The Welsh Assembly: the Hollywood Movie

There was the usual sound of sweet papers rustling and popcorn being flung about at the Witney Odeon. 

David Cameron, the local MP, came in and sat down. He was leader of the Conservative Party and was absolutely exhausted after a hard day’s campaigning. A nice film – that’s what he needed. He hadn’t even bothered to check what was on – something to keep his mind off politics so he could switch off. That would be nice. Maybe a thriller or a Western or something. 

He noticed two people in front of him squabbling over a pot of yoghurt and decided to move. Unfortunately they moved too and blocked his view again. They were still fighting over the yoghurt. The one with grey hair and glasses was trying desperately to keep the lid sealed while the larger man with black hair was trying to prize it free from his grip and open it up. 

David noticed that the two had Scottish voices. Unusual for an Oxfordshire cinema… he then realised who they were. The one with glasses was Alistair Darling, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and the other man was Gordon Brown, the Prime Minister. They were both Labour, one of the main parties David was trying to fight against. Why had they come to his local cinema, he sighed? 

“Shhhhhh!” he said when he could stand no more. 

“Shhhhhh!” said the two senior Labour members back in his face. They carried on struggling over the yoghurt pot. 

“Behave yourselves or I shall confiscate it from you,” said David importantly. “You can get your yoghurt back when the film has finished.” 

A man leant forwards from behind David. It was Nick Clegg, leader of the Liberal Democrats. 

“Excuse me,” said Nick, staring slightly to the right of any of the people he was talking to, “Will you three please stop mucking about? You’re spoiling it for everyone else.” 

“You’re spoiling it for everyone else,” mimicked Alistair and Gordon together. 

At last they settled down as the adverts finished and the film started. It was called, “The Welsh Assembly”. It was the latest Hollywood blockbuster starring Ice Cube as Carwyn Jones, the First Minister, and Clint Eastwood as Nick Bourne, the Leader of the Opposition. 

“What’s up, ma man?” asked the First Minister in an American accent. 

“Way I see it,” said the Leader of the Opposition (who also sounded American), “there’s only two ways this here story’s gonna end. Either you’re gonna end up apologisin’ or you’re gonna be whistlin’ Dixie. Now why don’t you turn towards me, nice and slow – I wanna see the hairs on that hand.” 

So saying the Leader of the Welsh Opposition spat tobacco on the floor. 

Half an hour into the film there was a car chase with Nick Bourne driving a Cadillac with a Welsh dragon on it into the back of Carwyn Jones’ Monster Truck as they both raced down the right-hand side of what was supposed to be the M4. There was desert all around it. 

“Carwyn Jones, say your prayers, buddy,” said the Leader of the Welsh Opposition. The film’s 20th explosion then took place and Nick Bourne was seen rolling down the bank in slow motion just escaping the obligatory Hollywood fireball. 

David decided that this wasn’t his sort of film so he left. He got back home. His good friend George Osborne was waiting for him with a cup of cocoa. 

“No good?” he asked. 

“No,” replied David. “It was jolly boring, actually, and guess who turned up? Gordon and flipping Alistair. Oh, and Nick. Nick was telling everybody off for talking.” 

“I agree with Nick,” said George. “I can’t stand people talking in the cinema.” 

“Let’s see how our video has done on Youtube,” said David. 

“Yah,” said George. 

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Meanwhile Gordon had also got tired of the film. He had managed to get hold of the pot of yoghurt. He opened it and stuck it under Nick Clegg’s nose. 

“Want yoghurt?” asked Gordon. 

“Take that silly yoghurt away and grow up,” hissed Nick, who was trying to enjoy the film. 

“I agree with Nick,” said Alistair. “That was very childish.” 

The two Scots went back to Gordon’s house. “I bet David’s done a new Youtube. I bet he has,” muttered Gordon sulkily as he went round and round in his favourite swivel chair. 

“Yes, well, we’re not going to put anything stupid under it, are we?” cautioned Alistair. 

“You know me,” grinned Gordon. 

“Yes, well that’s what I mean. Nothing insulting or stupid. We’re in enough trouble as it is without one of your nasty comments.” 

“How will they know it was me? I’m always very discreet.” 

Alistair noticed that, while he’d been talking to the Prime Minister, Gordon had, indeed, been looking at Youtube and had written a comment under the latest video that he’d found. 

