“Look Mrs. Angry. Look at this. This Chick lit…what’s her name Louis.”
Mrs. Angry placed Mr. Angry’s pint of strong lager carefully on the bar of the Moaning Cow Public House. The hostelry was full as the locals celebrated that collapse of British exports and a record trade deficit.
Mr. Angry smiled at Rita, the bar maid.
“What do you think Love? This Louis Mensch resigning as an MP after two years?
“Louise Mr. Angry.”
“I thought your name was Rita?”
“The MP who resigned. Louise. She’s a woman. Clever really that David Cameron. He tucked the news away on the busiest night of the Olympic games.”
“I hate deceit Rita.”
“Did the doctor sign you off Mr. Angry?”
“This back is killing me. Ask Mrs. Angry. She’s having to lift all the washing on her own.”
“She’s married to the manager of Metallica.”
“Mrs. Angry is married to me Rita.”
“Louise Mensch. She’s also known as Louise Bagshawe. She’s written fifteen books. She’s saying she can’t manage it all being an MP for Corby and three children. She’s resigned and is going to live in America.”
“Who picked her?”
“David Cameron. She was rushed through on the A-list of candidates.”
“Who’ll win the by-election Rita?”
“Labour almost certainly. It’s a marginal seat.”
Mr. Angry turned to Mrs Angry who was struggling to stay seated on her bar stool.”
“There you are Mrs. Angry. There’s you washing from morning to night and there’s this Florrie Mench just walking out and nobody cares.
“Did you mend the mangle like you promised Mr. Angry?”
“What with my back as it is? The four hours journey to Cyprus is going to kill me. Did the social security cheques arrive?