A prominent British statesman has spoken today of his relief over how “all that Russian Brexit corruption stuff, you know, how it seems that most of the members of parliament are currently Putin’s useful idiots, it’s a real shot in the arm. It is taking attention off how thick I am.”
We interviewed the packet of mince at a location of his choosing.
”You close your eyes and count to ten,” he said, looking very serious for a grown man suggesting a child’s game, “I’ll hide and you see if you can find me in under five minutes.”
We weren’t sure it was going to take that long. He was standing in the fresh meat section and it seemed fairly obvious he was going to attempt to blend in right there.
”Are you going to use the camouflage skills you learned in the SAS all those years ago?”
He didn’t reply. He covered his eyes with his hands and began to grin. Then to giggle. Then to hop from one foot to the other.
”Mister Davis?”
No reply. He snorted and a bubble of snot grew at the end of his nostril.
We searched in vain for a tissue but could find none in our pockets.
”You’re not counting!”
One. More snorts. Two…
We walked away briskly to the aisle with the toiletries to grab a packet of tissues, hoping the staff would realise the emergency and trust us to pay for the packet after opening it.
We increased the volume of our count the further away we travelled.
Four…five.
Locating the tissues we returned briskly to the mince meat aisle.
Six…seven.
But Mister Davis had seemingly vanished.
Eight. Quick step to the alcohol aisle.
Nine. No joy. Surprisingly.
It was only on the way back, as we caught the aisle devoted to summer activities, bbq’s, ball games, kids toys and tinder for bbq’s that we realised our error.
The Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union had been moved by floor staff, eyes still closed, to the shelf with the coals and bbq wood.
A member of staff was writing out a reduced price sticker and about to slap it on his forehead.
”The packet split on this one, so it’s going out half price,” they told us.
”But he belongs in the mince meat section.”
They paused, a little bemused.
”Silly me. It looked like a collection of short planks of wood. It’s been a busy day.”
At that moment Mister Davis opened his eyes.
”Ta da! I told you I was a master of camouflage!”
But no sooner than the gloating had begun he stopped and stood to attention, facing the stacks of split soft wood.
”Funny place for an emergency cabinet,” he mused, “has something serious happened?”
No. Just the continue flow of mounting evidence that Brexit is riddled with neocon, sociopathic American billionaire far right world order smashing influence in collusion with Putin and the idea is to drive the U.K. into isolation and cripple it as stage one of smash apart the European Union.
He looked baffled. A second snot bubble appeared.
We applied the tissue to his nose. Play time was over for the day.