“Gordon, that’s homophobic and bang out of order. Anyhow he’ll know it was you.” 

“Impossible. I’m CIA-trained,” boasted Gordon. “He’ll never know who it was.” 

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David drank the cocoa gratefully and looked proudly at his Youtube video. On it he could see himself speaking. 

“This is the kind of change I want,” he was saying on the Youtube clip. “This is the kind of change you want. This is the kind of change he wants. This is the kind of change we want. This is the kind of change she wants. This is the kind of change they want…” and so it continued. David nodded in time with his video self and even chanted along with some of the great lines. 

He checked underneath to see if someone had left a comment. To his fury someone had written, “This is the gayest vid I’ve ever seen”. 

“Who’d write a thing like that?” asked George. They looked at the name of the commentator’s Youtube account. It said gordonbrownpm. 

“Well, that was a cunning disguise, wasn’t it? NOT!” exclaimed David. “We’ve got him. I’m going to bring up this disgraceful behaviour in the House of Commons. This should finish him off.” He high-fived his friend. 

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The House of Commons was packed. Everyone had learnt that Gordon Brown had committed some terrible offence but that it was being kept from them for dramatic effect. 

The session opened with David Cameron. 

“Here we can see one of the worst Prime Ministers of all time committing mistake after mistake. Each mistake he makes is a worse mistake than his last mistake if that’s possible. His handling of the economy?” 

“A mistake,” cried all the Tories together. 

“His handling of Europe?” 

“A mistake,” cried all the Tories together. 

“His handling of asylum-seekers?” 

“A mistake,” cried all the Tories together. 

“And now, Mr. Speaker, we come to the most serious mistake of this parliament. The greatest mistake of this sorry Prime Minister’s time as Labour leader. The gravest mistake of his time as Prime Minister and the worst mistake of his life.” 

He paused for effect. While he did so Gordon looked seriously across at Alistair, who nodded, and handed the Prime Minister a pot of yoghurt which he started slowly opening while David Cameron was speaking. 

“My Youtube video was dubbed by the Prime Minister as being ‘the gayest vid I’ve ever seen’.” 

The Prime Minister shook his head and muttered that he’d never sanctioned that and that he’d find out he had written it and sack them. The House was in uproar. 

“How’s that for homophobia? What has the Prime Minister to say for himself? You can suffer.” And with that, David pointed to the PM and sat down to cheers from the Tories and white papers being waved. 

The PM got to his feet and waited for the noise to calm down. You could have heard a pin drop. 

“Want yoghurt?” asked the PM, sticking the opened pot under David’s nose. He glanced at the Tory leader with his hypnotic look and David found himself sticking his head right in the pot and lapping it up. 

“Right, that’s enough,” said Gordon, who’d got his authority back. “Was that nice? Sit!” 

Obediently his opposite number sat down, yoghurt all round his face. Presently the hypnosis wore off and he was on his feet again to cheers from his party. 

“This Prime Minister will have to do better than that. A cheap conjuring trick. Let him try to explain this, Mr. Speaker: two and two are four and yet to believe his Chancellor it probably comes to about five.” 

The Tories were all laughing and saying, “Here here here here”. 

Gordon looked dourly at Alistair, who nodded back and handed him a banana. The PM got to his feet. 

“You like bananas,” he stated while he peeled the piece of fruit. He stuck that under the Leader of the Opposition’s nose. David started to eat it whilst putting his hands behind his back. When he’d finished they both sat down. 

Nick Clegg rose to his feet. 

“Mr. Speaker, isn’t this all a childish waste of time? What is the Prime Minister going to do about taxes for those earning under £11,000? Does he not agree with me that they should be scrapped?” 

Gordon put held up one hand and looked the other way. “Talk to the hand,” he said dourly, “because this head ain’t listening.” 

“I agree with Nick,” muttered Alistair. Gordon clicked his fingers at him and he produced some peanut butter and a big blunt knife. The PM looked hypnotically at Alistair who walked, trance-like, towards David and started smearing the peanut butter on his head. Poor David hadn’t yet got over the last bout of hypnosis and so let the peanut butter fill his hair and just sat there while Alistair licked it off again whilst all the Labour members clapped rhythmically and sang, “Oh, I’m peanut butter and you are jelly and we’re so happy on our little piece of bread…” 

Some of them were stamping their feet in time with the singing. 

