Thursday 16th April
The Prime Minister showed his angry side on BBC One last night, but it really is just the tip of the iceberg as his favourite part of the electoral process gets another airing tonight.
“Are you going to watch the debate tonight?” asked Samantha.
“Debate? What debate?” responded the worried PM. “I didn’t sign up to any more debates. I told them – one debate where I could be aloof and distant and wave photocopies about, whilst everyone shouts at each other. Debates make me angry. I’m a very angry man. Did you see me with Evan Davis last night? I was a vision of fury.”
“Calm down dear,” said Samantha. “It’s the Challengers’ Debate. Everyone apart from you and Nick. Remember?”
“Oh yes,” said David, recalling his dreams of Nicola Sturgeon tearing Ed Miliband apart. “They’re not empty-chairing me are they?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Empty chairs make me angry too. I’m adding them to the book,” he said as he took out a little notebook engraved with the title: The Little Book of Rage.
“Why does no-one invite me to things anymore?” asked Nick Clegg, as he bemoaned the fact that he hadn’t been asked onto this evening’s debate.
“You still here?” said Vince Cable.
“Not going anywhere Vince. Nowhere to go. No-one wants me anymore.”
“Really?” inquired Vince. “How strange.”
“It’s not fair. I should be allowed to go. I’m not the Prime Minister. I maybe the Deputy Prime Minister and Lord President of the Council, but I’m still an outsider. Stupid title: Lord President of the Council. I’m not a Lord.”
“Not just yet,” said Vince.
“What are you doing here?” asked Yvette Cooper of Theresa May, at the studio for this evening’s debate.
“Haven’t you heard? We’re in the Spin Room tonight.”
“But your leader’s not debating.”
“It’s all a question of balance.”
“Balance? You chose not to be in this debate.”
“Yes,” said May, “and in doing so we very generously gave you uninterrupted airtime. In the interests of balance, we need to be given some airtime once you’re all done.”
“This room is for challengers!” screamed Cooper. “And you’re not a challenger.”
“Not just yet,” said Theresa slyly.
Labour are preparing their happy warrior to go into battle, with screen-test preparation for the Leader of the Opposition, conducted by Labour’s media director.
“Okay, Ed. Just look into the camera. That’s great Ed. Little less creepy. Little less. Little bit less. Okay, that’s a little creepier than last time. Bring it down. Little less. Little less…”
“Are you relaxed Mr Cameron?” asks Matthew Holehouse of The Daily Telegraph, rather boldly.
The permanently seething PM sardonically answers, “I don’t feel relaxed, but I’m doing an impression of it”, and he walks on making a mental note to punch a cushion at the earliest opportunity.
Back at Labour HQ:
“Just a tiny, little bit less creepy, Ed. Or, just look at the camera less.”
“Okay, okay,” says Ed.
“No, no,” said David Axelrod. “He has to look at the camera. Latest polling suggests that people are beginning to fancy him.”
“Really?” replied the Media Director. “Well, if it works, it works. It doesn’t have to make sense. Keep looking at the camera. Go wild. Now, Ed, would you like a break before we go on?”
“I think that’s a really important question, and I’m glad you’ve asked it.”
“Yeah, I think we need as much time as we can get.”
David Cameron learns that, earlier today, Ed Miliband hit out at the PM’s absenteeism from the debate, saying: “Here’s what I believe, I think if you are applying for the job of Prime Minister, the very least people expect if for you to turn up to the job interview.”
Cameron flies into a rage. Well, from one rage to another.
“This makes me furious,” he says, as on-lookers suspect that the Prime Minister’s puce complexion is beginning to show flashes of green. “I’m not applying for the job of Prime Minister. I’m reapplying! That makes me different! I don’t have to go through the preliminaries. That’s it: Miliband’s going in the book.”
He takes his notebook out.
“Oh. He’s already in it. Quite a few times. As are benefit scroungers, failing to win a majority, impertinent questions, grey hairs, and not having any cutlery at a barbeque. Well, I’ll put him in again, just for good measure.”
He tries to write in the name but finds his pen is out of ink.
“Bloody hell!” he bellows. “Fine then. I’ll just have to write it with my natural bile instead.”
The Prime Minister storms out, leaving a bewildered team.
“Well,” said Boris Johnson wryly, “someone needs to chillax.”
Events depicted may differ from actual events. In fact, this is a work of fiction, with some facts. But mostly, it's nonsense.