Tuesday, 11 May 2010

So, farewell then...

Gordon Brown. 
Yes, the only man to put down OCD in the skills section of his cv, this week announced his imminent retirement from frontline politics. While the decision marks the end of a career ultimately characterised by the bitter taste of failure, it's not all bad news. Because now I've got an excuse to recycle gags from past iterations of The JT forever and ever...
Today: It's September 2000 and Sarah Brown (Macaulay as was) shares with our readers exclusive extracts from her honeymoon diary...

"Day One, Afternoon: En route to Bangor, Maine.

Such an exciting day. Gordon over the moon about how the wedding had gone, "a not unpleasant experience" he reckoned. The airline upgraded us to Club Class with free champagne! I spend the flight watching the clouds go by while Gordon assists the captain in working out a more cost-effective flight plan for our trip to Bangor.

Day One, Evening.

Our hotel looks out across the expanse of Cape Cod. A soft sea breeze blows gently through our bedroom window. I shower and put on my nightgown and slip between cool cotton sheets. Fall asleep sometime after three am to the sound of Gordon gently caressing the keys of his lap top.

Day Two, morning.

Such a romantic setting. After breakfast, time for a walk. The beaches of Cape Cod seem to stretch for ever, with hardly another person in sight, with only the calling of seagulls for company. It’s a place of quiet contemplation, a world to share with a loved one. Back at the hotel, Gordon seems pleased to see me and promises to have a quick look at the beach before the end of the holiday. I plunder the hotel's magazine selection while Gordon goes back to helping the manager re-install the on-line reservation system which, according to Gordon has "quite unacceptable lag times."

Day Two, Afternoon.

A leisurely lunch. Catch sight of Gordon waving cheerily as he whitewashes the hotel's wooden frontage. Nothing to watch on TV, I nap on our bed until wakened by Gordon in the late afternoon. His body smells of salt, sand and fresh sweat drying on his skin. He looks deep into my eyes and I feel myself open to him as I sense his excitement. "Look at this" he breathes heavily. I look, it’s a piece of paper. "I got the Treasury to fax the figures through this morning, look at that, the current account revenue figures are looking very promising."

Fuckin' seagulls are still fuckin' squawking.

Day Three, Evening.

Find a local bar, full of randy fishermen, get drunk, go home with Clyde.

Day Four, Morning.

Get back to the hotel, late morning. Gordon's left a note. He's out for the day working on the buildup of green algae in the tidal basin of the Cape, should be back late today, early tomorrow at the latest. I borrow the hotel rifle and spend the afternoon shooting bastard seagulls.

Day Five: En route to London.

I've given up. I tried to explain to Gordon that this wasn't going to work out but the satellite phone link to his oceanographic survey ship keeps breaking up. I sit back in my seat as the aircraft prepares to take off. To the side of the runway a seagull wheels lazily against the blue Maine sky. 
Bastard seagulls.

Inside: Gordon solves algae problem, starts work on mysterious scarcity of seagulls."

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