GAMES

‘So! Dom. Dommy Dom Dom, the old Domster.’

‘What?’

‘Well, my old Dommeister in Chief, I was just wondering…’

‘Get on with it I’m busy.’

The head of the country looked up from his board game and surveyed the dithering Nominal Prime Minister.

‘Well. The er, thing is, not to er put too fine a point on it, the, if you will, crux, yes I think crux is the mot juste, is; do you think I should say something?’

Dom moved a piece on the board and paused, apparently lost in thought.

‘Well?’ The NPM prompted. ‘Tempus fugit and all that, and I think the populus Britannus may need a word from their Government…’ he hurried to qualify ‘…that is; me.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, panic aboard the ship of state, rats deserting the sinking, er, hand on the tiller, steady as she goes, into the eye of the storm, trim the sails and all that thing.’

Another piece completed the encirclement of yet another doomed enemy stronghold on the game board.

‘Yes. Good idea. Say something about masks. Go and get a briefing from Health.’

‘Yowser! Right to the point, good thinking , you are de man Dom! Health. Mask. Good film. Loved old Carey in that. Why can’t we have Archbishes like that now? Eh!?’

‘That was Jim Carrey, not George Carey. Now, go.’

‘Okay Dommy babes. One hot shot policy statement from Health, no wait, from me, on The Mask coming up.’

The NPM moved to the door.

‘Wait!’ came the imperious command.

‘What?’

‘Not Health, I haven’t purged them yet. Try Cabinet Office or Home Office. They haven’t got too many independent thinkers left there.’

‘Do the Home Office know a lot about The Mask then Dom Dom?’

‘Masks. No. Why should they?’

‘Well, if I’m going to make a speech about them, a bit of policy wonk babble can’t hurt can it? Can it?’

‘Just get a form of words telling everyone to wear them all the time.’

‘What even in, you know bed, rumpy pumpy time and all that?’

‘Always.’

‘Ooh er. I suppose the mem sahib might like that.’ He turned to go. ‘Hang on a minute Dom. Didn’t I make several statements saying there was no evidence they worked and the natural right of all free born Englishmen was to go to the pub and puke up over everyone? We had a party the weekend it happened didn’t we?’

‘Yes. So?’

‘Well, dash it! Aren’t I going to look a complete arse if I just turn round and say the opposite now.’

‘It will look natural. You’ll show you aren’t afraid to change your mind on a whim. That you may have been to Eton, Oxford and the Bullingdon Club dinners but you can be as short sighted, capricious and petty as any working class oik, but with rumpled charm.’

‘Good oh! Ad astra per leporem!’

Before he could go through the door, Dom threw some dice and removed the last opposing piece from the board in front of him. He turned to the NPM hovering in the doorway.

‘And Prime Minister, use more Latin. Everyone likes that.’

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