Someone's just let one go!!
Did you see the Nu Labour party political the other night? What a bloody laugh. It's all about the caring Labour Party interacting with the masses. Nu Labour listens, cares, feels the pain of ordinary folk, blah, blah pass me the sick bag, blah. There was yer commonal garden taxi driver waxing lyrical about what they would say to Tony or Gordon if they were only sat in the back of their cab right now!
Except, that this was Nu Labour and therefore hidden agendas abounded. The taxi driver wasn't a big fat baldy tattooed 50 year old with a picture of his dear old Mum on his dashboard and a rolled up copy of The Sun by his side. No, this taxi driver was a woman, she may have been a lesbian - and I couldn¹t see if she only had one leg or not - but she sure had a lot of questions to ask.. Oh, if only Tony and Gordon were there, they could provide all the answers.
No time to find out, we¹re off to vox-pop land to hear what Janet and John Labour-Plant would say if only Tony or Gordon was standing next to them in the Tesco queue.
Johnny Labour-Plant, a very serious teenager said he would ask them, nay tell them just how important it was to make sure 'Britishness' was taught in schools to ethnic minorities. Johnny failed to tell the audience why it wasn't being taught in Scottish or Welsh schools though. If my kids had been asked, they'd have asked if they had any cheats for 'Grand Theft Auto'....
We cut to a shot of a French juggler. Well he had a stripey jumper on so he must have been.... "Could Monsieur Brown do any juggling?".... A bloke with a rucksack on his back mused whether Brown had yet formulated his Transport policy.....
And so it continued. I half expected a chap in a bowler hat to put down his copy of the FT to ask about business and a bloke dressed from head to toe in bandages to wonder how much money was going into the NHS.... Between you and me, I reckon the camera crew was on location in Cliche Mall, Labourtown....
And then we're back. Back to the taxi-cab. Mrs Taxi driver is asking question after question in her piece to camera. Why won't someone answer her?.. And then, suddenly something stirs on the back seat. We pan, we gasp. For there, sat on the back seat are Tone and Gord. They're both looking a bit suspicious to be honest. Are they preparing to do a runner when they reach journey's end?
Their body language is something to behold. No matter how clever these two think they are, they're not. Fixed grins, staring eyes, hands and buttocks clenched.. They look like they are both under a sentence of death. Suddenly, the cab lurches round a corner, they both pivot. The car straightens yet still Gordon is in Leaning Tower of Pisa 'pivot' position.
No doubt about it, Gordon is squeezing one out.
It looks like it might have been an 'SBD', but I could be wrong - it might have been a right royal rasper 'Phhaaaarrrrrpppppp' and if so, the boffins at 'Nu Labout Truth Department' have cleverly put a bit of Tony Blair impassionment over the sound to disguise it. Bullshit always drowns out the whiff of something smelly doesn't it?
We trundle on. Is this whole journey a statement about the last 10 years? Does it sum up Nu Labour's economic policy? Will Gordon have to plant a tree in order to make his fart 'Methane neutral'?
Soon we reach the end of the road. Was this whole production some sort of Freudo-Jungian pastiche on Blair's tenure?.. Was Brown's bodily function a damning indictment of his Boss's handling of Iraq? Were we nearing Tony's terminus? Was this the end of his road?
Anyway, the two Scotsmen didn't do a runner. Blair got out first and stood around, not knowing what to do. I don't think he'd ever been in a taxi before - it was obvious that the concept of 'paying his way' had passed him by. Was he going to declare that he would make a donation to charity to cover the cost of the journey?
Eventually, Gordon fumbled, groped into his suit pockets for a couple of notes.
We never actually saw Gordon hand over the cash. He made as if to hand it over, the taxi driver made as if to accept it, thereby giving the impression that a transaction had taken place. And then we faded to end credits and stirry-stirry music. I think the telly people call the technique 'conning the public'....
1 comment:
LOL. I used to know a bloke in a stage act who could swallow air and fart it through. Perhaps this is what Gordo is secretly doing with that patented half-swallow of his. Of course, the real trick would be to have some active feedback, in an outrageous, secret self-gratifying way that only true semi-automatons have - pipes from the rectum plumbed into the nose via hidden skin grafts. Actually, I wonder if he monitors the economy in a similar fashion? :-)
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