I knew that the Foreign Secretary was about to arrive when I heard the deafening whirr of a helicopter over Parliament. His mission, as I discovered from top secret sources (Twitter), was to penetrate the Commons and establish a credible position on Libya. Or, as the spies would call it, “finding a hotel”.
For this, the Foreign Secretary had taken on a new identity. “The name’s Vague, William Vague,” he whispered to himself as he landed, rushing to take up his position on the front bench to begin the task of covering himself in verbal camouflage. He wished, just for a moment, for a bit of glamour. James Bond, 007, dazzled at the craps table while he, Vague, 000, had to endure having the same kicked out of him by politicians who didn’t even have numbers.
His arch-enemy, Wee Dougie Alexander, didn’t look even remotely menacing. He called Vague a “serial” bungler and then, embolded by this rare show of boldness, Wee Dougie moved on to mockery: “The British public are entitled to wonder whether, if some new neighbours moved into the Foreign Secretary’s street, he would introduce himself by ringing the doorbell or instead choose to climb over the fence in the middle of the night.”
William Vague smiled the smile of a man who had to grin and bear it for his country. Wee Dougie was being silly. William Vague 000 would do neither. He would arrive, instead, by chopper with nightvision goggles and a map in invisible ink.
The attacks came thick and fast. Everyone was cautioning him about a no-fly zone. Vague was vague. On this day it was his job to establish a “no flies on us” zone. It was a struggle. Sir Ming Campbell, the Lib Dem who may not know that his codename was Vase, said he regretted what he was about to say. “Isn’t it clear this mission was ill-conceived, poorly planned and embarrassingly executed? What are you doing to restore the reputation of the UK?”
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Vague threw more camouflage into the air. The UK was leading the world in diplomacy. As for Libya, the opposition there said they would “welcome” more contact.
Ben Bradshaw, hair standing up like a cockatoo, asked: “If the object of this mission was to make contact with the leaders of Free Libya, why didn’t they just go straight into Benghazi as scores of international journalists have?”
Vague, replied, teeth gritted: “Whenever we deploy diplomats into a dangerous situation, we provide a level of protection based on the professional and military advice.”
He was being as bland as blancmange. But some attacks were beyond ridiculous. There was even one Tory MP who accused him of sending a ship (HMS Cumberland) named after a pork sausage to a Muslim country. Honestly. The final insult came when a Labour MP accused him of “overdosing” on James Bond. At this, Vague thought of what Bond would be doing at that moment, a blonde at his side, playing craps. Surely Vague’s was the harder mission.