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...p>Finally the torture was over and he rose. Everyone else rose, bowed, placed their caps back on their heads and departed from the chamber, the Prime Minister and Black Rod following after them.

However, three of the Noble Lords remained. They were glaring defiantly at their new Master. The usual culprits of course.

"Excuse me, PM," said Lord Redwood, one of a handful of Tory peers who still had a job, "did I hear you correctly when you mentioned SALT talks with the Demmies?"

Lord Ashdown glanced at him, put his hand in his pocket and produced three extremely expensive bottles of champagne. He handed one to each of the would-be rebels and swept out of the room without a word.

"That'll do nicely, PM," called Lord Redwood after him.

"Your health, PM," shouted Lord Owen.

"Two can play at that game, Mr. Portillo," muttered Lord Ashdown under his breath.

Start as you mean to go on, thought Britain's new Prime Minister.

The American Treaty

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