Oh dear. This is sad. There’s a very sorry-looking figure standing with his back to the wall, arm pathetically half-raised, wearing an expression half way between sheepish and desperate pleading. “Pick me! Pick me!” his doe eyes beg.
But it is not to be. The hearty captains Cameron and Clegg have picked all the players they wanted in their teams and already turned away to start the game. And poor Oliver Letwin – or Wetwin as they all call him behind his back because he’s such a drip and he plays like a girl, and is such a surrender-monkey wuss that when a burglar broke into his parents’ house he made him a hot chocolate and gave him the code to the safe because he felt sorry for him – has been forgotten. (Minister of State = not in Cabinet.)
Oh the tragedy. Oh the ingratitude. For even as recently as last week, Cameron pretended that he liked Wetwin and that he had a really important part to play in the coming glorious victory. After all, it was Wetwin who took charge of Team Cameron’s new Tactics Book – aka the Conservative Manifesto – with its brilliant new plan to win over the entire nation with such inspirational schemes as The Big Society. Unfortunately, since the result, some of the more traditional members of Cameron’s Team have been making the point that Wetwin’s tactics were rubbish because they didn’t win the Championship at all, but forced them instead into an uneasy alliance with Crapsville Arthritic whose terrible pitch, stagnant changing rooms and grisly, bizarro, cheating, untrustworthy players they are now forced to share under a compulsory four-year arrangement.
Gosh, it’s like the death of Little Nell. You’d need a heart of stone not to laugh.