"People are calling us 'the Nasty Party' : we're not nasty, we are just disorganised"
We are in conversation with the recently appointed Comptroller of Avarice, Charles Harding, MP for 'somewhere dreadful beginning with an H, or is it a P ?'. Mr. Harding's role, unique to this government, holds the brief of bringing some sense of direction to the current Government's plethora of inhumane policies and diabolical schemes.
"The issue here is that we have too many directives running simultaneously that are interfering with each other, and even cancelling each other out. In our rush to get 'snouts in the trough' - an apt analogy ! - we are queering someone else's pitch and reducing the likelihood of the best return possible, whilst running the risk of upsetting the whole shebang : as Tories, we should be skimming off the cream - and potentially drinking most of the milk - not attempting to slit the poor cow's throat. It's all so very counterproductive and confusing"
"Take 'Stop The Boats'. Turning them back at sea ? Where is the profit in that ? A charge on lifeboats ? Apparently not. Yet-to-be built detention centres, marked-up hotel accommodation, expensively chartered flights and the return of prison hulks ? All schemes competing for the same pot, none reaching their full potential, all at odds with each other. Whilst admiring the enterprise we have to admit that a degree of coordination is required on what has become a rather messy free-for-all"
"Having realised the enormity of this issue, I took the idea to the Rishter, and he agreed that some sort of overseeing authority was needed. Staring me straight in the tie-pin, he then asked if I was man enough for the job - and here I am"
Brushing a non-existent fleck from the immaculate lapel of suit, the Comptroller continues.
"Of course, there is one huge flaw in this role : no self-respecting Tory MP worth his - or her - expense account is ever going to have any truck with a regulatory body, let alone seek their advice, so my workload is not what you would call heavy"
At this point the Comptroller rocks back in his chair, places both hands behind his head and sighs happily.
"So here I sit in my sumptuous office doing nothing, drawing an obscene salary and ogling Marta's impressive décolletage between visits to the House restaurants where I dine on the finest, most heavily subsidised European cuisine in the country"
A wide reptilian grin starts to spread across the Comptroller's face, but a sudden thought replaces it with a frown.
"Until, of course, some interfering, jumped up Mainwaring-esque Little Englander berk knocks it all too cock and demands that the catering staff are deported and be replaced with some ghastly proper English food cafeteria affair"
The Comptroller grimaces, then sighs again, this time laden with exasperation.
"See what I am up against ?"
Image: niekverlaan - Pixabay