In a new feature for Scrapbook, “Doctor Dave” looks back at Cameron’s keynote speech yesterday.
Anyone who has managed to retain some sense of optimism at an impending five years of Tory rule would surely have had that hope vanquished yesterday, as David Cameron revealed the full horror of the situation to the nation during his first conference speech as PM. Starting gently in DaveMode with edgy comic references to Monty Python and Fawlty Towers he then stepped things up a gear by taking personal responsibility for Bloody Sunday:
“When this country has got it wrong, we’ll admit it, as I did when I apologised for Bloody Sunday.” – David Cameron
Cameron then jolted the somnolent audience into life by suggesting Maggie Thatcher would be back in Number 10 by the end of next week. Groins began to moisten and nipples stiffened as the faithful began to believe that She was returning, ready to seize power once again and dispatch those horrid Liberals whence they came. Down in the moshpit Michael Heseltine began to turn a sickly shade of puce, his catheter bag filling with unnatural speed. Mercifully, he soon realised her presence at Downing St would only be temporary, forming the centrepiece of her 137th birthday celebrations.
Amidst this sense of disappointment DC sought to improve the mood by congratulating Ian Duncan-Smith for ‘giving the party back its heart’. Quite why IDS felt he needed one of those is anyone’s guess, although they do occasionally come in handy during patronising visits to council estates. The language became frighteningly militaristic as Cambo promised that he would “defend the country using any means at our disposal” and talked of “sweeping across West Yorkshire”. In the context of Liam Fox’s concerns about the defence budget, perhaps we should prepare for a future where bloody civil war is the only justification for the existence of the British Army.
Skipton, prepare your castle for battle!
Sensing that his audience were beginning to lose heart, Dave fired a howitzer that no-one saw coming and which temporarily stunned them into a dream-like state. Suddenly they were in a barn in Keighley in the 1920’s. A rudimentary boxing ring had been fashioned from some bails of hay and old rope. Blood, sweat and tears stained the dirty floor and an ogrish man in grey Y-fronts was pacing up and down. DC appeared as himself in the role of a bare-knuckle boxing MC: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Big Man on the Side of the People! I give you Eric ‘The Quangobasher’ Pickles!’ Cue roars of approval from intoxicated dairy farmers and millionaire Belizean tax exiles.
Regaining consciousness in present day Brum, Pickles remains the only man to appear as if he is melting into himself; face, chin, neck and shoulders all merging to create a unicameral blend of smug self-righteousness. In this context, “The Big Society” becomes something rather different. Cameron’s lectern even had the subliminal order ‘Eat’ written on it, when read vertically. It now seems certain that Pickled Egg is the poster boy for the obesity generation.
So what have we learnt? That Dave likes John Cleese? That a second Civil War is inevitable? That the PM’s speechwriters enjoy stories about little girls sending money to the Treasury? The only conclusion is surely that the next few years are going to be hugely depressing.
Luckily I have a solution:
“Hello. Is that the Police Service of Northern Ireland? I have some information about the Bloody Sunday massacre…”
