|Cameron sucking up to Aung San Suu Kyi in Burma|
Horace Ponsonby-Cameron, the British prime-minister has just visited Burma, meeting with the country's own Mandela-like figure - Aung San Suu Kyi. Wishing to brown-nose and bolster his credentials as an international leader, Cameron's people thought it would be a great idea if he could visit Logland which mistakenly they thought was symbolic of what might be achieved through improved Anglo-Burmese business relations. Somewhere along the line, one of Cameron's Old Etonians must have overlooked the letter "B", imagining that they would be visiting a jungle logging development and not a community of bloggers.
I was lying in bed in my humble native hut when Thuza came rushing
back in from her morning shower.
"Sir Pudding! Sir Pudding! You must to get up! Big boat coming to wharf! More blogger come!"
I leapt out of bed, yanked on my lilac speedos and after keying the code into my security gates jogged barefoot along the sandy forest trail towards the Robert Brague Memorial Wharf which is at the north of the island. I passed the empty homes of Mountain Thyme, Arctic Fox,
Brain Brian and Katherine. Dozens of servants were already down at the wharf but they parted like the Red Sea to let me through. Cameron's cabin cruiser was just docking. He leapt off the boat wearing a khaki jungle outfit and a safari pith helmet. Perhaps assuming I was some sort of manager of a logging company, he headed straight for me with his hand outstretched. Several photographers followed in his wake.
Now I can honestly say that I have never in my life shaken hands with a known Tory, let alone the leader of the Conservative Party so I just ignored Cameron's manicured paw.
"Passport!" I said.
"What?" grinned Cameron. "What do you mean?"
"Passport!" I said. "This is a sovereign state - the newest in the world and we do not take kindly to alien invaders... so passport!"
"But do you know who I am?" grinned Cameron, turning for the approbation of his press pack.
"Do you know who I am?" I retorted.
"No!" said Cameron scanning my lilac speedos enviously.
"I'm Yorkshire Pudding - representing the people of Blogland and there's certain things we don't allow here! No drugs! No weapons! No French! No Reality TV and no frigging Tories! So get the hell out of here ye silver spoon slimeball!"
By now Blogland's menial workers were cheering and chanting my name. Cameron was yelling that there would be a blackout on news or pictures from Blogland and who the hell had forgotten the "B"? He clambered back into "The Saucy Rebekah", accidentally dropping his pith helmet and his whole party headed back to Rangoon as I taught our assembled servants Yorkshire's traditional two-fingered salute for departing unwanted visitors.
|Don't take the pith!|