A legal ruling this week that the intelligence services are, after all, entitled to tap MPs’ telephones is terrific news for eavesdroppers. What could possibly be more gripping than a member of parliament’s private conversations? I am intelligent. I am a service. So I have been listening in . . .
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“Right you are, Mr Umunna. So that’s your mani-pedi at 3pm, bee venom facial at 4 and then back, sack and crack at 5.”
“Unless I am called back to the chamber to vote.”
“In which case, drop the waxing?”
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“Gosh no, that’s the most important bit. Tell you what, start with the wax and if worse comes to worst, like we have to vote on a war or something, I’ll postpone the facial.”
“Perfect. So mani-pedi, back, sack and crack and then we’ll just pencil in the bee venom.”
“Thank you. Um, and that won’t affect my loyalty points?”
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“Domino’s Pizza, Rashid speaking, how can I help you?”
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“Oh hi. It’s John McDonnell here at the House of Commons. Can I get a medium Hawaiian with a hot dog crust, no cheese, double extra pineapple please.”
“Yes, sir. That’s a medium Hawaiian, hot dog crust, no cheese, double pineapple?”
“That’s right.”
“£15.09. Shall I process the order?”
“Yes. Definitely. That’s definitely what I want.”
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“Will you be paying by cash or card?”
“Actually, is it too late to drop the hot dog crust?”
“No, that’s fine. So just a normal deep pan crust, everything else the same . . . £13.09.”
“What if I drop the extra pineapple?”
“£11.99.”
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“Excellent. I don’t know what I was thinking before. I’m new to this whole pizza-ordering thing. But the point is I’m man enough to admit it.”
“Thank you, sir. Your pizza will be with you in half an hour.”
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“Hello, Mr Cameron? It’s Stan from Lidgate the butchers here. Just to let you know, we’ve got the pig’s head you ordered. With the very small mouth? Was it all the teeth you were wanting removed, or just the sharp ones at the front?”
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“Hello, Domino’s. Rashid speaking.”
“Hello Rashid. It’s John McDonnell here. Scrap the Hawaiian. Embarrassing? Yes of course it is. Who the hell has pineapple on a pizza? Just make it a large Mediterranean and hold the green peppers. Definitely. That’s my last word on the matter.”
“Yes, sir. Large Med, no peppers. On its way.”
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“Hello emergency service operator, which service do you require?”
“Police!”
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
“I want to report a paedophile attack.”
“Where is it happening?”
“A Tory MP’s house.”
“Which Tory MP?”
“Does it matter which one? Just get down there and arrest one. Any one. This is Tory MPs we’re talking about. You can tell from their leery eyes and received pronunciation and their irritating way of drawling “yeeeeeer, yeeeeer” in the House of Commons. They are pants-deep in the nation’s youth and I demand to be the one who gets all the glory for sending them down. Now get out there and start arresting them!”
“This is Mr Watson again, isn’t it?”
“Er, no.”
“We’ve talked about this, Mr Watson. The police are overstretched as it is, attending to . . .
“But it’s a paedo’s charter!”
“What is?”
“This new grammar school in Kent. It’s a blatant plot by those sweaty-palmed Etonian shag-monsters . . .”
“I’m going to go now, Mr Watson.”
“But just look at their FACES!!!!”
“Goodbye, Mr Watson.”
Click, brrrrrrr . . .
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“Hello, Buff Boyz Pimlico, 21st-century grooming for the man who knows what he wants, Clarence speaking. How may I help you?”
“Oh, ya, hi. It’s Zac Goldsmith here. I heard you might have had a cancellation for later today on a back, sack and crack?”
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“Hello, Mr Go ve? It’s Barry here from the public relations and reach out office of Mahamat Kamoun, interim prime minister of the Central African Republic? The most repressive dictatorship in the world?”
“Er, halloo.”
“We hear there might be an opportunity for some sort of prison security type hook-up solution with you guys?”
“Oooh, er. I think you might have got the, um, wrong end of the stick on that one. Goodbye.”
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“Hallo, is dis here Mistah My Kal Gove?”
“Er, yes.”
“Dis here de evil leader ob Equatorial Guinea to whom you am speakin’. We is in de process o reformin’ ower prizzin system and I woz jus wundrin’ if I could pick your brain ova a couple o’ de key ishoos wot is trubblin’ us?”
“Who is this, please?”
“Dis de evil dictator from di cunnertry wid de worse human rights record even dan de Saudi Arabia, which is callin fo’ a chat about maybe helpin each udder out in de security matters from time to time.”
“Philip? Is that you?”
“Philip? Who dis Philip? Oops, got to go.”
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“Harro!”
“Er, halloo.”
“Harro Meesta Gobe! This is supreme reader of Norf Korea, royal highness Kim Jong Jingle Jangle Jung! Pleasy to inviting Blitish plison experts to engage in pubric rerations exercise wiv psychotic murderous totarritarian legime of Norf Korea?”
“Philip? Philip Hammond? Is that you? I’m sorry but this is no way for a foreign secretary to take up his grievances with a fellow cabinet minister. If these prank calls continue I shall be compelled to . . .”
“Firrip Hammon? Who this Firrip Hammon? This Kim Jong Jingle Jangle from Norf Korea, not Honolable Folleign Secletelly of Glate Blitain.”
“Oh for God’s sake!”
Click, brrrrrrr . . .
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“Domino’s, Rashid speaking.”
“Oh, er, hi Rashid. John McDonnell again. I was thinking. Wheat can be so indigestible. Do you have anything that isn’t pizza?”