Whew! What a Day @ No 10!

I thought the world had gone mad, last night.  There were crowds of people walking passed Downing Street at 2 o'clock in the morning.  Some had small tents and sleeping bags with them.  Others were dressed in Union Jacks.  A Welshman, waving a Red Dragon flag, was singing his head off!  Boy David didn't get to bed till late, he'd gone down Whitehall after dark!

Arturo said,  "It's 'Wedding Fever'.  These humans go a little potty when there's a wedding to attend - but a 'Royal' wedding - well, you can imagine!"

Arturo and I decided to potter along Whitehall too.   Sure enough, people were camping out on the pavements.   It was great for us though.  There were three open sardine tins with some sardines left in them!  Very tasty!   People were singing and laughing and generally having a good time.  There were no dogs!  So it was even better.

Then, this morning, everyone was up so early!  Boy David tried on his morning suit and shook his shoulders.  He glanced at himself in the mirror and seemed satisfied!  Samantha looked good in a bluey-green dress.  She had a fantastic orange scarf which would be terrific to chase after.  I bet Larry's had his eyes on that!  Then, Nick Clegg, wailing lad himself, came by, he looked quite dashing, I must say.  Very smart indeed and very cheerful. Then - along came is wife, Miriam González Durántez.  Wow! and Wow again!  I have never seen anything like it!   Black turban and bright orange display!  It was like a Spanish flamenco dancer's outfit.  It was, as Arturo said, 'truly stunning'.

We didn't get to see much else though.  We heard the bands - great!  We heard the clip-clop of the horses!  We heard the Abbey bells!  But that was about it.

Then afterwards came the street party.  I tell you, the spread made Arturo's eyes water.   The party's still going on as I write!  Arturo and I have high hopes that there'll be lots of scraps for us!

So - all in all - these wedding palavers seem like a good idea to me - can't wait for the next one!

Who needs to 'calm down,dear' @ No 10?

Although George thought PMQs in the Commons yesterday were one big joke, Boy David wasn't so sure. He guessed 'they' would be out gunning for him. And was he right, or was he right??

The newspapers were full of it this morning. Boy David completely lost his sense of humour. In fact, he scowled when he picked up the 'Guardian'. For there was not one but two articles. One from Angela Eagle herself. When Boy David saw that she compared him to 'Flashman', he went puce in the face! When he read that George was described as finding the incident 'hilarious', he was even more cross.

"What do they want from me?" he was heard to wail!

I thought to myself, it would be easy to whisper 'a bit of respect, dear'. But I thought that might be unwise.

The second article by Libby Brooks also upset him. This was particularly because of the picture in the article showing a smiling Boy David, himself. George roaring with laughter and a rather embarrassed looking Wailing Lad Clegg.

"Has no one got a sense of humour anymore?" Boy David said as he tasted one of Samantha's cup cakes.

Oh well, I thought, cheer up, David, you've got to get your glad rags ready for the big day tomorrow. No more 'calm down, dear,' in the Abbey!

-Can He do anything right @ No 10?

Even I felt sorry for Boy David today! You'd have thought the Easter break might have made life a tad easier for him. But I'd forgotten today was PMQs at the House.

He bounced down the stairs, this morning, bright as a button. He told everyone that it was a 'lovely day'. He smiled and had a general air of bonhomie! I quite warmed to him. No sign of his scheming side - just genuine satisfaction with life.

Arturo told me that Georgy from No 11 was equally well disposed to all and sunder. He said it was because Georgy thought the economy was going well. That's not what I heard, I thought. That chap, the one called Balls, had said the economy was still in a mess. But as Arturo and I agreed, if the two lads from Nos 10 and 11 were kept happy, who were we to spoil the party.

We both basked in the sun in the back garden, out of the wind. The baby birds were cheeping - this made me dribble with anticipation - but I did nothing because I fell asleep.

Then - bang, crash, wallop! The doors were slamming, voices were raised from inside. We slunk in - ever the curious ones, never wanting to miss out on a good story.

Boy David was red in the face. Quite florid in fact! George and Boy David were deep in conversation.

"What's wrong with what I said, George?"

"Nothing, old chap. Not as far as I could tell. No bloody sense of humour, if you ask me. Of course, women today are a bit more on their dignity, you know. Especially those ghastly left-wing women!"

"Eagle, you mean! Very witty, George, left wing! Get it? Left WING?"

