If body language is anything to go by, then George Osborne, the new Chancellor, and David Laws, the new Chief Secretary to the Treasury, are almost made for each other, according to new Downing Street spokesman Andy Coulson. ‘Just look at the way they move together as one, like a synergetic blob of energetic fiscal harmony. They respect each other, they agree on everything and George even invited David to join the shadow cabinet three years ago,’ he added, ‘and so what if he didn’t really mean it.’
David Laws has all the qualifications for the job, and has criticised the outgoing government in the past by pointing out where he thought they’d been going wrong. ‘And he was MD of JP Morgan, so he knows his stuff,’ said Mr Coulson, ‘And then there’s George who was head of, erm, well er, he er, well he knows a lot of people, you know, and they all think he’s absolutely perfect for the role, and you can’t really argue with that.’
The two men were pictured on the steps of the treasury at the dawn of a new parliament, and not once did anyone get the sense that George thought David was spoiling his party. Not once. ‘To rule in isolation with one’s own thoughts without a small ginger chap nipping at one’s heels would of course have been simply idyllic but now one’s dream, from last night, actually, seems much more real and, between you and me, I’m left with the nagging sense that I need to go and wee on someone, while whispering ‘that’s for you, you nasty little Lib Dem’,’ said Osborne who was having an awful lot of trouble controlling his upper lip.
Osborne’s previous dreams have generally been about doing nasty, painful things to Lord Mandelson on a yacht in the Med where no-one could hear him scream, but he’s tempered himself and now obviously dreams much closer to home, sources close to him say, and they use the message to emphasise that he’s clearly a progressive at heart.
With fifty days to produce an emergency budget the pressure is on for Laws and Osborne, and by golly it’s going to be a stinker, but with Laws knowing a thing or two about money and Osborne relying on bonhomie from his chums in the City, it’s clear who’s going to get the blame.
‘Yes,’ said Osborne, his hand daring the air to oppose the fragrant, beautifully embroidered handkerchief he was waving provocatively at it, ‘Of course, it’s all of you!’