“Hello plebs and welcome to the briefing. I must be truthful with the British people — some of you will die or, in fact, may already have died. But if you want a pint or a Pret baguette before your own lungs reach up and throttle you… good news!”
“We have three new tiers of lockdown — Lockdown Basic, Lockdown Extra and Lockdown Premium. You can also, if you’re a Tory donor, sign up to the Covid Club, which gets you extra rewards like contracts for PPE worth millions despite your company being brand new.”
“I’m now going to hand you over to Rishi, the dishiest chancellor since Norman Lamont did that Playgirl photoshoot with a copy of the Maastricht Treaty covering his fiscal instrument….”
“Thank you, PM — we’re friends you know, he tells me all his best dirty jokes and showed me a porno he found in a bush and…”
“Yes, yes, get on with it.”
“Sorry, PM…so as the boss was saying we care a lot and whatever, so you can all have a little bit of money to do whatever it is you people do with your time… bingo and dogging, is it?”
“Can I just cut in? While I obviously love Rishi — isn’t he hot?! — I must note that you should only do dogging from a safe socially distanced… um… distance.”
“That’s no problem for me… woof!”
“Uh, the cameras are still on, PM.”
“Oh, yes, very good. Well, thanks Rishi, thanks Chris. Well, here’s some Latin to make you feel better. Defutum est! Will there be Christmas? Oh I expect so. Michael Gove will slip down your chimney to bring you coal if you’ve been naughty and dear old Rishi over there will allow you to keep your house if you’re good…”
“I can’t make any promises. Difficult choices and all that.”
“Yes, yes, and Chris, Witters, old chap, what do you think?”
“Well, looking at the graphs…”
“No need for all that. Hands! Face! Place! That’s what you’ve got to know. I used to just walk around with my hands positively lathered in piss but thanks to Chris and his team and the sterling work of the lads and lasses in our NHS — subject to contract — I now know that scratching your arse and drawing little sketches with whatever you find is BAD. So that’s GOOD… are we done? I think we’re done.”
“Yes, PM. Shall we go and play on the PlayStation?”
“No, Rishi. I’ve got some red boxes to deal with…— don’t tell their husbands, ha ha ha — and then I’m going to look at all those papers Dom sends me.”
“Prime Minister, I really think…”
“Oh, there there, Chris, we don’t actually pay you to think. Come on, chaps, this’ll all be fine. Look at me! I’m fit as a fiddle.”
They exit pursued by a coronavirus.
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