Month: May 2015

The Dear Leader’s Diary – Episode 26






Everything is going according to the Long Term Plan, which was given to me by my close friend Barry Obama. I was quite surprised to be Prime Minister again, without needing any help from Clegg’s Awkward Brigade this time. They lost lots of seats, of course, and I wasn’t at all surprised by that, as their supporters all spotted that they had been made to look like idiots by Clegg, who did a brilliant job of pretending to oppose us in 2010.
I’ve put my Long Term Attack on Human Rights on the back burner (in one of my kitchens, LOL!) for now, and will quietly sneak it into one of the other bills a bit later.
The things I am going to do to the European Community, to improve it include
  • Completing the single market. (George says this matters)
  • Reducing EU red tape, so businesses are not held back by silly “Elf and Safety” rules, and can make bigger profits without worrying about their staff.
  • Making sure that Eurozone decisions do not over-ride the interests of non-Eurozone countries. That’s us, of course, but it’s also the good old USA. Barry is very keen on something he calls Tea-Tip, which I think is the TTIP agreement that is so important to the big businesses in America. It’s business, so it matters.
  • Allowing national parliaments to reject EU laws. 
  • Reforming the budget, so we stop giving so much to farmers. Most of them will still vote for us anyway, because their parents did.
  • Opting out of any commitment to closer union. Britain is a leading nation, and just being part of Team Europe makes us look silly. We need to be part of Team USA!

The Dear Leader’s Speech – Episode 25

Frankly, today should have been an even greater triumph for me than it was. As every schoolchild should know, and will know under my clever plans for the educational system of this great nation of mine, I am the fifth cousin, twice removed, of her majesty the queen, and a direct illegitimate descendent, via five generations of women, from King William IV. As you can see, he was almost as devastatingly handsome as me. However, I don’t mind sharing out privileges, as long as they go to the deserving, hard working, rich people I like to mix with, so I allowed my cousin to wear her expensive crown, and purr her way through the speech I wrote.

Unfortunately, I have included so many important things in my speech that it has been necessary, temporarily, to drop my planned destruction of the Human Rights Act that was so carelessly inflicted on my One Nation at the end of the war. This improvement, giving my grateful subjects a proper Bill of Rights, as demanded by the vast crowds who followed me everywhere during my triumphant re-election campaign, has been put on the back burner in one of my many kitchens, but will reappear when we have worked out how to explain it in a way that everyone will vote for.

Critics have said, and it shows how tolerant I am, that they are still at liberty to say such undemocratic things, that I will be likely to make the question for the in out in out in out referendum on Europe so complex that some of the simpler kind of English
people, who have not benefited from going to Eton, will not be able to comprehend the three split infinitives and two self contradictions in the question, and will accidentally vote 110% for what I want, which is for us to stay in Europe, and be in charge of all decision making, instead of voting the way our friends in UKIP would prefer.

Knowing that they will not have any way to prevent our much needed further cuts in the wildly over-generous benefits the state provides, the few remaining Liberal Democrats will not like my Full Employment and Welfare Benefits Bill, which will somehow force the creation of two million new jobs and five million new apprenticeships, but at the same time reduce the maximum possible benefits to £23,000 and ensure nobody can claim them. Especially not the young, who will have to “earn or learn” and won’t be able to claim housing benefit, leaving it to be claimed by older people, who are much better at passing it on to their hard working landlords.

The sun is well over the yard-arm now, so I will complete these notes after I have celebrated with a case or two of properly expensive champagne with George and a few of my other millionaire chums…

The Dear Leader’s Secret Diary – 24


This seems as good a place as any for me to collect a few of the splendid jokes I have heard, ready for use by me, at those events where we keep the proles out, and don’t have to be politically correct. Here’s somebody called Sandi Toksvig OBE, a pleasant young lady who has started the totally unnecessary “Women’s Equality Party”, talking about my friend Nigel “the Führager” Farage…
‘I watched the count for South Thanet and I found myself cheering for the Tory candidate,’ she told the audience. ‘I hate Farage for that, I really do. He made me cheer a Tory, the bastard.’

She then went on to refer to the testicle the Ukip leader lost to cancer, joking about what Farage and Hitler have in common: ‘Farage kept having pictures of him defaced with Hitler moustaches. I mean he’s not really like Hitler. Okay, he has a German wife, he hates foreigners, he only has one testicle, and he was defeated.’

