There were rowdy scenes at the Moaning Cow public house as Mr. Angry made his Departure address. In line with MPs, doctors, civil servants, union leaders and school teachers he was preparing to take his seven weeks summer holiday. He had already consumed seven pints of strong Australia lager and three whisky chasers.
“Friends” he exclaimed “I know that you’ll want to hear my prophecies for the coming autumn. I, Mr. Patrick Moore Angry, have joined our departed friend and gazed into the stars. The future is David Cameron.”
There were howls of protest and a beer glass smashed into the wall behind him. Mrs. Angry was on her feet.
“Angry, wash your mouth out. No chips for you tonight.”
“But you all rely on me to be honest” he cried.
“What about our last year’s Christmas club savings you fraudster” shouted the man at the fruit machine.
“I have discussed things with my closest friend Dave in Browning Street. ‘Angry’ he told me ‘GDP is up by 0.6%, inflation is ok, the housing market is picking up, nobody remembers what I said about the HNS, the Falklands, Libya, Al-Qaeda and Europe, I will win the next election’ that’s what he said.”
“But we are Labour Mr. Angry” said the lady in the third row. “My dear departed Ronnie and I never voted anything else.”
“Let me ask you all a question” interrupted Mr. Angry. “Who is the leader of the Labour Party?”
“Len McCluskey” yelled a man at the back.
“No. He’s head of the Divide Union.”
“No. He’s leader of offshore bank accounts for retired MPs.”
“Mr. Angry” cried Rita the Bar Maid. “Ed Miliband is on the phone. He can’t accept your invitation to join him for a week at Butlins. Mr. Angry….”