When I met the PM

 

(Written when Theresa May was PM.)

The Maybot was creating a crop circle in my wheat field, trampling up and down, muttering while she was doing it.  The ministerial car was parked at the side of the road and the escort vehicle behind it.  A worn-out looking aide was watching.  I walked up. 

‘She is doing criminal damage to my field.'

‘I am so sorry,’ he said, ‘she needs recharging.  It won’t be long, they are on their way.’

The Maybot was walking up and down, around and about, making an intricate design.  She was muttering: strong and stable, strong and stable, stable and strong.  Gradually her movements became jerkier.  She reminded me of the battery advert, only less fluffy. 

‘Strang and stoble,’ she said.  Just then I heard a high pitched whine.  A flying disc was hovering over the wheat field; blue with yellow stars around the rim. 

‘Beam me up, Scottie,’ the Maybot said and she disappeared in thin air.

‘Won’t be long,’ said the aide, looking relieved.  The ministerial car was jacked up. 

‘Sorry,’ the driver said, ‘it was pothole.  These roads are murder. We won’t be long; once PM is finished up there we’ll be on our way.’  He was busy screwing the wheel nuts off. 

Michael Gove was on his knees beside the pothole with a measuring tape. 

‘Only 4 cm!’ he crowed.  ‘See, we are fulfilling our promises!’ 

The aide resembled an overworked kindergarten teacher.  He sighed.

‘It is fine, Mr Gove, Sergeij here will get the wheel sorted and we will be on our way soon.  We’ll call the pothole in.  I am sure it will be filled.’ Sergeij harrumphed.

‘Roads bad here. Needs repaired. Worse than mother country.’

The third passenger was Boris.  He was lying on his belly, poking with a stick at an ant hill. His hair was gently waving in the breeze.

‘Wow,’ he said, ‘look at this.  See how they panic when they are disturbed.  Isn’t it beautiful?’

‘What’s he doing here?’ I asked the aide.

‘Oh well, most of the government see Scotland as an alien nation.  So the secretary of State for Foreign Affairs decided he would come along.  They are all going to Peterhead to speak to the fishing industry.  But I think it is a bit of a jolly, to be honest. A visit to a distillery, a nice lunch and a dram.’

‘And what is that crop circle malarkey?’

‘It’s a bit of a secret,’ the aide said.  ‘Mostly it is done by frustrated polbots.  Political Robots,’ he said, when he saw my puzzled expression. ‘Don’t tell anyone.  If you do, you’ll be laughed at.  The right-wing press knows how to keep a secret; they are in on it.’

I heard another whine and saw the Maybot materialising in the field. She looked decidedly perky.

‘Are you a member of the public?’ she asked. ‘If so I can’t possibly talk to you.'

‘Don’t worry, Prime Minister, I am the landowner.’

‘Well then.  I am sure you are the salt of the earth, producing food for all of us.  Carry on, good man, we all rely on you. You’ll be fine in the Red-White and Blue Brexit.’

The car was ready and Boris stood up.  He brushed some ants off his trousers and had a dreamy look in his eyes. 

‘All these ants,’ he said.

Gove was stuffing his pockets with some early potatoes he’d pulled out of my field.

‘I may be able to get some fish in Peterhead.  ‘t Would make a lovely dinner.’

‘Which way to the main road?’ asked the aide.  I pointed in the opposite direction.

Gove, Boris and the Maybot sat in the car.  Sergeij wasn’t able to make the U-turn, but with the guidance of the aide he made a three point turn and managed to avoid the ditch.  The aide got in and winked at me.

‘They don’t really pay me enough,’ he said.  And they carried on to Peterhead on the long and bumpy road.