I practised this one on Sam, who seemed somewhat impressed. She seems to think jokes about cancer can not be funny, for some reason.


And then there’s this photograph, which clearly demonstrates that Boris has no clue how to play that violin.


David Cameron’s Secret Diary – Episode 23

This is terrible! In spite of my getting the finest advice available, see above, and being considerably more clever than anyone else I have ever met, something has gone badly wrong with my plan to sort out Europe. 

While I was preparing my in-out in-out master-plan to keep us at the heart of Europe, by separating us from it, and getting rid of all the Human Rights and Green crap, a couple of undemocratic foreigners have effectively sidelined my clever move. How am I to make it look as if I have brilliantly reorganised things, if these unimportant people from minor countries are allowed to sabotage me? I am going to write their names in my Book of Bastards. Surely, common sense demands that instead of all negotiating together at meetings I could have attended, these two should have listened properly, with due respect, to whatever it was I was telling them, that would have helped them to realise I can run the EU all on my own?

They have made a serious mistake with their back room deal, and it is going to take a lot of time, photo-opportunities, and secret briefings of important newspapers like the Sun, to get things back on the track that I, and I alone, am determined to deliver, so that once again, everyone in the UK will love me.

As I have said before, and will keep saying, there will be ups and downs – you’ll hear one day this is possible, the next day something else is impossible. In out, in out, up down, up down. I’ll show them I’m not mad!

My Jolly Secret Diary, part 22, by DC.

I am beginning to suspect people have been reading this, my Secret Diary, with a complete disregard for my absolute right to privacy. So, if you are looking at this document on my private, personal iPad, whomsoever you may happen to be, rest assured that I shall get my friends with the impressive office in a certain Gloucestershire town (but I’m carefully not saying which!) to find out who you are. I have quietly given them the go-ahead to look at every computer in this wonderful free country of ours, except mine, obviously. I’m sure they will get on with that just as soon as they have finished checking all the pictures they took with all the webcams they accessed. And of course, they will be careful to delete any pictures of underage girlies they may have accidentally taken, as soon as they have all examined them carefully.

I recently found that there was a jolly clever article about how nobody had the sense to challenge our narrative at election time, and the way we pretended everything was Labour’s fault, even when it was actually the fault of some members of our administration like poor, silly little Clegg, or something over which we had no control at all. Blaming Labour for the banking collapses, Bernie Madoff, inflation and all the other things they had no control of was a brilliant master-stroke of presentation, which yours truly is proud of. (Of course, Lynton thinks it was him, but only I know just how clever I am.) I will have to get this Bernal fellow removed from the internet, the way I did with all the “promises, vows, and pledges” people imagine I made.

The picture of the secret building in Cheltenham Gloucestershire has reminded me that this Bernal chap is also part of a secret cabal, “academics” they call themselves, as if that meant they know more than me. They are writing ridiculous “open letters” about how I make the law which suggest that I should waste Parliamentary time with discussions of all the important things that are done in that building. This idea that I, the Prime Minister, can’t make up a law all on my own, is deeply unpatriotic, and I think I will have these “academics” sacked and deported. They must think they have rights!

Lobster thermonuclear

Lobster thermonuclear

Yes, I know. Much too silly. I mean lobster thermidor, which is named after the month of Thermidor in the new calendar of the French revolution. It’s a dish I’ve eaten in Greek restaurants, and it truly is among the foods of the gods. Tavernas don’t have it, as it’s much too posh for them.


I happened to spot two frozen lobsters in our local Tesco, marked down from £8 each to £4 each, and pounced on them straight away. Obviously, I needed a recipe, and I found one on the BBC food site. Here it is.

The recipe starts with lobster that is already cooked, but these ones had only been blanched, which apparently separates the flesh from the shell.

They were supposed to take twelve hours to defrost in the fridge, but that wasn’t anywhere near long enough, and I eventually ended up defrosting them completely in cold water.

There were two possible ways to cook them, boiling or steaming. Boiling would have required a big pan full of boiling water, so I steamed them instead – much more energy efficient – and that took eight minutes. The claws fell off when I took the lobsters out of the cold water, but it made them much easier to fit into the steamer.

