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Click.
Flash.
Click.
Flash.
Click.
Flash.
The heavy door of Number 10 Downing Street closed on the commotion of the assembled press and general chitter chatter across the street from the most photographed door in the United Kingdom. From inside the building Norman could hear the likes of the BBC and other assembled members of the press corp making up some bullshit about why he was here or what he intended to do now that he was here. Well - they all knew why he was here, it had been plastered over the tabloids and even on the Times for some time now; though it hadn’t been discussed in polite conversation within these walls at all.
The Chancellor of the Exchequer leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands around his briefcase, while he waited to be called. Just think, thought Norman, one of the most powerful men in the country and I’m sitting here like some child waiting to be caned by the headmaster.
“The Prime Minister will see you now, Chancellor,” an aide said Norman as he opened his eyes, faked a grin and mouthed ‘thank you’ to the man as he walked towards the door that was being prodded open for him.
‘Well, Billy rapped all night about his suicide
How he'd kick it in the head when he was twenty-five
Speed jive, don't want to stay alive
When you're twenty-five
And Wendy's stealing clothes from Marks and Sparks...’
“Turn off that rubbish,” a voice called from the other side of the room, “can’t stand any of that pop music nonsense.”
Norman sauntered over to the radio and pulled the switch across to turn it off, meeting a reply of “ah... excellent.”
“So..., hello Prime Minister...”
“Now now, call me John, Norman...” The Chancellor nodded his head and sat as the Prime Minister gestured for him to sit down at the pre-laid seat before the desk.
The Prime Minister took his feet of the desk and set down his copy of Nobb’s ‘The Death of Reginald Perrin’ he had been reading in the period of time before his Chancellor had entered into the room. He took off his glasses, which he had been presumably using to read his novel.
“Tea..., coffee..., whiskey..., anything?”
“No thank you, Prime Min,-John.” The Prime Minister grinned as he bit his teeth.
There was an awkward silence as the Prime Minister took his glasses and began to polish them lightly with his hanky.
“Have you seen the most recent polls?” the Prime Minister paused as he flicked his graying hair sideways. “They’re bloody sombre - the Opposition are up at around forty-five percent, we’re on about thirty-five; the Liberals... well no one gives a flying fiddlesticks about them!” The Prime Minister chuckled, prompting the Chancellor to chuckle along with him. Christ, though Norman, he’s avoiding the obvious.
“Naturally such a lead will be easy to close but I think we need to start thinking of dealing with some of our party’s problems.” You don’t fucking say... “I think we need to solve some of our problems with rebellious MPs not fully onboard with our plans... namely our Welsh problem and the bastards on the hardline wing of the party who wont stop harping on about ideological purity this, ideological purity that.”
“Precisely Prime Min,-John.” The Prime Minister winked as he continued on with his little address to his finance minister. “However sir,” the twinkle in the Prime Minister’s eye faltered as he sighed lightly while waiting for his Chancellor, Norman, to continue to speak.
“You want to discuss my plans for a devolved English Parliament - ah excellent! Well I’m proposing putting something up in Birming,-”
“No Prime,- John, something completely different.”
“Oh...”
“Prime Minister, these allegations concerning yourself and the...”
“Yes yes...” snapped the Prime Minister, in an uncharacteristically aggressive manner, “I’m fully aware of what they’re saying - all conspiratorial nonsense cooked up the the nutters in the tabloid press.”
“So you deny all the allegations set out in the Mirror?”
“Yes,” the Prime Minister’s brow scrunched up as he frowned at his Chancellor, “goodness Norman, if I didn’t know you any better I’d be starting to think that that you were believing the sort of... crap,” a lot of emphasis put on the first part of that word, “cooked up by the likes of Pilger, et al are spewing into the tabloids.”
You’re lying - I can tell it.
“So you weren’t in bed with t,-”
“No.” The Chancellor was rather taken aback by the forcefulness of the Prime Minister. The Chancellor looked at the Prime Minister, directly at him into his eyes; for a split second Norman saw something which could very well be close to fury flick across his face - then it was gone and the Prime Minister continued to grin in a rather unsettling manner.
“Norman, I’m beginning to feel that I am no longer enjoying your full confidence...”
“Prime Minister,” John’s eye twitched, “I have a letter signed by most of the cabinet stating that we remain committed to your - our vision for Britain.”
“Good.”
“However - we request that you... step aside while the investigations into these allegations - very serious - are made by the relevant authorities.”
“Oh. And if I don’t?” The Prime Minister gave a smug grin as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his reclining chair - balancing against the wall situated directly behind his desk and himself.
“Well then we’ve all said that we will resign from the cabinet - with the possibility of...”
“A challenge...?”
“I am afraid so.” The Prime Minister barked a laugh as he picked himself up from his seat, walking around in front on his Chancellor - leaning over onto the desk while now staring at his Chancellor with gritted teeth.
“You think it’s just by chance that our party has been the longest serving party in Government since the war? Do you!? I won us an historic General Election victory and this how you leftists repay me? This victory wasn’t down to my predecessor, it wasn’t down to any of you buggers in the cabinet - it was down to me! You wouldn’t be sitting on you ass next door if it weren’t for me - you’d be some low level Shadow Minister or the Chairman of some godawful statutory committee - representing where ever the hell you do. I made this party - I made this Government - me!” The Prime Minister was breathing deeply upon his Chancellor now, who sat rather unamused. “Do you... Norman? If you want to take me on - then come on and take me on - I’m bloody well ready!”
‘Fuck’s sake’ muttered the Chancellor as he looked away; the Prime Minister retorted with a ‘hmm, what was that Norman - speak up a little louder?’
The Chancellor picked himself up from his seat, pushing it respectfully in. “If that is how you feel John...”
“Prime Minister to you,” snapped John as he maintained locked eye contact with his Chancellor.
“Whatever, I’m beyond caring now John - I tried allaying my fears to you in a calm and collected manner - but as ever all you want is confrontation. I’ll have to tender my resignation then; as I can’t stay on in a cabinet led by... led by... someone such as yourself.” He tutted and shook his head as he walked out of the room.
“Fuck him!” The Prime Minister launched a powerful kick at the chair his Chancellor had been sitting in until moments before, sending it’s crashing to the floor. “I don’t need him - I’m the First Lord of the fucking Treasury! I’m Prime fucking Minister!”
With that he sat himself down at his chair behind his desk once again, looking out the window to watch his now ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer walk off into the Ministerial car waiting for him down below.
Fuck them, he thought to himself as he put his feet back on the table and picked up his book. If they want to take me down - so be it - but I’ll go down fighting, I’ll ensure that there is no dissent within MY party!
With that the Prime Minister chuckled - he was rather harsh on himself, perhaps he needed a break; perhaps to the seaside, Devon looked rather nice at this time of the year.
With that John Stonehouse chuckled as he continued on with his novel, oblivious to everything else.
‘All the young dudes (Hey, dudes!)
Carry the news (Where are you?)
Boogaloo dudes (Stand up, come on!)
Carry the news...’
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So here's a little thing I starting writing on the (efficient nationalised Northern Irish) train; hopefully it's alright - I don't expect it to be - considering it is my first British political vignette!
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