SAMCAM - THE POWER!

The Scene:  

The Snug in The Three Feathers Inn, just off The Old Kent Road.

The room is empty except for one “city gent” who is sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the room. A lady enters the room, carrying four large, brand emblazoned, shopping bags and seeing the forlorn figure she walks over to him.

“David, why so sad?” She asks.

He looks up and sees his wife, Samantha, standing over him.

“Hello Sam been trying to make a dent in our £30 million? Sit down. Would you like a drink.”  He asks.

“Is Ed Balls a muttering idiot?” She replies.

He goes over to the bar and gets them both drinks. He sticks to bitter and gives his wife a pint of Stella. He reasons that if any “Paparazzi” walk in she will look like a typically, modern, “ladette”. Someone in line with Tory thinking on their core supporters.

“So, what are you doing in here? I thought you were spending the day in Oxford Street. Did you see groveling Clegg as you came in? I have just sent him packing. Complete faux urbane tosser that man. I’ll be glad when we don’t need him anymore.”

He leans back in his seat and a shadow seems to pass over his eyes, his shoulders slump and he stares at the ceiling.

“What is it Davy pooh?” Asks Sam.

“Just had a text from George, he says the economy is flat for the third quarter in a row. Plus, I’ve been sussed out over the crime figures. Unemployment is actually in reverse, I’m surrounded by idiots and the Press ridicule me. To top it all, I lost my rag with ‘Nauseous Nick’ and he’s threatening to call an end to the Coalition.” 

“All I want, is to be at the Top Table, alongside Angela, in Europe; I mean, Sam darling, is it really too much to ask?”

Sam wipes the froth from her upper lip before leaning over and kissing her man on the cheek.

“There, there, Davy darling. Don’t let that clown Clegg or blood sucking George upset you. Angela and I have told you that you won’t have to wait long now that you have delivered your BIG Speech.” 

“Now, come on!” She cajoles. “Man up! Remember that photograph of Hugh Jackman that I showed to you? Do you, Davy? Visualise, visualise; that’s it. Have you got it. have you got that photograph in your mind baby?”

“Yes, I rather think I have’

“Good! Now down that pint, be my Hugh Jackman! Down it baby, down it.”

With best bitter dribbling off his small chin and down onto his blue silk tie, Call Me Dave does as his wife says and downs his pint. Gasping for breath after his tremendous feat of manliness he slams his glass onto the table and asks is wife.

“Same again Sam?”

“Is the Pope Catholic baby, is the Pope Catholic?”