Ok, let’s just say you’re Gordon Brown. Obviously I don’t expect you to go the whole way as you can only get that sort of face after suffering piles for a decade. But you’re way down in the polls, you’re having to make unpopular tax heavy decisions and you’re looking at facing a squeaky new, fresh faced, sleaze-free Conservative Party in the next election.
Let’s say you’re feeling a little anxious, a little down, and the phone rings. It’s that snaky erstwhile “collegue” calling from his banishment in Brussels.
“Hi, Gordy.” he says.
The voice still sends shivers down your spine, but you control your voice admirably. “Hello Peter.”
“Listen Gordy, I know we’ve had our ups and downs but, well, I’ve just come back from a marvelous holiday in Corfu and, well, Gordy; just what would you give to have Ossy, the numero duo in the Tory party, on a plate, served up with all the dressings and a chance to leap-frog the old enemy?”
“Ay Peter, I saw he said you were ‘dripping poison’ about me.”
“Oh you know me Gordy, just to gain confidence, nothing meant, he really shouldn’t have said that but, well I think you and I could have a little revenge.”
“What’s it going to cost me Peter?”
“Ah yes, the price, always a price isn’t there. Well , let’s just call it a bt of ermine, a job back in Blighty and a golden handshake from the EU?”
“Ok, give me the head and I’ll see what I can do?”
“No, no, Gordy. The money’s up front. Then you’ll get your man.”
“Ay, yer a canny bastard Peter.”
Well what would you do?