Commons Sex and innocence
Relative-gate
Add sex to sleaze today in parliament.
What a heady mix of scandal is swirling around the Commons. As the Euro-debate dribbles on eternally to no interest, it’s back to the parliamentary scandal fest. Donorgate has been replaced by Relative-gate. One reason that MPs employ spouses is to cement marital harmony.
Nothing much has changed since I wrote about this ten years ago.
In the sexual stakes Parliament fails to live down to its image. Inevitably, there must be some sexual activity. Unavoidable where several thousand sexually active people, separated from their spouses, live jowl by cheek for long periods of the day. No doubt there are furtive encounters in Parliamentary offices when resistance levels are falling and testosterone levels are rising.
Some serial seducers of both sexes roam the corridors. But rampant lechery is still uncommon. Exhaustion is an effective bromide for the great majority of Parliamentarians.
The prime motive for Parliamentary infidelity is the divergence of interests between partners created by Parliamentary work. The good MP must be deeply absorbed in the work. If those interests are not shared by the partner, divisions in the relationship appear and widen dangerously.
More relationships are wrecked by the excessive demands of the Parliamentary workload than by the insistent demands of the loins.
Relationships are secure and strong if there is shared dedication to the work of the MP. There is more than enough activity there to occupy the lives and libidos of both partners.
The new Commons Witch Finder General has hinted at a ban on employing relatives. It would be a bad move.
Making your spouse your secretary is the best way to avoid the disruption and heartache of making your secretary your spouse.
Innocence violated
Two tales of MP innocence are circulating here.
One Welsh MP is freely sharing his own embarrassment. He had a call from a local newspaper, ‘What do you think of the amount of dogging that is going on in your constituency.’
‘I strongly support it,’ he helpfully suggested, ‘There should be more.’
The bemused reporter pressed for more details of the MP's enthusiasm. The MP was under the impression that dogging meant clearing the streets of stray dogs. It was delicately explained to him that there was another meaning to the word. His enthusiasm was withdrawn.
Ronnie Campbell MP offered to wear a purple shirt to mark National Fetish Day. He was baffled when asked what his personal fetish is. Ronnie thought fetish was something to do with fretting. He wanted to do his bit against depression. He will now have a purple-less day.
Probe off
What promised to be a fascinating session of the Public Administration Committee has been cancelled.
Three MPs who have been or are in the pay of outside bodies were to be asked to inform us on lobbying.
One has recently taken on a £115,000 job from the nuclear industry. Alas the session has been cancelled. The Conservative MP witness is ill.
It would have been unfair to grill the Labour and LibDems on their own. There are hints that the hungry press are baying for more grist for their scandal mill.
Love the Murphy / Hain Blog poem!
What about this?
An ancient impoverished Politician meeteth three nerds bidden to a ‘Focous Groupe’, and detaineth one.
It is an ancient Tonyblair
And he stoppeth one of three
‘By thy manic grin and glittering eye
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?
The conference doors are open wide
I’m invited to participate
The body searches’ almost done
They’ll bar me if I’m late’
He holds him with a withered hand
‘I was New Labour!’ quoth he
‘Hold off! Unhand me, bat-eared loon!’
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.
The participante is spell-bound by the eye of the old lying dog, and constrained to hear his tale.
He holds him with his glittering eye
The participant stood still
And listens like a chastened hack
The Tonyblair hath his will
‘The Party was cheered, the Tories cleared
Merrily did we chop
Away The House, away the State,
Away the whole damn lot…….’
The conference clone…..he shook his phone
Yet he cannot choose but hear
And so spake on that ancient man
The bright-eyed Tonyblair
The ancient Politician relates how his new Government sold everiething and bade diverse famous personages and the free market to control the countrie.
‘Prices went higher everyday
We sold off the mast at noon ……..’
The participant….. he began to rant
For he heard the words ‘per diem’
The celebrities were gathering all………
President Clinton paced into the hall
And she nor shy, nor nervous
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry Secret Service.
The Participante heareth some Conference Theme Musick ; but theTonyblair continueth his tale.
‘The Unions came up from the Left
Out of Old Labour came they
I gave them cash they ne’er had seen
And honours bright, bestowed by the Queen
And they, on the Right,
Went down into the sea.
Cameron now came up on the right
Instead of Howard came he
And on the left, Gordon glowered
With his knife out, just for me
But a good market wind took up behind
T’was sure, we had control
We spent a ton of someone’s cash,
E’en debt was sold with such panache!
The money flowed with never a jag
A river steep and wide.
The Government layers did magnify
And debt lay all about
But the management fees
Were outsourced with ease
With that sweet borrowing
Beyond the shadow of The House
Rejoiced the management consultants
The nation bought their rich reports
In blue, glossy green and velvet black
And every word, though quite absurd,
every line was a perfumed distillation
(from the NHS to education)
of gold plated, perfect crap.
Oh happy living things!
No tongue their wisdom could deny!
God forbid I should give a back hander
- but they promised me a job for later!
Sure, my blue-skies policy
looked kindly on me
And I had a job for later.
Nor fret, nor plan
Like Superman
I crushed the hacks each month
It was such sweet enjoyment!
And a thousand, thousand slimy targets
Were counted for employment
At length did cross with Bush and Rice
O’er the pond they came
As such devout and Christian souls
I hailed them in God’s name
We waged crusades, that ere were waged
And slaked their thirst for oil
And if ever Dick Cheney called for more
We outsourced him all the toil
Shock and Awe sprang up ahead
The Tonyblair did his share
And everyday for food or play
Jumped to George’s ‘Yo, Blair!’
Yet I had done a wicked thing
And it would turn out bad
Of all the wars I waged the war
That now they called ‘jihad’.
Ah welladay!
That ever this should be!
What evil looks had I from old and young
Instead of a cross
A foot and mouth about my neck was hung
And now the market slowed
And it grew wondrous cold.
Debt mast-high came floating by
A trillion-pound black hole.
All, all were in debt
But Instead of good jobs
We made more yobs
And set the nation to gamble
We’d get them drunk!
We’d made them spend
What thrift that ere there was!
Till a great confydensse tryck, called Ye Private Ffinance Initiatives, came through the financial fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality.
And now the PFI came and it
was wonderous and strong
It struck with its leveraged junk bond funds
And drove us East along
And lo ! the PFI proveth a deception of good omen, and ye bookes were balanced in most seemly fashion.
The Debt did split like a thunder fit
Gordon steered us through
And a market surge sprang up behind
But the debt mountain did follow
And everyday with bills to pay
Came to the chancellors hollow
Down went the banks
The hedge funds went down
The sale of houses wallowing
We were the first that ever burst
Into that sea of borrowing
The Markets were here,
The markets were there
The Markets were all around
They cracked and growled
Outsourced and howled.
Like noises in a swound
With policies green and skies still blue
We stuck. No growth, no poverty reduction
As idle as an outsourced geek
Upon a system malfunction
Plastic, plastic everywhere -
But never a bank would lend
Plastic, plastic everywhere -
Nor any dollar to spend.
At home or abroad,
In the House with his hoard,
Gordon hovered for vespers nine
Through day and night,
Though media smoke white,
He plotted, biding his time.
The ancient Mariner suddenly resigneth from the House never to return and becomes a wandering soothsayer.
“God save thee, Ancient Tonyblair!
From the fiends that plague thee thus!
What’s it about?” Brown kicked me out.
With his great fist, he clunked the Tonyblair.
Alone, alone. All, all alone.
Alone in Connaught Square
But at least no Arab - if dressed in robes -
Could manage to murder me there.
To be continued…………
Posted by: Anon France | January 31, 2008 at 03:13 PM