George peered anxiously at Boy David and shook his head. "They're getting to you, aren't they? You mustn't let them, David."

"All I said to that annoying Eagle woman was 'calm down, dear'. She'd been positively ranting - quite rabid in fact!"

"She is shadow chief secretary to the Treasury. I suppose she was sitting on her dignity!"

"Haven't they watched Michael Winner's TV adverts? Don't they appreciate a joke?"

George shook his head mournfully. "Labour women don't have a sense of humour, David. If they did they wouldn't be Labour!" He chuckled to himself. "Come to think of it, Tory women don't have a sense of humour either! Maggie certainly didn't."

Boy David looked over his shoulder furtively. "You can't say things like that, George. Maggie wasn't a woman. She was a saint!"

George stifled a laugh. "Well, we know saints don't have a sense of humour! Still better be more careful next time, eh!"

Gobsmacked @ No 10

Arturo and I were open-mouthed with amazement! It was real shock and horror for us! The kitchen staff had left copies of the Sunday Press lying around. There before our eyes - big and bold - was a headline stating :

Larry the No 10 cat catches first mouse ... finally Downing Street's chief mouser snares his first prey after two barren months in the job

Now we knew that Larry was so stuffed full of smoked salmon and coronation chicken that he could hardly move - let alone catch a mouse - and never a rat! But we never thought anyone else was keeping an eye out for the 'big kill'.

It seems that on Good Friday whilst Arturo and I were traipsing back from the Albert Hall, Larry caught the small grey rodent and dropped it at the feet of one of Boy David's secretaries!

The report went on to say that Larry's strong predatory instincts had somewhat dulled since being at No 10! Predatory instincts! That's a laugh!

Anyway, someone gave our friend, Larry, a toy mouse to cavort with! A toy mouse, I ask you! It seems that training took place and the result was that one small grey mouse was caught! Now, Larry is an acclaimed hero.

Arturo and I were suitably disgusted. You could barely count our joint tally of rats! We've had big ones, small ones and yes indeed - one as big as your head!
Do we get publicity - no we do not. I'm beginning to feel more sympathy now with Wailing Lad, Clegg! I know how it feels to do the work and not be appreciated.

Now this is the deal ... @ No 10

The wailing lad, Clegg, arrived on the doorstep in time for a coffee with Boy David. He arrived via the back door. All very hush hush. I wouldn't have recognised him - excepting I smelled that Spanish aftershave he wears! No one else here uses it! So, I knew he was around even before I heard him. The rumour is that his wife, Miriam, insists he wears it to remind her of home.

I slunk into the large sitting-room and sat behind the settee. A silver tray bearing two cups of coffee and a plate of macaroons arrived. The cream for their coffee looked very inviting. I found myself dribbling and had to wash my whiskers.  Anticipation is everything, they say!

"I think it's working, Clegg,"   Boy David sounded quite cheerful.

"I should say so, David.  I think it's working a real treat!"

What was working, I wondered.   They certainly didn't seem to be straining themselves.  I could see no actual work being done.

"How long do we have to keep it up?"  Wailing lad, Clegg, asked.  "I'm not sure I can go on pretending to loathe you and detest George, not for much longer any rate.  Quarrels, even pretend ones, always get me down."

"Well, Clegg, that supporter of yours - you know the woman in the pub on the BBC news the other night - she said we had to appear have our differences."

"Actually, David, she said I should voice my differences with you!"

"Well, you have, haven't you? You disagree about the AV vote -  in fact, we couldn't be more apart!"

Boy David sipped his coffee, little finger slightly extended away from the handle of the mug - the true mark of a gentleman, as Arturo told me.  Clegg, on the other hand was clasping his mug in a rather desperate manner, I thought.

"I think we're going to win, you know." Clegg said.

Boy David nearly choked on his coffee. "What do you mean 'we're going to win'?  ,Either I win, more likely,  and you lose - or - you win, very unlikely,  and I lose.   We cannot both win."

"Ahh, David, you may be right but I seem to recall a saying, 'Even when you lose, you win!'"

"Wrong again, Clegg.  It's the infamous pathological gambler who said, 'Even when you win, you lose.'"

Wailing lad looked positively happy when he heard that.  "Great, David, so we'll both come out winners."

