Life & Society
Julian's Week
Published 06 September 2007
David Cameron's freshly exfoliated face leers at us like an airbrushed baby's bottom
My psychic juices are flowing. I’ve tuned in to the general public’s state of mind and I’m concerned. You’re not yourselves. You’re feeling down. Don’t pretend otherwise. Summer is over and you’ve hardly had a sniff of sunshine, mortgage repayments keep going up and Jodie Marsh’s career isn’t going very well at all. What is there for you to live for? Am I right, or am I right?
Don't worry, my darlings. Uncle Julian is here to put a positive spin on things. You're in good hands. I once convinced Ann Widdecombe that she'd look better blonde. I know what I'm doing. You must count your blessings.
First, we have the Rugby World Cup to look forward to. A couple of close ups of some trembling tree-trunk thighs, and all will seem well with the world, trust me. (As if there weren't enough hookers in Paris as it is.)
There seems to be a general feeling that the England team aren't up to much this year. Nonsense. Our boys won't let us down. It may be that the young Wilkinson chap has a broken nail or something, but there are plenty more where he came from. Real grunters, with necks like Nicaraguan volcanos, steaming with lusty eruptions, barely contained.
All that man-on-man action is very life-affirming, don't you think? Whatever side of the church you sit on.
I only hope I have the strength left for the "Winners' Jacuzzi Party" I'm planning to throw. It's going to be an intimate affair - just me and the finalists, I think. They'd better bring their reserve players; I once wore out the Bulgarian Olympic swimming team in 20 minutes."Come as you are!" - that's what I'm going to have printed on the invites. It should raise a smile with the New Zealanders. (Not too many long words, I trust.)
I'm going to dress casual and mix and mingle. I know how to get a party going. There may be an impromptu game of "pass the parcel" in the steam room, but nothing's planned.
And there's more news to be joyful about: our boys are leaving Basra. They'll be needing a warm welcome, too. It's going to be party season round at my house. My back passage is going to be chock-a-block. I'm normally never happy to see a soldier withdraw, but these are special circumstances. It's best to know when you're not wanted any more.
Don't forget the excitement that might be coming our way if Gordon Brown calls a snap election. David Cameron's earnest, freshly exfoliated face will be leering at us from every available media outlet, like an airbrushed baby's bottom. Then, during the inevitable live TV debate, the two leaders will go at each other like intellectual pitbulls.
My crystal ball tells me that our Gordon will flick David aside, like a disdainful duchess flushing a spider down the toilet.
As you can tell, so far I’m loving Gordon Brown as our Prime Minister. I don’t care who knows it. Given that the democratic process amounts to one of delegation, I sleep well at night knowing that such a bright spark is at the helm. Cameron or Brown? Post-room nerd or professor? They both have their charms ...
And of course, Christmas is just around the corner. Before you know it Santa will be shooting down your chimney, and what's more, I believe that this year his sack is absolutely bulging.
So, you see, life isn't so bad. Life is beautiful. Autumn is beautiful. Even the orchestra is beautiful. If you're still miserable after reading about all the good things that are about to happen, then shame on you. It may be that you have to give in to your depression.
But as long as you remind yourself every now and again that you're not Jodie Marsh it won't last long.
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