Monday 27th April
6.30am
“Okay, Dave. We’ve tried many
things. We’ve tried aloofness. We’ve tried dullness. We’ve tried anger. None of
it has worked, so this week we’re going to go for passion.”
“Right,” replied the Tory leader.
“What’s that?”
“Passion?” said his personal
aide. “It’s fierce enthusiasm, determination, really strong emotion.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Okay. Just eat these Shredded
Wheat and have this Red Bull, whilst I draw you a picture.”
8.00am
Cameron was bursting with energy.
He hadn’t felt like this since someone passed snuff around at a Bullingdon Club
meeting. At least, he thought it was snuff. He finally felt like he could win
this election. 10 days to save his career. And Britain. But mainly the career
bit.
The good vibes kept on coming as
he read the morning’s papers. It appeared that 5,000 small business leaders had
spontaneously signed a letter to The
Daily Telegraph, which had spontaneously been written by Conservative
Campaign Headquarters. To general astonishment, this letter backed the Tories, and political scientists are still baffled as to why this might be.
This made the PM feel even
bouncier. After a month of campaigning, five years of Prime Ministering, and
ten years of party leading, David Cameron had finally found a purpose in life.
10.30am
The Tory Leader had bounded his
way to the key election battleground of the City of London, where the Tories are
defending a pitiful majority of 11,076. Filled with caffeine and fibre, he was
booming his voice and pumping his fists, shouting: "We've got a fight on
our hands and we're going to win that fight!"
He added: “I’m
going to work the hardest I've ever worked in my life this week.” Presumably he’ll need a holiday after all
that strain, and he’s heard Whitehall is lovely this time of year.
He came off stage, surrounded by
accountants who were thrilled, and there’s nothing more thrilled than a
thrilled accountant.
“That was terrific Dave,” said
his personal aide.
“Thanks!” shouted Dave. “Where
are the gents?”
11.00am
With Cameron going all Henry V on
Weetabix, Ed Miliband might have felt the need to up his game. Not a bit of it though,
because Ed is cool nowadays, and this morning he was the coolest man in
Stockton.
Ed is so confident now that
Labour Party events have become like some kind of Rat Pack tribute show. Ed is
announced on by a sycophant who tells us how amazing he is, and then the Leader
of the Opposition is welcomed by his screaming faithful. He then greets his key
supporters in the manner that Dean Martin would acknowledge his band.
“Is Iain Wright here? Ladies and
gentlemen, Mr Iain Wright!” he says, leading the applause as he casually leans on his podium, and
basks in the glow of his adoring crowd.
One person who doesn’t seem to be
totally adoring is his wife Justine. Ed today revealed in London’s Evening Standard that she believes the
recent outpouring of lust for him to be the result of a case of mistaken
identity. It seems that Ed Miliband's wife is the only person in the country who doesn’t fancy Ed Miliband.
2.01pm
George Osborne took time out to
mix paint this afternoon and, in a bid to further invigorate the Tory campaign, he will
later deploy it and broadcast a live feed of it drying.
3.15pm
Like the other party leaders, Nick
Clegg is in bullish form (the only party leader who isn’t is Natalie Bennett
who, in a moment of tragic symbolism, has lost her voice). Today, Mr Clegg
declared that “winning is in the Lib Dems’ DNA”, a phrase which involves an odd
definition of either “winning”, or “DNA”, or “in”.
Clegg was asked today whether he
had been seduced by the title “Deputy Prime Minister” in the 2010 coalition
negotiations. He responded that you could call him “Mary Jane” for all he
cared, which for a generation brought up on Spider-Man
films means someone who stands about in the rain, waiting for someone to kiss
them upside down. Strangely apt title then.
5.00pm
A good day for Cameron has been
capped off with the latest poll from Lord Ashcroft giving the Tories a 6 point
lead.
“YES!” roars DC in the Battlebus.
“I haven’t cheered this loudly since Aston Villa last won the league!”
“When was that Dave?” asks an
aide.
“I don’t answer those questions.”
Dave sat down exhilarated, before
the Red Bull finally wore off, his energy crashed, and he feel asleep.
His personal aide looked on satisfied. “If we can get hold of some Berocca, we might just win this thing.”
Events depicted may differ from actual events. In fact, this is a work of fiction, with some facts. But mostly, it's nonsense.
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