After Clegg had left, I saw Boy David scratching his head in puzzlement. Someone really must tell Samantha to get him to stop this bad habit. The small bald patch on the back of his head won't get any smaller, if he keeps doing that!   Every time Clegg comes here, Boy David seems more and more flumoxed!   How far can this go, I ask myself?

Quiet time @ No 10

Yesterday, Arturo and I were really quite mind-blowingly brave! We hitched a lift in the back of van conveniently parked outside the back of No 11. Arturo said it was going to The V & A museum. Marvellous! Exhibition Road was in a dreadful state! Road up and people milling round. Still, we made it to the side of the Albert Hall!

Why did we do that, you ask? Well, everyone knows that it's THE place to hear Handel's Messiah. I went on my own, last year. So I thought I'd educate Arturo, this year. We slunk in through a side door. No one noticed us at all! There was room for us on the top step of the circle! We positioned ourselves very well indeed.

There was a small boy near us. He got quite bored. However, in the second half when the Hallelujah Chorus started, he really perked up! He stood to attention and grinned. Then, when the trumpets sounded, he was delighted. It had all been worthwhile. His mother looked mightily relieved.

Arturo nearly jumped out of his skin when the trumpets played. Of course, I knew just what to expect. When I asked if he had enjoyed it. He said it was an experience1 To me, it was splendid. The choir and singers were brilliant and the conductor was amazing! I vowed to go again, next year with or without Arturo.

To return to Downing Street was more problematic than getting there! Too many dogs to go via the parks! Too many people to run along the pavements. We waited till dark, hitched a lift on an empty No 10 bus! Then, hopped on a No 12 and, as they say, 'Bob's your Uncle', we was back home!

Arturo was done in! He'd never been so far, or heard so much in one day! As for me, I was all hyped up too, so went ratting!

After two good catches, I decided to turn in for a kip! I settled down in the kitchen. There was an old 'Daily Telegraph' lying on a chair. I took a gander and my hair fair stood on end, I can tell you! Some jockey was moaning about the proposed ban on whipping of racehorses. He had written, and I quote:

Some people hold any horseracing cruel. We cannot think that in Britain, so loyal to racing, such an opinion will prevail. Racing is international, and a ban on moderate use of the whip restricts the sport here for no real benefit.

One thing about being a cat is that you're not dependent on humans! Not like dogs or horses! Any self-respecting cat can make out on his own! And I'm a self-respecting cat.

Only a few more days of the jolly old hols, as Boy David would say! Then, it's all back to the cut and thrust of politics! I'm going to enjoy the peace till Tuesday, at least.

Wailing & Tub Thumping @ No 10

This morning I woke suddenly to the sound of much moaning and groaning coming from the inner lobby. Naturally, I went to investigate! I found Sad Lad Clegg going on nineteen to the dozen at Boy David. He was bewailing the fact that 'You really aren't playing fair, David!'

Boy David had a thunderous look on his face. I thought, that Clegg lad had better watch it! But I was wrong. It wasn't the Sad Lad who was causing the irritation. As you will find out. This is something of how it all went:

"Now look, Clegg, I do see your difficulty, I really do! I know how important this AV vote is to you. I have no control over George and his mouth - so if he is rude, that's not my fault. As for your Paddy Ashdown - he's not exactly been brimming over with charm."

"Oh, I know, David. But we - that is the LibDems have to get a 'Yes' vote. We absolutely have to! Otherwise, I lose all credibility as leader. The Coalition will collapse - then we're all finished!"

I observed Boy David very closely. A wild glint came into those well-bred eyes, then vanished as quickly as it had come. A scheming chap, our Boy David.

Sad Lad Clegg did indeed look mournful. Those large eyes of his would make any mother weep! Boy David patted him on the back with many a 'Tut Tut!' and a 'Don't worry' and finally a 'Just you leave it to me'.

When he was alone, Boy David's worried look crossed his brows again. He picked up the phone and positively yelled: "George - what the hell is going on? You and I know bloody well that British taxpayers will go mad if they're told the UK has to give an extra £682 million next year to the European Union budget. We'll get the blame!" There was a pause. I heard a high pitched voice the other end. "No, you fool - us - the Tories - we'll be the fall guys." Another prolonged pause. "Well, you sort it, George. Remember you owe me!" Pause. "I've got better things to do. What? I still haven't decided what I'm wearing to the Wedding. So you get on with sorting out that bloke with the unpronounceable name. Yes ... that's him - Janusz Lewandowski. You just sort him out!"