Monday 27th April
“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.”
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.
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?”
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.
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.
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.
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.