Scene 1: No 10. Tony is at the computer, refining his entry on Wikipedia. He types: "Blair, Anthony. Britain’s greatest wartime prime minister since Churchill."
Gordon runs in, panicking.
Gordon: Disaster, Tony! Have you heard? A mallard with bird flu has been found in Trafalgar Square.
Tony: Oh my God.
Gordon: I've drafted a statement for you.
Tony: Hang on. Shouldn't Miliband be handling this?
Gordon: He's in Suffolk. Quick. The cameras are outside.
Tony takes the statement.
Tony [reads]: "I regret to announce that a dead duck has been found in Whitehall. It will be removed immediately and destroyed in order to spare the country months of needless suffering and distress." [Beat] Gordon, piss off. I'm staying till June. Right?
Gordon: You won't budge -
Tony: No way.
Gordon: So you'll take the flak for the May elections? Thanks, matey.
Scene 2: Next day. Tony rechecks his Wikipedia entry.
Tony [typing]: "Blair, Anthony. Britain's greatest wartime prime minister . . . ever." That's more like it.
Margaret Beckett comes in, sniffling.
Tony: Hi, Margaret.
Beckett: Atishoo.
Tony: Bless you. Hope it's not -
Beckett: No, just a throat bug. Is Cashpoint here yet?
Tony: I bloody hope not. I'm avoiding him.
Beckett: But it's our meeting. The three-monthly update on Palestine. He's due any minute.
Tony: Oh God! I forgot. Cover for me.
Tony rushes to the window, throws it open and climbs out just as Lord Levy enters.
Levy: Where is he?
Beckett: Er . . . just popped out.
Levy crosses to the window and leans out. Tony is standing on the ledge, pretending to examine the brickwork.
Tony [beaming]: Hi, Mike.
Levy: Pathetic little sneak. Hiding.
Tony: Er, no. Just checking the external fabric. Been here ten years, thought it might need sprucing up. [He climbs back in.] So Palestine. How's the peace plan?
Levy: They're shooting each other in the streets. I know how they feel.
Tony: Come on, Michael. I know things are tricky but what's the worst that'll happen? A fine, and a little tag on your ankle, and maybe a hundred hours in a shopping centre removing anti-Labour graffiti. Serving the party as always! And when Gordon takes over you'll be drafted in to help reform the criminal justice system: "Our man in the know." You made a little mistake. So what? You can bounce back. That's the beauty of new Labour. We've abolished disgrace.
Levy: The only mistake I made was to trust you.
Tony: Come on. We've got to rise above all this nonsense. Now, Palestine. I believe posterity will never forgive us if we fail to -
Levy: Stuff posterity. If I go down, you're coming with me. That's a promise. Unlike you I'm a man of my word.
Tony: Please, Michael. Don't storm out.
Levy storms out.
Tony: OK, do storm out. Crikey. How the hell do we shut him up?
Beckett: Atishoo!
Tony: Bless you.
Beat.
Tony [thinking]: Ah!
Scene 3: A week later. The No 10 Rose Garden. Levy arrives and is greeted by Margaret Beckett. Beside her on the grass is a large box covered in a white tablecloth.
Beckett: Hi there, Cashp- I mean hello, Michael. The PM's so pleased you could make it. That's a beautiful suit.
Levy: Thanks. Er, why are you wearing a mask?
Beckett: Slight bug. Don't want to pass it on. Now, Tony's very keen that today's ceremony will mark a new start for Palestine.
Levy: What's the idea?
Beckett: We're releasing 12 white doves from the Rose Garden to symbolise Downing Street's commitment to a lasting settlement in the Middle East.
Levy: A bunch of birds. You think that'll bring them back to the negotiating table?
Beckett: Worth a try. Tony wants the children of tomorrow to read in
their history books that we worked tirelessly in the holy cause of peace.
Levy: Very touching. Where is the old bullshitter?
Beckett: Having lunch with a publisher.
Levy: Better wait for him, I suppose.
Beckett: Yes, he's busy after that um . . . posing for the Pristina Waxwork Museum. You know those Kosovars - still adore him.
Levy [suspicious]: Hmmm. And where are the ambassadors?
Beckett: On their way. So. Let's get started.
Levy: With just me?
Beckett: Ready?
Levy: This is ridiculous. This means nothing. What are you -
Beckett: Release the doves!
She whips off the tablecloth and darts behind a rhododendron bush. Twelve sick pigeons covered in Tipp-Ex flap feebly in the air, sneezing. Levy stares in bemusement.
Levy: But these are . . .
A pigeon expires in mid-air and splats on to Levy's handmade brogues.
Levy: Aaaah!
He stoops and flicks the carcass off his precious shoes.
Levy: Oh my God. I touched it. Help. What do I do?
Beckett [from behind the bush]: Try NHS Direct.
