How disappointing

[therealpm]

I did hope that my comments at last week's dinner might have encouraged our frontbench to be slightly better at dissecting Osborne's populist shambles of a budget (endured in the midst of some very dubious company). It is therefore somewhat disappointing to note that the Tories were savaged more effectively by their own leadership than by ours, a situation likely to become only more frequent with Mr Miliband's lamentable departure.

Comments

[bamfbercow]

*John has to laugh at that.*

I am not sitting on the fence! I don't know why you insist on insinuating that by being consistent in dutifully adhering to the requirements of my post I am somehow acting out a betrayal. It is rather childish, Peter.

[therealpm]

*He puts on an exaggerated pout.*

But we sent our best and brightest to sway you towards a proper political party! How could you resist our Leader's boundless charm and charisma?

[bamfbercow]

I am not going to dignify that question with a substantive response.

Besides which, you were the one who explained to the then Prime Minister that there are people in the world to whom there are more important things than party politics. Pretending you do not understand the sentiment for comic effect is wearing thinner each time you attempt it.

[therealpm]

*He huffs.*

And you have no reason to be ill-humoured tonight as you have neither suffered an assault on your ears, nor been subjected to rather rapid changes in temperature.

[bamfbercow]

Perhaps next time you spill a scalding beverage over your lap in my presence I'll leave it soak through your clothes and burn you if my attempts at helping were so woefully inadequate, misplaced and irritating.

Anyway, I am not "ill-humoured" this evening. In case I haven't made myself clear, I am having quite an enjoyable time verbally sparring and drinking with you after consuming a quite delicious meal. It would be pretentious of me to irascible under the current circumstances.

[therealpm]

Perhaps next time you could instruct your children to leave my ears alone.

Indeed. You have never been known to be pretentious. Not once.

*He holds out his glass for John to refill.*

[bamfbercow]

*John refills Peter's glass as he replies.*

Is that why you threw your drink about? I thought it was something serious.

And with regard to the aspersions you are casting on my character, I think it is only fair to recognise that I have humbled quite considerably since my formative years. Not that you would have any experience of being humbled, of course...

[therealpm]

...you believed I had some sort of serious ailment that caused me to fling my drink about, say a stroke or a heart attack, and your response was to offer me wine?

*Peter looks mildly horrified.*

Good grief, Bercow.

*He takes a big sip of his drink.*

I shall have to be extra careful never to need medical assistance in your vicinity. You might attempt blood-letting or something similarly foolish.

[bamfbercow]

If the offer of wine offends you so, then you're more than welcome to no longer drink any.

*John refills his own glass.*

[therealpm]

Horrified, John, not offended.

*He glances across to the stairway. The children are hiding behind the bannisters, looking worried.*

[bamfbercow]

*John follows Peter's line of sight.*

They should probably go to bed soon - Sally's due home at any moment and despite it being a school holiday I doubt she'd be pleased if they were still awake upon her return...

Would you care to say goodnight to them or shall I go and usher them into bed right away?

[therealpm]

*Peter sighs. He should probably make sure he doesn't become Jemima's personal bogeyman, though doing so would probably secure the safety of his ears. He sets his glass down, stretches a little to shake off the cramp, then heads towards the stairs. He's barely walked a few paces before Jemima screeches 'Werewolf!' and runs away to her room.

'Bugger'*

[bamfbercow]

*John watches, horrified, as his daughter rushes off.*

Jemima!

*John stands up, quickly apologises to Peter and heads off to Jemima's room to try and talk to her.*

[therealpm]

*He straightens his spine and is careful to look confused and a little disappointed- Freddie and Oliver are still watching from the stairs.*

Any preferences for a bedtime story? I know Oliver will want something with dinosaurs....

[bamfbercow]

*About half an hour later, John emerges from Jemima's bedroom. She'd left briefly to do her teeth, running between the rooms and locking the bathroom door as fast as she could, but not for anything else. The conversation had been tough, and John knew he hadn't entirely convinced Jemima that Peter wasn't a danger, but it was a start. He just hoped she would be more inclined to cooperation when she woke up in the morning.*

*John sighed as he closed the bedroom door behind him. He had no idea how he was going to handle this one with Peter. If Peter were still here.*

*Suddenly terrified that Peter had run off to go and do something incredibly stupid, John rushed to the livingroom to try and find the other wizard. He felt remarkably foolish when he realised Peter was still reading a story to Oliver and Freddie.*

*Instead of interrupting them, John topped up Peter's wine glass, sat down on the sofa and waited.*

[therealpm]

*The third time Freddie asked him to read another chapter, Peter gently refused, pointing out that it was a school day tomorrow and that whilst Horrible Histories was undoubtedly educational, it would have to wait until the following night. Grudgingly, Freddie agrees (Oliver is already bleary eyed and about to drop off.

After bidding the two a good night, Peter slips quietly down the stairs, intending to be off before John finishes talking to Jemima in the hope of avoiding John's undoubtedly well intentioned but unbearably awkward attempts at consolation. His plans are dashed by John's uncharacteristic brevity.*

[bamfbercow]

*John stands up as soon as he spots Peter enter the room. John knows he should say something but quite what he's not entirely sure.*

I... I've topped up your glass.

I'm not entirely certain what dessert we've got in the place, but there should be an array of ice cream flavours, should you require a sweet.

*John sits down, picks up his own wine and drinks so he can't say anything else.*

[therealpm]

*Peter groans inwardly. He can't leave now though, not when John's just topped up his drink. It would be rude.

As he seats himself once more on the sofa, they hear the soft thunder of tiny feet dashing from one bedroom to another. Peter strains his ears, but he cannot hear the hushed discussion that he know must be being whispered between the children right now. He drinks some of the wine.*

[bamfbercow]

*John is about to attempt conversation again, when he hears the door open and Sally call through. John glances quickly at Peter to make sure he's not going to make a run for it when Sally arrives.*

*Sally walks into the room, drops her bag by the door and starts talking about her day. She turns towards the sofa, looks at them and falls silent. John will never know how she does it, but he will forever be grateful for Sally's ability to see the obvious and cut right to the point.*

*"What's happened?" she says. When neither of them answer quickly enough, she walks right over to the sofa and pulls them both into a hug and demands to know what happened.*

Gah- Sally! The wine-!

[therealpm]

*Peter just looks ruefully at his multi-beverage splattered trousers and wonders whether to dispense with dry cleaning and just go straight to the tailor's tomorrow.*