Smile, please, @ No 10

Had a good night's hunting with Arturo, last night. Several large rodents lurking around No 11! Georgy didn't seem to notice them! Strange really, since he's always on the lookout for trouble! It only goes to show that we never see the closest danger! A bit worrying, since he's supposed to be looking after the country's finances.

This morning, when I woke, I heard a persistent mutter coming from the Cabinet Office. Now, I know that Boy David often rehearses his answers before going to the House. This muttering though seemed different. I crept under the table and peeped out. Boy David was standing in front of a small mirror that he'd set up in front of him. He was trying out a variety of facial expressions: big toothy smile: a slight curve of the mouth type smile; a smile and a nod. A small insignificant looking man stood next to him and was writing something down.

"So?" asked Boy David, "Which one?"

"I think the last one, Prime Minister. The nod and smile somehow look more sincere. They give you a very pleasant look."

"Right then, a smile and a nod it is."

"Now, what were you told to repeat to yourself before you stand up to answer each question, Prime Minister?"

"Oh, for God's sake! This is ridiculous!"

"That's not what we were told, sir. We were told it would help you make the right impression on the people."

"I know, I know: 'a good impression means votes.' And we need votes." He seemed to be gritting his teeth together, as he said this.

"So, Prime Minister, what did they tell you to say to yourself?"

Boy David pulled a face, took in a deep breath before saying "Every day, in every way, I shall be nicer and nicer! Every day, in every way, I shall smile whenever I can." He looked at the man. "How's that?"

"Very good, very good indeed, Prime Minister. You won't forget, will you?"

"No! I'll be muttering it whenever I see Clegg or Cable or Lansley!" Boy David swept out of the room and headed for the front door and his car.

Much later in the day, I pattered down the corridor. There was quite a commotion going on in one of the offices. Rather strange, I thought, when the Boss is away it's usually peaceful. I peeped in through the doorway. The tele was on. Nothing interesting like Location, location, location or Escape to the Country. They were watching Parliament. A bald man was standing up and talking very earnestly. I heard someone in the office muttering 'Kaufman! Who spoke to Kaufman?'

No one answered the muttered question. But - everyone looked quite taken aback! It seems someone - no name no pack drill - had given the game away. Whenever anyone gets a letter ostensibly from a real person working at No 10 - it's not a real person. It's a pseudonym! They don't exist!

If I'd been human, not an understairs cat, I'd have giggled. I thought everyone knew that nothing real ever happens at No 10 - it's all in the imagination!

I'm going to get my supper now with Arturo. Lots to tell him!