‘…a grown-up way of doing politics’ - Damien Green
A scenario:
A small ringleted girl in brown leather trousers and a chin-high blouse knocks on a front door somewhere in rural Westminster. It is opened by a young boy in ill-fitting jumper and shorts.
Girl: Jeremy, would you like to come out to play?
Boy: But Theresa, you’ve got blood on your nose.
Girl: Yes, I fell over myself in the wheat fields. Please Jeremy.
Boy: Why? You never liked me before.
Girl: My friends are all on holiday in Europe, and I do like you really, I was just showing off.
Boy: No, go away Theresa.
Girl: Oh, please Jeremy… I’ve got some money.
Boy: How much?
Girl: Not a lot, my Irish neighbours took it.
Boy: Then certainly not. Besides, I’m going up the old bear pit with John and Len, and toffs aren’t allowed.
Exit girl, crying, stage right.
