“She never said that!”
“I think she did.”
The Queen of Thornberries had done it again. Asking a room of politically-minded people who are dull enough to apply to be a Question Time audience member — she had asked the Leave Voters if they voted to take their neighbour’s Marmite away. The right-wing BBC edited the footage to make it appear that she had asked something far less emotive.
“Good on her, it’s about time we stood up to the voters.”
It was a fairly tense atmosphere in the office to be honest. And I’ve seen Sean accompany JC to a Friends of Israel rally.
To be fair, I think the Queen of Thornberries is asking the right questions — they’re just questions you should pose to yourself inside your own head, or failing that, a non-specific deity. Sean had called an urgent meeting to discuss the Prime Minister’s refusal to engage in parliamentary democracy. Though it being a transitional phase and all, it rendered our response rather cumbersome.
That being said, it was turning out to be an alright morning. Another exposé about Sean in the Mail which could have cost him his job— before Masonic Paul’s exposé by The Sun.
“Who knew Murdoch could be so obliging?” I quipped to Sean as he removed his ushanka and sat in his armchair, opening his latest RT article, The Data Revolution and what it means for the Comintern. He glanced at me with seething contempt which was mildly encouraging.
“I do wish we had foreseen this was all going to happen.” Kate remarked, pouring out the tea as it seemed everybody else was too busy thinking strategically. “I just don’t think Masonic would have spoken that way had he known he was being taped. And I don’t think dear Sean would have chaired a session with Vladz had he known he’d be her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition’s Director of Communications and Proletariat Relations a mere two years later.”
“Well….” Sean began, before we were rudely interrupted by the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine and Shadow Minister for Socialism with an iPad, Maccy D. (All one person fyi, dear diary.)
Trailing behind him, carrying some briefing notes — or as Kate and I refer to them — revisionist revision notes was Corbyn Junior. We referred to him for a while as CorJu — but stopped after Sean and Ken raised concerns that people might think he was Jewish.
“Right. We’ve got to do something about this Masonic business.” Mac D barked as Kate poured him some tea.
“I agree. We can’t have him fanning the flames of class war. My mother was a feminist, that’s the only reason that I have a double-barrelled surname!”
I think that was Mildred Fiona Ryder-Poopycooke, our new intern from our Uni… *cough dear diary* Momentum office. She had wowed Shadow Chancellor Palpatine with her knowledge of On Contradiction and her thirst for opting people into emails without their consent.
“No… no..” He looked confused. “I don’t mean that. I mean it’s about time we led a campaign to boycott The Sun. Think how brave they shall call us! That we stood up to Murdoch in the face of so much adversity in solidarity with our victimised fallen comrade!”
I thought Kate was going to spontaneously combust. It was going to be a another long weekend.
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