Prescott practises his lines, Gordon greets the revellers, Leo plays with cluster bombs, while Sarah and Cherie exchange festive pleasantries over a certain person's dress.
Scene 1: Admiralty Arch. John Prescott is sipping champagne and memorising jokes for his new career as an after-dinner speaker. The phone rings. It's his agent.
Agent: Morning, John.
Prescott: Any Christmas bookings?
Agent: Er, a couple of cancellations, I'm afraid. Lousy feedback from last night.
Prescott: But I was fantastic. I've got the whole speech off by heart.
Agent: Yeah, and what about the verbal soup?
Prescott: The what?
Agent: Strange usages, nouns for adjectives, mangled participles, you know, the "uniquely entertaining lexical confusion which raises every performance to a tragic yet somehow life-affirming pitch of absurdity".
Prescott: Eh?
Agent: Your publicity material. That's what they're paying for.
Prescott: Listen. I was there to make an after-dinner speech. Which I did. With no mistakes.
Agent: Any fool can speak English. They want you to speak Prezza.
Prescott: But . . . they'll just be laughing at me.
Agent: Welcome to showbiz, John.
Prescott: I might as well put on a bloody skirt and do panto.
Agent: Really? Amazing coincidence! Kevin Spacey's called. He's offered you Mother Goose at the Old Vic. You're a mate of his, aren't you . . . John? Are you there?
Scene 2: The Treasury. Gordon is at his computer. With two bruised fingers he hammers out a Christmas email to staff.
Dear All,
Greetings from the Chancellor. I hope you've all completed your purchases without overstepping your spending forecasts. Sadly, I shan't be able to join you for this evening's party which is scheduled to last from 5pm to 7pm. Nibbles and whisky will be provided. I'm confident that one bottle will suffice. If required, Stephen Timms is authorised to buy a second bag of peanuts, but any additional expenditure will be deducted from next year's hospitality budget.
This Christmas I've felt it prudent to make no provision for recorded music because communal singing uses less electricity. I'm aware that these gatherings have the potential to become quite racy and this is something of which I approve. But please practise "responsible raciness". Before dancing on desks, make sure all computers are covered, and if you must photocopy your bottom remember to press "Inksaver". Merry Christmas, and don't forget to turn off the lights.
PS: See you all on Dec 27.
Scene 3: The Blairs' flat. The Browns have been invited for Christmas Day. Tony is stirring the mulled wine. Cherie is pulling the crackers and pocketing the free gifts. Leo is playing with a toy cluster bomb from George Bush.
Leo: Wheee!
He throws it in the air. It goes bang and 64 bomblets shower over the carpet.
Tony: Not again, Leo. Daddy has to pick all those up.
Gordon: Well, at least they don't explode in your face.
Tony: Take it outside, Leo. Go on, into the Rose Garden.
Exit Leo with his cluster bomb.
Sarah: Time for the Queen's message.
Cherie: Oh per-lease. Not that posh cow.
Sarah turns on the TV. The Queen appears in a gold-embroidered frock.
Sarah: She can't help being posh.
Cherie: Well, she can certainly help that dress.
Sarah: She'd probably say the same about yours.
Cherie: Alexander McQueen, thank you. Carole chose it for me.
Sarah: Oh! I didn't realise she was colour-blind.
Cherie: It's gorgeous. Not that you could tell. You frump.
Sarah: Oh yeah. You can talk.
Tony: Girls, girls, please.
Sarah: She called me a frump.
Tony: She didn't mean it. Mulled wine everyone?
Cherie [grits her teeth]: Hmm.
John: Is Santa coming?
Gordon: He's already been, John.
Cherie: Hello John, do you want a lovely surprise from Auntie Cherie?
John: Yes peeeese.
John toddles over to her
Cherie [hisses]: Santa doesn't exist.
John: What?
Cherie: There's no Santa. It's just some fat idiot like your dad, pretending.
John: No Santaa-aah-ah? Mummy!
He bursts into tears.
Sarah: You cow. You've ruined his Christmas.
Sarah pulls Cherie's hair but it comes off in her hand. Cherie is bald.
Cherie: Aaaah! How dare you?
Cherie swings at Sarah who ducks.
Sarah: Missed.
Sarah picks up the Christmas pudding and throws it at Cherie.
Sarah: Stuff that in your letter- box gob.
Cherie ducks and it hits Tony. Cherie takes a swing at Sarah. Tony dives in to separate them.
Tony: Come on, guys. Break it up.
Gordon: Hands off my wife, posh boy.
Gordon grabs Tony and shoves him into the tureen of mulled wine. Tony throws himself at Gordon as Cherie and Sarah grapple.
Cherie: Pampered tart!
Sarah: Scouse bitch!
Tony: Scots miser!
Gordon: Stuck-up yuppie! Eat that.
Gordon throws the pudding at Tony but it splats on to the Queen.
Queen: . . . as we look to our leaders to spread peace and goodwill across the world.
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