Scene 1: No 10. Tony is reading a letter from Central Office.
Dear Mr Blair, Would that your new policy on hanging might apply to home-grown dictators.
Yours, David Cameron.
Tony picks up the Dictaphone.
Tony: Dear Mr Cameron. Comma. Would that your new policy on recycling might not apply to other people's jokes. Full stop. Yours etc.
He switches off the Dictaphone. Leo strolls in wearing a sweatshirt with the hood up over his head.
Leo: Whassup?
Tony: Hey, what the hell are you doing in my . . . oh, sorry Leo. Didn't recognise you. Hood down, please. It's not nice. And we don't say what's up. We say how do you do? Say it.
Leo: How do you do?
Tony: Very well thank you, Leo.
Leo: Cool. What's a curfew, Daddy?
Tony: It's when you have to go to bed early because you've been naughty.
Leo: What's a Asbo?
Tony: An Asbo. Say it.
Leo: An Asbo.
Tony: Good. It's a sort of bad mark from the teacher.
Leo: So can I have a Asbo for Christmas?
Tony: An Asbo. No, because you don't deserve one.
Leo: Everyone's got one in my class except me.
Tony: That's because they're all very naughty.
Leo: If I'm very naughty, will I get a Asbo?
Tony: Well, that's not the point. An Asbo is when you promise to be good. Not when you promise to be naughty.
Leo: If I hit a policeman, will I get a Asbo?
Tony: Well, probably, but we like policemen. They make sure Mummy and Daddy are safe and - Leo!
Leo picks up a vase and throws it out of the window. It hits the No 10 policeman on the helmet.
Leo: Can I have a Asbo now, Daddy?
Scene 2: A few days later. Tony is glancing through the guest list for a reception at St James's Palace.
Tony: He's a bore. He's a halfwit. She's being paid by Moscow. He's working for the opposition. She's a lesbian. She's . . .
A tap at the door.
Tony: Come in.
Lord Goldsmith enters, carrying a folder and looking rather sheepish.
Tony: Hi, Peter.
Goldsmith: Good afternoon, Prime Minister.
Tony: Why so solemn?
Goldsmith: I've a rather worrying application from the Met.
Tony: It wasn't me. It was Lord Levy!
Goldsmith: Er, no, they're still working on that one. It's about criminal damage, littering and the assault of a policeman. They want to serve Leo Blair with an antisocial behaviour order.
Tony: What? No way. Tell them it's out of the question.
Goldsmith: I can't intervene.
Tony: But that's your job.
Goldsmith: Maybe - but my reputation for impartiality could be tarnished.
Tony: What reputation for impartiality? Oh, the one you established in the lead-up to the war.
Goldsmith: Well, all right, I just don't want it tarnished any further. Leo's getting the Asbo.
Tony: Peter, please.
Goldsmith: There's nothing I can do. It was all caught on camera.
Tony: Have a peerage.
Goldsmith: Already got one.
Tony: Er, have - um, a case of champagne?
Goldsmith: There's nothing you've got that I want.
Tony: Damn! All right, Peter, I'll, er, I'll own up. It wasn't Leo. It was . . . um, it was, er, His Excellency Dr Salah Al-Shaikhly.
Goldsmith: Who?
Tony: The Iraqi ambassador. I called him in to let him know we're pulling the troops out to coincide with my tenth anniversary next May. He got shirty, called me a number of hurtful names, and then took a shy at me with a vase. Straight out the window - bang on the cop's head.
Goldsmith [Sceptically]: That's what happened?
Tony: My solemn oath, on this copy of the Hutton report. So it looks like the ambassador'll have to get the Asbo. Bit embarrassing. But good for his street cred.
Goldsmith: We can't give him an Asbo. He's got diplomatic immunity.
Tony: Now, I didn't think of that. How terribly inconvenient.
Scene 3: No 10. Tony has received a letter signed "Osama Bin Laden".
Dear Mr Blair. Greetings from the Afghan border! Very busy with the poppy harvest but have taken a short break to offer my sincerest congratulations on your brilliant intervention in Iraq. The Middle East has been destabilised, my organisation has won thousands of new recruits and the authority of the US has been fatally weakened.
And I see you're now in favour of the death penalty. Just like us! Sharia is the only way. Best wishes for your retirement. Must dash. Off to a stoning.
Tony picks up the Dictaphone.
Tony: Letter. Dear Gordon. Comma. Stop wasting your time writing silly letters and refocus on your key areas of expertise, comma, dodging the Iraq issue, comma, boasting about economic growth while imposing taxes and red tape that will bring it to a full stop. Full stop. Yours cheerfully etc.