Being a moderately efficient cook, some of the time, I started the sauce while the lobsters were steaming. I also put the oven on to heat up. The grill here is useless. If you have a decent grill (or a broiler, if you are to the left of the Atlantic Ocean) use that, it’s what the recipe says.

To the left, you can see a couple of chopped shallots cooking in butter. By the time the picture on the right was taken, I had added the fish stock, wine, and cream to the sauce, and boiled it fairly hard to reduce it until it was fairly thick. 

At that point, I added the mustard, chopped parsley, and lemon juice, and a quick grind of black pepper.



The next major operation was cutting the freshly steamed lobsters in half, which was easier than I had thought it would be. Perhaps the steaming softens the shells? The only difficulty at this point is that the lobsters are too hot to hold easily. Scoop out as much lobster meat as you can, remove the meat from the claws, chop it all up, put it back into the lobsters, and pour the sauce over it. Add the grated parmesan, and grill or bake until they look done. This one looks done!


Serve, eat. Drink wine. 

It tasted pretty much as it should have done. We enjoyed it.

The only real problem was quantity. There really isn’t much meat in a lobster of that size, sadly, even when you get the meat from the claws.




In fact, all too soon, this was all that was left!

The frozen lobsters are only just good value when they are marked down to half price. If I’d paid the full £8 for each, I would have been pretty annoyed with them.

Still, there is a lot of lobster flavour on that plate, so I put all the remains in a stock pot, and boiled them up for an hour or two. I broke all the shell pieces up, so I got all the goodness from the legs and other tricky bits. After straining the results, I had a stock with an astounding flavour of lobster. It made a fish soup that I really enjoyed.


I’m thinking of making a different Thermidor dish, using a large bag or two of prawns, with the sauce and cheese poured over them. It won’t have all the flavour of lobster, but it should be pretty close…


The Dear Leader’s Diary – Episode 21

Well, here we are! Another week of our wonderful United Kingdom’s new-found democracy, rewarding all hard-working families and not those other people, is almost at a close. An awful lot of lazy slackers are saying I wouldn’t have won the election by a huge majority of four, if Rupert Murdoch’s newspapers had not all, completely independently, given me their support. The fact is, of course, that I have never even met Mr Murdoch. But the Vote-OK group, chaired by Lord Astor (Samantha’s lovely step-father) made it their business to go out and campaign for me in several key seats, where thousands of hunt workers have had ten years without their rightful jobs.  

Horrid TV interviewers keep asking me if hunting foxes and watching them be ripped to shreds is my favourite sport, as if they hadn’t even heard of West Villa, or is it Aston Ham? Of course, I outfoxed them, by cleverly answering a different question, and saying I hadn’t been on a horse in years! It’s not difficult to get these people to stop asking the wrong questions, as most of them have never been near Eton. As the survey above, in a tabloid newspaper that Mr Murdoch doesn’t own yet, shows, 20% want fox hunting back, and that’s nearly as many as voted to get me back. The Queen’s Speech will include the removal of the evil Labour ban on huntin’ and I’m sure she will purr when she sees it!


David Cameron’s Secret Diary – 20

I am once again totally bloody pumped by how much fun all this is, now that we can do what we jolly well like to the country without that silly child, Clegg, slowing us down and arguing about everything. Not that we ever let him get his way, of course, though he quite often thought he had.

Didn’t we have fun, George and I, choosing which jobs we would give to the oiks who hadn’t been to Eton and Oxford! What were their parents thinking of? Your children will never get anywhere, if you don’t buy them a better education than the peasants get. We lowered education standards for the unwashed hard-working people in our previous government by letting Gove be in charge of it.

I think people will be impressed by how rapidly Gove messes up the Justice ministry as well. We didn’t give him the job because we thought he could do it, but because we wanted to make him wear ridiculous clothes!

Only the other day, I quite rightly said Lord JCB was being jolly sensible in saying we should get out of Europe as fast as possible, and he gave our Party lots of dosh. And now, all my super friends in the CBI are saying, quite rightly, that it’s vital we should stay in. They are jolly sensible, and I would like them to give the Party huge amounts of moolah to help us deliver. Britain deserves the best government money can buy!

