Random Political Sketch.

I wrote this and have nowhere else to put it. Enjoy.

Pip xxx

[Just behind the Houses of Parliament, next to a graffiti-covered bike-shed, a be-suited man steps out of a small shadowy door, looks furtively around, and lights a cigarette. He leans back against the wall to enjoy it. A second man, looking equally as shifty approaches from the left.]

Cameron:  Millers!

[Miliband jumps out of his skin.]

Miliband:  Oh, Cameron. It’s just you.

Cameron:  Yeah. It’s just me. Plain old, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and stuff, me.

Miliband:  What’s up with you? You look like you’ve lost a penny and found a pound. No, wait. The other one. The one that’s not good.

Cameron:  Millers, what do you do when everybody hates you?

Miliband:  Everybody hates me? Wow. I knew there were one or two naysayers, but not everybody.

Cameron:  No, not you! Why would I be talking about you? Everybody hates me!

Miliband:  Really? Everyone?

Cameron:  Well I think the bankers are still on side. Most of them. Well, some of them. The ones who don’t need to go to hospital or require schools. Or universities. Or libraries. Basically the rich ones. Both of them still seem to like me. I think it’s this stupid job, you know.

Miliband:  Not going well?

Cameron:  Not as such, no. It’s a lot different than I thought it would be!

Miliband:  How so?

Cameron:  Well I thought, you know, before I was actually doing it, I thought that all I’d need to do is to think about what Brown might have done, and then I should just do the opposite. But it turns out that it’s actually really hard. I do that, then I have to make up some guff about why I did that, then loads of people tell me I’m wrong, then I have to make up some guff about why I’m not going to do that after all, then someone from the back-benches I’ve never even seen before says something totally random, then loads of other people point at me and laugh. And with all of this going on there’s bloody Cleggers sat in the corner bleating like a sheep!

Miliband:  Poor old Cleggers. What’s he said now?

Cameron:  No, I meant that literally. He bleats like a sheep. He says baa-a-a.

Miliband:  Baa?

Cameron:  No, he’s got a little tremble thing going. Baa-a-a. You know, for a sheep impression, it’s quite good! It’s just, it’s not helpful to me.

Miliband:  So what are you going to do?

Cameron:  I was thinking of giving it up actually. Just, stopping. Throwing my hands up and saying that someone else can do it if they want.

Miliband:   Yeah, but who’d want to be Prime Minister right now?

Cameron:  Yeah I know. People have started avoiding me in case I offer them the job. I did think of Blair though! He always liked it.

Miliband:  No, though. I saw him in Prague just before the leadership race, but he’s set his sights on higher things. He said it would be a backward step. Then he patted me on the head and levitated away.

Cameron:  Damn.

Miliband:  What about Brown? He was still clinging onto the doorposts when you moved in.

Cameron:  Yeah, but he’s been changed by freedom. I did call him, but he won’t talk to me. He just says ‘sucks to be you, Davey-boy!’ then blows a raspberry.

Miliband:  Oh. That’s not good.

Cameron:  Do you… well, y’know… Do you want it?

Miliband:  [Splutters a laugh.] No fear!

Cameron:  But the leadership race! You fought hard!

Miliband:  Well yeah, I had to when my brother did. It's like an instinct. We still call shot-gun when we're getting in a car, and we fork-fight for the best potato at Sunday lunch! I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d have thought there was a chance I’d be PM, PM.

Cameron:  Damn it!

Miliband:  What about Cleggers though? I mean, the sheep thing aside, he could probably still be Prime Minister.

Cameron:  Yeah, I thought of that, and I did suggest it but he bleated really loud and hid behind the curtains. We had to get his wife over to get him out. She said he preferred his current position.

Miliband:  Deputy Prime Minister?

Cameron:  No, footstool. Anyway, Miriam said I wasn’t to upset him like that again and I’m scared of her.

Miliband:  Oh! I know someone! What about Dave?

Cameron:  I’m Dave, you fool!

Miliband:  No, not you Dave, Dave! My Dave. Big Bro! Dave Miliband. He’d bloody love it!

Cameron:  Aren’t you Dave?

Miliband:  No! I’m Ed!

Cameron:  Oh. Well I probably shouldn’t be talking to you then. Sorry Ed.

[Cameron gives him an apologetic look and heads back into the building. Miliband sighs and lights his own cigarette.]