A sad looking lady minister gets out of her ministerial car in Downing Street and runs the gauntlet of waiting media. Suddenly she turns to face the flashing cameras (as warned about by the BBC) and sings:
I am Priti, don’t feel pretty, I am Priti but I don’t feel gay!
And I pity anyone who also feels this way.
Being Priti, in this city, may not please our own dear Mrs May,
I feel shitty, cos my red box will get taken away!
Netanyahu, is the star-who
Shared quiet dinners alone just with me!
For poor Priti, unemployment’s just a beat away!
The press form a chorus, Dennis Potter style and sing:
See that Priti girl in the big black jag?
(What big Jag where?)
Isn’t she a bit Walter Mitty?
Doing secret deals, having secret meals,
Did she ever think that she’d really truly be allowed to stay?
I feel jaded, and down graded
Will I even remain an MP?
When I flitty, will the voters want to vote for me?
See that Priti girl in the headlines now?
(What headines where?)
Does she feel a bit of a titty?
Breaking all the rules, taking us for fools
Trying to keep the media away!
They’ll erase her. Who’ll replace her?
Her and that buffoon old Boris J?
Aren’t you glad, that you’re not dear Theresa May!
Hat tip to Leonard Bernstein