Scene 1: Tony and Cherie’s flat. The Blairs are getting ready for the holidays. Cherie is on the phone to her Italian tutor.
Cherie: And how do I say, "Good evening. Beautiful yacht. Would you like to buy a signed copy of the Butler report?"
Tony is going through his diary trying to cadge a five-star villa. No one is returning his calls.
Tony: Bloody billionaires. They collect their peerages and you never hear from them again.
Cherie [on phone]: OK. I'll keep practising. Ciao.
She puts down the phone.
Cherie: Can't we go to Cliff's place again?
Tony: Dunno. He's gone all quiet on me. I've got a feeling he thinks I'm a warmonger.
Cherie: What? But we haven't invaded anywhere for three years. Let's try Silvio.
Tony: Too depressed to throw a house party.
Cherie: What about Chirac? I bet he could rustle up a nice château.
Tony: Yeah. For Saddam. Listen, I was thinking. Let's have a complete change this year. We could do something simple, you know, a short package holiday.
Cherie: Urgh, Tony. Did you just say "package holiday"?
Tony: It'll be good for my image as an ordinary kind of guy. Spain or Greece or wherever the chavs go.
Cherie: Spain! No effing way. I want a freebie in a posh villa with sea views and mountain air. Somewhere exotic. Sort it out.
Tony: Er, righto, sweetness.
Scene 2: The Browns' flat. It's Baby James's first night at home. Tony and Cherie enter.
Cherie: Hi there. Congrats and all that. Brought you a few prezzies.
They hand over armfuls of gifts all blatantly recycled from foreign visits. Sarah opens them politely.
Sarah: Er, lovely. He'll really appreciate . . . a bust of Gandhi, a samurai sword, a laminated ostrich egg and - ooh lovely - a framed copy of the Iraqi constitution. Thanks so much.
Tony: Don't mention it.
Cherie: And how's that dishy husband of yours? Bet he's lurrvvvin being a dad.
Sarah: Adores it. He talks to him all the time. Says the baby should get used to the sound of his voice.
Cherie [aside]: We all should. [To Sarah] So where is he?
Sarah: Next door. Burping.
A massive belch erupts from the bathroom.
Tony: That's Gordon empty, the baby'll be next.
Gordon enters with Baby James cradled in his arms.
Gordon: Now, then -
Tony: Well, done Gordon. Still producing hot air.
Gordon: Please don't interrupt. Here are your milk quotas for the next two quarters, James. The target is 95 millilitres delivered every four hours during the first month, rising to a maximum of 120 millilitres in the second month, producing net bodily growth by the third month of at least -
Sarah: Give him to me, darling.
Gordon: What?
Sarah: Let him meet Cherie and Tony.
She passes the baby to Tony. Tony looks at Baby James, pulls silly faces and pokes out his tongue.
Tony: Hello baby, boo-boo.
Baby James wriggles and gurgles.
Tony: Googi goo. Coochi coo!
Baby James: Coochi coo!
Sarah: Hear that, Gordon? Tony can actually talk to babies.
Cherie: He gets lots of practice at the White House.
Tony: Coochi coo . . . Oh dear, he's turning pink. I think he's going to -
The milk quota gets redistributed all over Tony's shirt.
Scene 3: Blair Force One. Cherie is wearing a blindfold. Tony is peering anxiously out of the aircraft window.
Cherie: Tell me where we're going, Tony. I can't stand the suspense.
Tony: It's everything you asked for and more. An exotic villa with sea views and mountain air.
Cherie: Oh goody. We're not paying for it are we?
Tony: Don't be silly. It's Lord Levy's place.
Cherie: Oh, you should have said. That's on Mount Carmel isn't it?
Tony: Yup.
Cherie: Smashing!
Cherie pulls off her blindfold and looks out of the window.
Cherie: Hang on. Mount Carmel - overlooking - oh my God - Haifa!
Tony: It'll be lovely, darling. Once they've agreed a ceasefire, which won't be long now.
The navigator rushes in.
Navigator: We have incoming fire! The pilot's re-routing.
A Hezbollah rocket sweeps past. The plane banks steeply.
Navigator: We're heading for the nearest RAF base.
Tony: Where's that?
Navigator: Cyprus.
Cherie: Cyprus? No way am I spending my summer holiday in . . .
Another rocket sweeps past, narrowly missing the wing.
Cherie: OK, Cyprus.
Scene 4: The seafront at Ayia Napa. The tavernas are full of pink English people. A middle-aged couple walk furtively past. The wife is wearing a Marilyn wig and dark glasses.
Cherie: Jeez, I hope no one recognises us.
Her husband is sweating behind a novelty George Bush mask. A heckler spots him.
Heckler: Dictator! Madman! International terrorist!
Tony: Better than "poodle", I suppose.
Heckler: Death to Bush!
A bottle hits Tony on the head.
Tony: Ow! Next year, darling, let's go to the Green Zone.
