therealpm | (no subject)

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I find it somewhat ironic that Cameron should announce the forcible opening up of public service provision to private sector companies on the day that Southern Cross has folded. The man's timing is impeccable. Were he not being crucified in absentia by the commons and the popular press over his failure to disassociate himself from Murdoch with sufficient alacrity and zeal, I have no doubt that this would be considered a major faux pas. As it is, he's made so many in the past 14 months that this one barely registers.

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*flicks ice cube at*

Are you quite done monologuing?

*raises an eyebrow*

Have you quie finished sulking into your gin and tonic?

Only because it's finished.

~~Like Cameron?~~

*sets book down*

Is this going to be another one of those evenings?

I have precisely no idea what evenings you're talking about.

*stalks over to drinks cupboard*

*stretches*

In that case, I shall leave you to it.

You have yet to define the evenings you mentioned.

*passes over the wine glass he had been filling*

*sniffs glass*

You have certain, characteristic, patterns of behaviour whenever the papers are sufficiently perceptive to paint your party in a realistic light.

You're supposed to drink it, not just look at it.

I'm glad you have ample time to psychoanalyse me. Is that your new hobby?

*sets it to one side*

Perhaps, but not tonight.

George, it is a simple matter or observation- the level of gin in the bottle decreases far more rapidly in times of crisis,

~~Try to be helpful...~~

I suppose it makes sense after the observations of Blair's "drinking problem"

*levers self out of chair and drifts off towards the staircase*

As I have said, if you are intent on stewing in gin and tonic water, then I shall leave you to do so. I will be upstairs, should you feel the need for company rather than calvados.

*watches Peter's retreat for a moment*

*sags down into Peter's vacated armchair*

*Takes substantial gulp of drink and hangs head*

Give me your glasses.

Hmm?

*looks up from book*

Do try to be more specific, George.

The red ones.

The red hideous ones.

The red hideous ones you promised me you would never wear again.

Red and hideous?

I know of no such thing, you must be mistaken, dear boy.

The ones you wore with Stephen Fry today.

Oh those ones. Whatever for?

It's a surprise

*returns to book*

I'm not terribly fond of surprises. What do you intend to do with them?

*sigh* If you must know I intend to throw them out of the back window, watch them shatter into a thousand pieces and then laugh.

You disrupt space and time wearing them. It's not the 80s. You can tell this because you haven't a
Moustache

Well in that case, I must decline. I thought I might wear them this weekend, they would go rather well with my jumper...

*glances up*

....and your face too, at present.

For the first time, I can only be grateful that we don't venture out together in public.

We may however have to check with a doctor that your mind isn't going in your old age.

Your words cut me to the quick, now if you don't mind, I'd like to finish this chapter before bed.

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