Any resemblance to persons(real or corporate), places or things is entirely,fictitious, fortuitous and as such, is a failure of the author's poor befuddled brain.
(As a husband, father and deeply religious person I am glad you covered our arses with that one...Ed.)
Dateline London 12 September 2014 15:30 BST
Deep in the bowels of Whitehall a lowly civil servant is scouting for a place for nefary. In a dusty corner of an unused office in a redundant building an envelope sits on an otherwise empty desk. It displays itself, coyly, provocatively, promising distraction to an aching heart and ungirded loins. It is addressed to a certain McTavish in some god forsaken part of the realm, probably as remote and dreek as it is unpronounceable. The envelope, open and unsealed provides access to the letter within. To the practiced bureaucratic eye it quickly yields its burden. The letter is cover for the return of material strangely not enclosed but which is clearly detailed and purports to incriminate certain politicians north of the border in heinous crimes and misdemeanors; treason, spousal abuse, theft, animal husbandry, incest and Scottish Country Dancing are but a few of these horrors. The missive thanks the addressee for provision of this material but states that it would not be, in the national interest for the government to have said material in its possession at this time.
The covering epistle bears a single letter as a mark of signature. (I take it that is not an X...Ed?)
No we are not talking military intelligence! The address of the sender is a Post Office Box - Whitehall 1212 - not identified further.
The dutiful civil servant swiftly brings the letter to the attention of the powers that be, thus shifting the monkey in the box as quickly as possible( but not before making an untraceable copy.) The powers that be, as might be expected, consider that accusations of eating babies, deep fried in batter, require extensive consultation and evidence gathering before a draft report with proposals for an interim memorandum to the Cabinet Office, copy of course to the Treasury, could be circulated.
In the fullness of time the news desks of various publications received communications, again from 50 untraceable sources which contained 19 digit numbers of bank accounts which would be in existence in exotic locations for the next 24 minutes. These offices could be used to deposit large sums of boodle and in exchange the originators would provide incontrovertible evidence, evidence of such magnitude, evidence in such depth that it would sink any campaign battle bus in a sea of mixed metaphors.
The money goes out, the evidence comes in and 2 countries, like 2 mature adults, consider that for the sake of the children they would be better off together.
I noticed that when I drew the attention of herself to a story on the BBC about a certain Mr Murphy being pelted with eggs recently her only comment was that
it's a terrible waste of eggs. This seemed like a sensible approach or deeply ironic or both.
I believed this to be the case thinking she does not have a pig in the race. However, at a later date she demanded to know of me if she would be entitled to a Scottish passport in the event of a yes vote!
I smell bacon.
Anyways, it might not be a bad idea for this blog to go into purdah until the 18th so as not to unduly influence our friends in the north. (PAH...Ed!)