There seems to be a dreadfully negative attitude amongst many of the hoi polloi, lately. A lot of them seem to think that in spite of the huge 24% of the voters enthusiastically supporting us, the tiny 76% who were against us have some sort of right to try to get us removed from our rightful place. And that is why I am going to take away human rights from these foolish sub-humans. We can’t tolerate that sort of thing! Goodness me, if we go letting any old Tom, Richard, or Harry say things online, we will soon be in a shocking mess. I must make up some sort of internet censorship system for GCHQ to use against these anarchist extremists. I’m very clever, so it will only take five minutes.

The Dear Leader’s Diary – Episode 19

I’m getting jolly fed up with all the lazy doctors and nurses! Look, it’s perfectly simple. Do as I say. Work seven days a week for less money, or start complaining. And if you do complain, I will say you are no good, and some of my friends will be given your work to do. Their companies will get more money from the taxpayer than we give the NHS, obviously. But they have to make a profit, unlike you lazy lot, so their shareholders will be happy, and their directors will be able to give money to my party, to keep us in power. And it will be your fault. So there. Enough said, that’s that sorted out, and I will move on the the next thing that I have to make work perfectly.


Next, I am going to get the Queen to read out a list of the things I am going to do to everyone else. After she has purred her way through that, and all the MPs have said how clever I am, and voted in favour of the Plan, we can roll up our sleeves, get bloody pumped, and charge into action against Europe.

My friend Lord Bamford, who has given my party about seven million pounds (a trivial amount for important chaps like us two, but quite helpful) has told me to get us out of Europe pronto. It turns out, he’s down to his last three billion pounds, thanks to European Red Tape getting in the way, and forcing him to have silly safety measures slowing his factories down. Now, why on earth should we let Brussels beaurocrats slow down the wealth creation of dear Lord Bamford? He’s got so much more than even I have, and some of that must surely be doing a wonderful job of trickling down from whatever country he keeps it in!


An observation about prime ministers’ eyes.

Don’t worry, your Dear Leader will be back soon. I just want to bring back a blast from the past, about prime ministers, that I first mentioned in 2008.

Prime ministers all have strange eyes.

There were, obviously, prime ministers before Grocer Heath, but I start with him because I found this picture disturbing. Ignore, if you can, the stupid slogan behind him. His right eye is looking straight at you, but his left eye is looking at something above you, and a bit to your right.
 
Sorry if I frightened your children, but we have to examine this one. She’s attempting to look cute, with that tilt of the head, but it doesn’t hide the disturbing eyes. Again, the right eye is looking at you. That left eye is doing the same as Grocer’s, checking the thing hovering over your right shoulder. You may be in more danger than you think… 
Don’t look round now!
 
 

Here we see John Major, a man with a very strange upper lip, squinting. He’s trying to hide the way his right eye isn’t actually looking at you, unlike his left eye.
You may be tempted to wonder whether Mrs Currie saw both of his eyes wide open, but that way lies madness. And a court case if you say too much.
 
Besides, the next picture is a shocker…
 
 
It is hard to convince oneself that this man is sane. I’m not even going to try. He was a Tory at Oxford, and has told big lies to start a war. Which of those eyes do you think is looking at you? 
 
Still, if you want an example of how to get even wealthier while messing the country up, you would have a long way to go to find a better one.
 
 
 
 
Yes, I do know that Gordon Brown is blind in his left eye, due to an injury playing rugby. I’m sure I should be very slightly sympathetic about it, as he never made a fuss about it. But it’s just a game, rugby, right?
 
[I live in Wales, and I would like to make it quite clear that that was a joke. Rugby is extremely serious and important, as everyone knows.]
 
 
 

And that brings us to the current incumbent. He looks at the camera with his left eye, while the right gazes into the distance, in search of more of your property to privatise. Notice, too, that he is doing the sex-doll mouth. He has two other settings: the one where he pretends to have no lips at all, and the one where he puts his tongue between his lips. 
 

In the first of these three, he is in the middle of telling us that he has lowered the national debt from £8 billion to £1.5 trillion, for which we are expected to thank him. In the second, he is trying to remember which football club he is supposed to pretend to support, and in the third, he is waiting for a carefully vetted supporter to finish asking the question they have been given to read out.
 
No, I don’t like any of the people on this page. 
 
How did you guess?