I sent Dominic Raab to America to get him away from the Anklegate trouble, reminding him to pack an atlas and make sure he’s pointing in the right direction.
His meeting with Vice President Pence went off very well. Soapy Mike is an odd chap, very big on religion and worried sick about being caught contemplating hanky-panky. He insisted on standing at least five feet away from Dominic at all times which put a bit of a damper on proceedings. Although it certainly saves one’s ankles from being savaged.
Anyway, the other Mike, Mike Pompeo, says there’ll be no problem doing a trade deal. He’s head of the CIA so he already knows what our plans are. I certainly don’t.
Little Cummings has always had a bit of a ravaged look about him but since he’s taken to wearing shades he reminds me of an undernourished version of Michael Keaton in “American Assassin.” More bats than Batman.
His latest wheeze involves my losing a “No Confidence” vote in the House of Commons and refusing to resign; then calling a General Election for after Brexit day, and running the clock down so we leave the EU by default: the idea is that if nobody’s in charge then nobody can prevent it.
I inform him that I’m not nobody, and I’m not planning on losing any votes. Cummings sighs and points out that it’s been done before, by King Charles I, so there’s precedent for it. There’s precedent for having your head chopped off, as well.
Pyramid of Piffle 