David Cameron tried one last time. He could see he was losing this one but he wasn’t one to give in. He knew there were bits of banana and yoghurt all round his chops and peanut butter in his barnet but he just couldn’t let Gordon get away with this behaviour. 

“And another thing, Mr. Speaker,” he continued, “This Prime Minister has admitted there will be cuts but he won’t say where. Come on, answer, answer!” 

He sat down again. His party cheered him and clapped him on the back. Even Gordon Brown couldn’t wriggle out of that one. They could see Alistair checking round himself. No, no more fruit; no more yoghurt; no more nothing. The Tories began pointing at him and jeering. While they were distracted, the Prime Minister was slowly taking off his shoes. He had one green sock and one red one. Each one had a black circle on the bottom. He lay on the floor and alternately put one foot and then the other in Mr. Cameron’s face. 

“Clearer on the green sock? Clearer on the red? Clearer on the green sock? Clearer on the red? Red? Green? Red? Green?” 

“How pathetic and juvenile are this Prime Minister’s attempts at humour!” snarled the Leader of the Opposition. 

“Better with this one? Better without? Better with this one? Better without? With? Without? With? Without?” 

All the Labour MPs were howling with laughter.

“A? B? A? B? Better with this one? Better with this one?” continued Gordon Brown. 

“Erm – actually it looks clearer on the green sock,” said David thoughtfully. 

The Labour MPs cheered as loudly as they ever do – David Cameron had come out the loser of the Question Time session. Of course, no actual policies had been discussed but then this was Parliament. 

“Suffer!” called out the Labour Members of Parliament at David. He’d have them all, he decided… 

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“And welcome to the first ever televised Leaders’ Debate,” said Noel Edmonds. “The leaders of Britain’s three main parties are here. If one of them gets an answer right…” he paused and there was a whistling sound… “you’ll hear that sound and the Leader will get a sweet. But if you hear this sound…” and there was a deep blast on a kind of electronic foghorn… “that means that that Leader has got it wrong and we’ll pour green custard over him from our Gunge Tank.” 

The audience cheered. 

“First contestant please.” 

Nick Clegg appeared. 

“Hi. I’m Nick. I’m 43 years old. I represent Sheffield Hallam and I hate illegal logging.” 

The audience cheered. 

“Next contestant please,” said Noel Edmonds. 

David Cameron appeared. 

“Hi. I’m David. I’m also 43 years old. I represent Witney and I’m descended from King William IV.” 

The audience cheered. 

“And the last contestant please,” said Noel Edmonds. 

Gordon Brown appeared smoking a big cigar with some strange silvery bits in it. 

“Jacked up,” he said, blowing smoke everywhere. 

“Gordon Brown, you’re not even supposed to be smoking in here,” complained Nick Clegg. 

“I agree with Nick,” said David. 

“OK, your first question, Nick,” said Noel Edmonds, “What – or who – is the ERM?” 

A big clock on the wall started ticking loudly and musically as it headed towards its one-minute alarm. 

“The ERM is the Exchange Rate Mechanism,” explained Nick. 

There was a “ding” sound. 

“I agree with Nick,” said Noel Edmonds. He awarded Nick a chocolate and shook his hand. The audience cheered. 

“Next: what is AV+, David?” 

David Cameron tried to explain the Alternative Vote Top-Up System but it went horribly wrong. The clock’s alarm bell started to ring. 

“Bad luck, David – you’re out of time,” said Noel Edmonds. The foghorn sounded and green custard poured down the chute onto David Cameron’s head. 

“Gordon Brown, in what year did Veritas split from UKIP?” 

“Look at my face,” said Gordon. “Does this look like the face of someone who cares?” 

The foghorn sounded but Gordon had left his cubicle to ask David if he thought his cubicle was working OK because there seemed to be some sort of blockage. David stuck his head under the cubicle where Gordon had been to see if he could work out what the problem with it was and was greeted with the shower of green custard that had been intended for Gordon. 

“He’s not supposed to make other people suffer green custard for his mistakes,” said Nick seriously. 

“I agree with Nick,” spluttered David. 

The Prime Minister made his hands into a “W” sign, said, “Whatever,” and left the studio, still smoking his strange cigar.

The End

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