12th March 2014
My darling pumpkin seed,
Don’t you get frightfully bored of politics? I mean, I know it’s your job and all, but no one likes to take work home with them. That’s why I want to write to you today and not mention any “green crap” or anything to do with Clause 119 (brilliant idea by the way). All I want to tell you today is how much I love you, and how you are the best and most handsomest PM that this country has ever known. And the youngest. And you have the best hair of any of your cabinet. And you have proven beyond any doubt that good breeding and money produce the best looking men, because Brad Pitt has nothing on you, you stud muffin. If you think about it, in a way you are running your own Fight Club , because the first rule of Tory policy is don’t talk about Tory policy, or rather, don’t tell the truth about Tory policy. Or rather, don’t try to question Tory policy because it’s perfect.
Speaking of your gorgeousness, I was watching a programme recently about botched plastic surgery procedures. Have you ever considered having some work done on IDS? It’s no wonder he’s always so miserable and constantly trying to kill people. The poor dear has no hair, and I can only guess that being in your beautiful presence with your beautiful hair makes him feel inadequate.
Anyway, back to my original point which is that politics get in the way of our love. Shall I book us a European city break this weekend? We can forget all about those folk who are having to return food to food banks because they can’t afford to cook it. Perhaps Brussels? It would be nice to visit there without having to deal with any of that EU shit.