Scene 1: Tony's office. The PM in a conference call with the president of Iraq. Two female secretaries take notes.
Tony: For God's sake, the elections were months ago and you haven't appointed a single minister. I've hired and fired half my cabinet since then. OK, how about this? You form a government before the summer hols and I'll wangle you an honorary peerage. Deal? Good. [To the secretaries]: Don't write that down.
A tap at the door and John Prescott squeezes his
pinstriped girth into the room.
Prescott: You wanted me, Tony?
Secretaries: Aah! Run for it!
The squealing women drop their phones and charge out. Prescott scowls at them. Tony doesn't look up.
Tony: Keeping busy, John?
Prescott: Ooh yes, rushed off
me feet. Got me sex-addiction
therapy at 11am. Then a spot of boxing practice with John Reid. Then off to Scotland Yard to explain all those bloody fairy stories in the Mail on Sunday. Then the wife and I've got our Relate meeting, which always drags on forever 'cos the counsellor's a bloody lezzer who calls me an "unreconstructed sexist". Stupid trollop. Anyway, I'm busy busy busy.
Tony: So in other words you're doing absolutely nothing?
Prescott: Well, all right then, yes, but what d'you expect? You stripped me of all me powers.
Tony: Stop complaining. You've got a shorter working week and a handsome government salary. There are thousands of people like you.
Prescott: The unemployed?
Tony: No, NHS dentists. Anyway, I need you to help me out this evening.
Prescott: Ooh thank you, Tony. Very much obliged. Happy to be of service. I'll do anything you want.
Tony: Big reception. Important delegates and so on. Be here at 6pm.
Prescott: And I'll write a speech, too, shall I?
Tony: Mmm, it's a bit late to learn new skills, John. Just bring some clean shoes.
Scene 2: No 11. Jack Straw has his ear to the door of the nursery. He's waiting to buttonhole Gordon. Inside he hears a nursery rhyme.
Gordon: Ten green ministers hanging on the wall. And if one green minister should accidentally fall, there'll be nine green ministers hanging on the wall . . .
After half an hour of this, Gordon emerges. Straw tries to block his path.
Straw: I want a word with you, Gordon. Does this ring a bell: "Attack Iran? That would be nuts!" Remember? To appease the hard left? I said it just the way you wanted - and now look at me. You owe me big time.
Gordon frowns and squints at him through his dodgy eye.
Gordon: I'm awfully sorry. Have we met?
He barges Straw aside with his statesmanlike tummy.
Straw: Et tu, Gordon?
Straw breaks down in tears. Enter Prescott.
Prescott: Eh, Jack. Cheer up. What's wrong?
Straw: Everything! I've lost everything.
Prescott: I know what you're going through.
Straw: And Condi's gone all cold on me. She's bumped me from her summer party in the Hamptons. Romano Prodi's taken my place. I offered to camp in the garden, but she's got Margaret Beckett there in her caravan as it is.
Prescott: You're well rid of her, mate. Right-wing stooge.
Straw [dreamily]: Yes. We had so much in common. Anyway, I'm not giving up. I'm going to ask her to Blackburn again. Do you think she'll come?
Prescott: What for? The battered cod or the crowds chanting "Condi is a Nazi"? Face it, mate, you've lost her. Know what your trouble is? You just don't know how to treat a lass properly.
Straw: Yes, well, I am rather inexperienced.
Prescott: "Women fall in love with their ears," they say. So use a decent chat-up line.
Straw: Such as?
Prescott: Fancy a quickie on the desk before lunch? Never fails.
Scene 3: Downing Street. Champagne reception with trays of nibbles and a bar. Prescott arrives. Tony appraises his appearance.
Tony: Good, John, very smart. Shiny shoes. Nice clean shirt. Well done. Now take this for me.
Tony hands him a tray of canapés.
Prescott: Vol-au-vents! My favourite.
Prescott's face splats down into the tray and he starts gobbling.
Tony: No, John! They're for the VIPs. Now, when they arrive, make sure everyone gets what they want to drink. The bar's over there. You're entitled to a 20-minute break every three hours.
Prescott: A 20-minute break?
Tony: More than generous.
Prescott: You mean, I'm the bloody bar-steward?!?
Tony: It's a vital position, John, brokering all kinds of key negotiations - between, um, the VIPs and the contents of the bar.
Prescott: Tony, don't humiliate me. Use my talents to their full extent.
Tony throws him a white linen cloth.
Tony: That's what I'm doing. By the way, Giovanni, mine's a gin and tonic.
Eleven young women in matching trouser suits enter the room. Prescott perks up.
Tony: Ah, here they are now. The Arsenal Ladies team.
[To the ladies]: Congratulations on winning the Women's FA Cup.
Prescott sidles over to the captain.
Prescott: 'Ello luv. Fancy a sausage?
