My Immortal: Trapped in the Cabinet
On the morning of the coalition summit I put on my black brogues which had been handmade by a ninth generation Spanish cordwainer. Underneath them were black cashmere socks. Then I put on a black summer weight suit that was single breasted. I put on a crisp white shirt, with a steel blue tie. I combed my hair and then messed it up again. I felt a little depressed then, so I slit one of my wrists. I read the Lib Dem manifesto while I waited for it to stop bleeding and I listened to some Elgar. I put on Touche Eclat and TONS of foundation. I didn’t put on blusher because I was ruddy anyway. I drank some champagne so I was ready to go to the meeting.
I went outside. Nick was waiting there in front of his car. He was wearing charcoal suit, a white shirt and a goldenrod silk tie.
“Hi Nick!” I said in a depressed voice.
“Hi Dave.” he said back. We walked into his black Mercedes-Benz (the license plate said NC5) and drove to the place with the meeting. On the way we listened excitedly to Elgar and Vaughn Williams. We both smoked cigarettes and THE REST OF THIS SENTENCE HAS BEEN REDACTED. When we got there, we both hopped out of the car. We went to our seats at the table and excitedly discussed possible areas for compromise.
“Vince is so fucking hot.” I said to Nick, pointing to him as he spoke, filling the room with his amazing voice.
Suddenly Nick looked sad.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as we nodded at Vince’s comments. Then I caught on.
“Hey, it’s ok I don’t like him better than YOU!” I said.
“Really?” asked Nick sensitively and he put his arm around me all protective.
“Really.” I said. “Besides I don’t even know Vince and he married Rachel Wenban fucking Smith after the death of his first wife, Dr Olympia Rebelo, in 2001 (AN: you learn something every day…). I fucking hate that little bitch.” I said disgustedly, thinking of her ugly blonde face.
The morning went on really well, and I had a great time. So did Nick. After the meeting, we drank some tea and had pictures taken by the press. We got minutes for the meeting. Nick and I crawled back into the Mercedes-Benz, but Nick didn’t go back to the House of Commons, instead he drove the car into……………………… NUMBER 10 DOWNING STREET!
I went outside. Nick was waiting there in front of his car. He was wearing charcoal suit, a white shirt and a goldenrod silk tie.
“Hi Nick!” I said in a depressed voice.
“Hi Dave.” he said back. We walked into his black Mercedes-Benz (the license plate said NC5) and drove to the place with the meeting. On the way we listened excitedly to Elgar and Vaughn Williams. We both smoked cigarettes and THE REST OF THIS SENTENCE HAS BEEN REDACTED. When we got there, we both hopped out of the car. We went to our seats at the table and excitedly discussed possible areas for compromise.
“Vince is so fucking hot.” I said to Nick, pointing to him as he spoke, filling the room with his amazing voice.
Suddenly Nick looked sad.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as we nodded at Vince’s comments. Then I caught on.
“Hey, it’s ok I don’t like him better than YOU!” I said.
“Really?” asked Nick sensitively and he put his arm around me all protective.
“Really.” I said. “Besides I don’t even know Vince and he married Rachel Wenban fucking Smith after the death of his first wife, Dr Olympia Rebelo, in 2001 (AN: you learn something every day…). I fucking hate that little bitch.” I said disgustedly, thinking of her ugly blonde face.
The morning went on really well, and I had a great time. So did Nick. After the meeting, we drank some tea and had pictures taken by the press. We got minutes for the meeting. Nick and I crawled back into the Mercedes-Benz, but Nick didn’t go back to the House of Commons, instead he drove the car into……………………… NUMBER 10 DOWNING STREET!