The Pope blesses a PlayStation

Scene 1: 10 Downing Street. With Blair out of the country, Prescott is in charge. He comes barrelling down the corridor. A smirking Peter Hain blocks his path.

Prescott:: Out of me way, you suntanned ponce.

[extra-plummy voice]: Oh I say, John. Hello, old sport. Fancy a spot of Pimm's in the rose garden?

Prescott: Piss off.

Hain: What's up? Lost your badminton racket? Why don't you pop over to the Billiard Room around sixish. We'll get squiffy with a few of the servants and then have a game of charades? Or maybe even sardines, if you're feeling really racy. Count you in?

Prescott: Ah, bollocks.

He barges past Hain and makes his way to the door of Sarah and Gordon's flat. He taps and enters. Gordon is dandling Baby John on his lap. He's beaming from ear to ear.

Gordon: Good work, John! You're a political genius.

Prescott: Eh?

Gordon: The worst spell the government's had for nine years - and you're getting the flak. Brilliant!

Prescott: For you, maybe.

Gordon puts Baby John down who promptly runs up to Prescott and kicks him in the shins.

Prescott: Owwwww!

Gordon: Oh, cheer up. I expect you're here to collect your reward. How about a new mallet? Ha ha ha.

Prescott: Oh God. Not you as well. Everyone's got the whole thing arse over tit. I was bloody exhausted that day. I'd spent five solid hours signing tower block approvals and rubber-stamping new Tesco's hypermarkets and I needed a spot of fresh air. Now me whole life's collapsed. I've lost everything. Me shagpad. Me girlfriend. And me rough-and-ready image as a man of the people. I even got 'eckled this morning on me way to work: "Sexist! Toff!" What a humiliation. I just want to vanish from the face of the earth.

Gordon: That's easily arranged. How about a peerage? Lord Prescott of Dorneyw . . . [Beat] Whoops. Sorry. Ha ha ha.

Scene 2: The Vatican. Tony and Cherie wait for an audience with the Pope. Paparazzi are ready to photograph the meeting.

Two nuncios open a pair of vast gilded doors. The Pope glides in.

Cherie [whispering]: God, he's even smaller than Bono.

Tony flashes his most unctuous, duchess-melting smile.

Tony: How do you do, Your Holiness?

Pope: Guten morgen.

Cherie drops a curtsey and kisses the Pope's ring.

Cherie: Father. Are you well?

Pope: Ach, not so bad. A leetle arzritis in ze shoulder from all ze vayving but uzzervise good, ja.

Cherie: First things first, Father. Can we say a prayer together for Africa - [furtively] - while the photographers are still here?

Pope: Ja, good, good.

The three bow their heads.

: Heavenly Father, we entreat you to preserve the poor people of Africa - without whom Tony's premiership would look self-serving and parochial. Bless Bob Geldof, bless Richard Curt-

Tony [interrupting angrily]: Er, no, Your Holiness, what she means is - Lord, lead Africa out of the wilderness of poor growth and low investment and into the promised land of economic dynamism and social justice. Amen.

Pope: Amen.

Cherie: Amen to that. And now for the prezzies. [She reaches into her handbag.] We brought you a card made by little Leo in the nursery.

Pope: Ach, danke, danke.

Cherie: And I wonder if you could bless his PlayStation?

Pope: Ja. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. [He waves his hand over the plastic toy. He opens the card. It shows a picture of the Pope drawn by Leo. Unfortunately, it has been vandalised by Gordon Brown. The Pope has a Hitler moustache and the inscription reads, "From one dictator to another."]

Pope [looking confused]: Iz a joke? Ja, very good. Ha ha. You English have such a great sense of humour.

Tony: What? [He grabs the card.] Bastard!

Cherie reads the card - then faints in embarrassment.

Scene 3: Gordon's flat. Prescott nurses a glass of Newcastle Brown, which he hasn't touched.

Prescott: Got anything else to drink?

Gordon: Tartan bitter?

Prescott: Mm, or what about a nice drop of Châteauneuf-du-Pape?

Gordon: Ha, excellent, John! You can still laugh at yourself.

[aside]: I was being serious.

Gordon: Now, have you thought about the future?

Prescott: Of course, and there's so much I can offer the Labour Party - if I can only rebuild my reputation.

Gordon: And you can.

Prescott: I knew it.

Gordon: Resign!

Prescott: Huh?

Gordon: In style. Just before the party conference. And drop a coded hint that Blair should go too.

Prescott: Right, right. Something like this: "Now that I'm off, it's time for that toothy warmonger to sling his hook 'n all."

Gordon: Mm, possibly more coded than that. How about: "We need total renewal from top to bottom."

Prescott [getting out notepad]: Better write this down.

Gordon: "A completely fresh look inside and out - "

Sarah runs in with a tape measure.

: No need, Gordon! Their windows are the same size. We can keep the red curtains after all.