UK Politics
Our prime minister in waiting takes on Tehran
Published 09 April 2007
Gordon's simple solution for our captured servicemen is to invade Iran with his crack cabinet. That's before David Miliband scuppers his plans.
Scene 1: No 10. John Reid arrives to find Tony, surrounded by the morning papers, sobbing at
his desk.
Reid: Hi. How can I help?
Tony: Oh, it's awful. Look at this. Our brave servicemen, and one woman, languishing in Iran. I feel terrible.
Reid: It'll be OK.
Tony: No it won't. See the headlines. I'm getting the blame! [Recovers] Now John, you're the great expert on surprise break-outs. I want you to prepare a briefing for the Hand
of History Hussars, a newly commissioned regiment of international crisis-busters. They fly to Iran at dawn tomorrow.
Reid: You'll be too late.
Tony: What?
Reid: Gordon's about to rescue the soldiers himself. A task force of cabinet volunteers leaves Downing Street at midnight.
Tony: Sneaky sod! How come I'm never told about these things?
Reid: Too many leaks, Tony. Most of them traceable to you.
Tony: Rubbish. I'd love to leak stuff, but Fatso keeps me totally in the dark. I didn't even know about those tax cuts till he got up at the despatch box. Anyway, he's not getting all the glory. I'm off to Tehran myself!
Scene 2. RAF Brize Norton. Gordon addresses his hand-picked cabinet task force. A VC10 stands ready on the Tarmac.
Gordon: OK, team. Jack, Margaret, Des, Peter. All set?
The team: All set, Captain.
Gordon: Excellent. Now, I'm delighted to be leading such a well-balanced group. Timid subservience on the one hand. Grovelling sycophancy on the other. Just what I like. And today's mission will go down as one of the best equipped in recent military history. We've even got a flak-jacket each!
Jack Straw: Ooh goodie! What a luxury!
David Miliband trots up with a flask of soup. He stops, uncertainly.
Miliband: Sorry I'm late. Mummy made me an extra helping of oxtail for the journey. Gosh, this looks exciting. Mind you . . .
Gordon: Joining us or not?
Miliband: Er, as I've said, I'm sure you'll make an excellent captain. And that's all I'm prepared to say.
Gordon: But are you coming?
Miliband [wavering]: Well, er, let me reiterate that I've said what I've said. And er, as I said, that's what I've said.
Gordon: Oh, get in, you dithering idiot.
They climb into the VC10. As the doors close, a dark shape steals aboard.
Scene 3: Tehran. The team have parachuted into the city centre and are peering about trying to find their bearings.
Miliband: Shall we get a group saver ticket? Much cheaper than a taxi.
Gordon: Not till we know where we're going.
Beckett [unfolds a map]: Here are Sir John Scarlett's directions. He said we could get there in 45 minutes.
Gordon: That could mean anything.
Beckett: [Reads] "Make your way to Death to America Square. Take the first left into September 11th Avenue. Then turn right into Einstein Organised the Holocaust Street. Walk 200 yards and you'll find yourself on Hang Bush Lane just opposite the world-famous Dance on the Shah's Grave Hospital for Pulmonary Diseases. Take the next right past Hitler Had Some Sensible Ideas Crescent and you'll find the hostages in the basement of Ali's 24-Hour Express Kebab. If not, well, who said intelligence was an exact science? Good luck."
Gordon: Bloody hopeless! His department is finished.
Miliband: You know, Daddy always said if you're lost, ask a policeman. Excuse me. Cooee!
He crosses the road towards a bearded man in a uniform holding a machine-gun.
Gordon: Not him! He's one of the Revolutionary G . . . oh God.
Scene 4: A military prison canteen. The cabinet are under arrest. Margaret is trying to keep their spirits up.
Beckett: It's like a rainy day in the caravan! Who's for Scrabble?
Gordon: Oh, belt up. Now listen, they'll probably ask us to read out a grovelling apology. I need a volunteer.
Everyone: Me, Gordon. Please. Me!
The door opens and a new hostage is shoved into the room.
Gordon: Tony?
Tony: Hi there. Honestly, these people haven't a clue how to greet visiting statesmen. No red carpet or anything.
Gordon: What on earth are you doing here?
Tony: Just dropped in to sort things out. I've got the text of the apology.
Margaret, you read it out. I'm busy pressurising them to bring us a copy of the Geneva Convention.
Gordon: What the hell for?
Tony: Under Protocol 769(a), serving prime ministers are entitled to see a wine list.
The door opens and a TV crew arrives. Gordon panics.
Gordon: Cameras! I'm not here.
He cowers behind Des Browne and Peter Hain.
Gordon [whispers]: Des, go on. Read out the apology. Promise them anything. Aid! Medicine! Nukes! . . . Chelsea Football Club. Just get me out of here.
The crew sets up a TV screen which shows the latest from News 24.
Nick Robinson: I'm outside the Iranian embassy in London where a desperate crowd is chanting its message to the Iranian president. Release our soldiers. And keep the British cabinet for ever.
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