Gordon Brown’s curiously animated appearance on YouTube yesterday can only have been as a result of the Susan Boyle phenomena; someone had told him that it no longer matters what you look like, the world will pay attention when you open your mouth on YouTube. They forgot to tell him that this relies upon the world enjoying what they hear.
Gordon alighted on YouTube to announce the introduction of the ‘National Clocking in Scheme’ for MPs. In scenes that will be reminiscent of the Liverpool Docks in the 1960s, MPs are going to be given a daily pay rate – merely for turning up to work. No more casually hanging around Prime Minister’s Question Time, and then sloping off for a three week sun drenched tour to investigate how Peru is increasing the breeding rate of Guinea Pigs.
It will result in an entirely new parliamentary lexicon. Let me give you a flavour – further entries gratefully received.
‘The Westminster Arms’, favoured – and nearest – public house, will be renamed ‘The Welt’, in honour of the docker’s MPs peculiar working practice of sloping off to the pub while their mates did their share of work in return for a similar favour.
Troughing MPs will be uniformly nicknamed ‘Diesel’. ‘Diesel do our kid’ being the common cry as dockers rifled through that which did not belong to them and carted their booty off home.
‘The Wig and Pen’ public house, slightly further away, but still favoured, will be renamed simply the ‘Pen’ in remembrance of the dockside pens where workers MPs waited humiliatingly for a tap on the shoulder – or not if their face didn’t fit – for casual work a place on a select committee sitting that day.
Arriving for a day’s work will henceforth be known as ‘Ghostin’ – the practice whereby you got a day’s work in order to watch someone else do the work whilst doing nothing yourself.
The bitter cry of ‘Scab’ will ring out as disgraced MPs form a scrum (should that be a ‘scum’ Ed) outside the Houses of Parliament to try to prevent those who have not yet been ‘caught out’ from clocking on and collecting their dole money.
Liverpool has a long history of bone idle layabouts, drunks and thieves, and thus the language of l’hiver poule is perfectly suited to the new reformed Houses of Parliament.
I am a Scouse by the way – (before you start Anonymong).
*The contents of one’s nose when inspected on the end of your finger before being consumed!