One Woman’s Week: Getting My Scapegoat
WHEN I was a younger woman, I flirted with the idea of getting into politics because of my diplomatic skills, impeccably high moral standards and vocabulary consisting of roughly a million words. This is why I cannot fathom how recent events have come to decimate our once so fabulous government. It's at times like these that I wish I had the power to use my skills as a primary school teacher to get things back in line.
Some might say that running a class of P2s can never prepare you for running an entire House of Commons. But those people are basically retarded, as anyone with any sense knows it's exactly the same. When I was forced to watch poor Michael Martin under attack from the media, I was reminded of a time I was victimised in a similar way. It was Arts and Crafts day with my P2s and I was in the middle of explaining the intricacies of Michelangelo's 'David' to the girls in the clay group when there was an almighty ruckus from the boys at the back: Gary Murney (known imbecile) had got a bead stuck up his nose. I took him to the headmistress so he could learn just how serious his foolishness really was. But would you believe it: when I got there, Mrs Dixon sent Gary to the nurse and detained me for almost half an hour to bang on about how disappointing my performance was and how I was looking at a disciplinary for being unable to control my class.
Now, I understand that the problem with MPs isn't that they're putting beads up their noses during Prime Minister's Questions, but if they were, you can guarantee poor Michael Martin would have taken the hit. He never should have been blamed for other people's cock-ups, just like I should never have been punished for Gary Murney's low IQ and disgusting habits. I'm sure Michael could have really benefited from a good tête-à-tête with me, during which I would have counselled him on how I got over the humiliation of that awful day by exacting revenge. You see, the next week the P7s held a charity tuck-shop. I bought a Fair Trade Chocolate Orange with a fiver, the girl gave me change of a tenner and I said nothing. Justice!
If Michael let a few expenses claims slip, it's just because people like him and me know that in this time of recession and mass poverty, entrepreneurial actions like mine are an all too rare event. People like me and Michael should be honoured like Christopher Lee, not hauled up in front of Mrs Dixon and given a lecture about infected sinuses and choking hazards.
I hope the next speaker understands that the House of Commons should start rewarding initiative and stop indulging those no-hoper simpletons who can't keep their fingers out of their various cavities.