for a large brandy with the US defence attaché.
Mind you, Rory, I think our people have taken leave of their senses. Did you see that some senior RAF bigwig has written a report saying that the Armed Forces are dominated by upper-class white male heterosexuals? Well, you didn’t need the brains of Oliver Letwin and a large dose of MoD money to see that – I’m afraid it’s a twenty year job to change all of that, not a movement that has much support in the Drones Club.
Soames and I are worn out by colleagues performing like clapping seals to impress B.Johnson, who knows very few of them. I got cornered in the Smoking Room by the Trussette, who stroked my elbow and fluttered her eyelids asking me if I didn’t think she’d make a marvellous Chancellor of the Exchequer? Of course, she explained she’d have to have a clothes allowance to cover state of the art clothing. I hadn’t the heart to tell her that I thought Sajid had the job in the bag.
The good news, Rory, is that whenever Soames and I get a touch of the black dog about events here, the jolly old EU looks even worse. There was much chortling over the election of Ursula von der Boche as head of the EU – personal protégé of Mutti Merkel and an unreconstructed federalist. Enough to send Farago off to the funny farm.
The good news is that there were a number of end of term events to distract the other ranks. Lady Mary practically lived at Wimbledon which I can’t abide – never understood the game and the VIP box is full of minor royalty and media luvvies. And what was Bercow thinking of as Speaker by wearing a tea-shirt?!
No, I took myself off to Lords with Crispin Blunt, Lord Haselhurst and Tracey Crouch for some serious cricket. We set up base camp in the Pavilion and wined and dined in style. Marvellous final match with the New Zealanders just losing, but taking it as though they were members of the Household Cavalry.
I was invited for the VIP opening of the “Top Secret” Exhibition at the Science Museum basically a centenary history of GCHQ. Lots of technical kit and wizard words, and I was amused to see our Whips Office being shown around hoping for some tips on how to listen in to colleagues’ mobile phones.
Well Rory, no doubt I will see you for the PM’s farewell drinks to the Parliamentary Party at Number 10 on Monday – Soames and I have drawn up a short list of serial rebels who will be hoovering up the free prosecco and sausage rolls.
We hope to have a liquid lunch next Wednesday to commiserate over the leadership. Can you join us at “The Bucket of Blood” where we have booked the small dining room?
Yours till the Priory opens