This one’s going out for regular commentator Laura – took me a while but I got here in the end.
Gordon Brown was born and raised in Scotland, his father was a church minister and his mother was called Bunty (NB – I haven’t started making things up yet: she really was Bunty Brown, wikipedia is never wrong). He has a PHD in history, worked in television (still not making this up) prior to entering parliament and famously came off worse in the whole Blair/Brown deal but rather better in the whole Alastair Darling Columbo Villain of the Week.
Over the years Gordon has spent time building his reputation on the idea that, as Chancellor, he presided over the longest period of sustained growth in British history and that he is ideally placed to steer us through this crisis. Oddly though he seems to have no idea as to what has caused this problem, no idea where the credit has gone or how to get it back. Now, I ask you: does this seem likely?
Let me refer you back to his PHD in History (something that should have led him to examine and analyse trends). Or perhaps drop in that he was fast tracked into university two years early and successfully muscled the slippery Tony Blair out of office, allowing him the office of Prime Minister unelected. No, ladies and gents, Gordon is not stupid.
He does, however, have a secret.
Yes, we can now reveal the truth: Gordon Brown is a troll.
Gordon got used to doing deals from a young age when wandering far from his bridge he came across the infamous Pictish Fae and struck an agreement where upon he would be able to pass for human in return for service for the Fae. They are his secret backers, they are his skeleton in the closet and they are the creatures who actually run the banking industry. Yes, all the time you were giving them money they were in fact hiving it off to their own lands and leaving you with a bunch of dried leaves and chipping away at the economy one note at a time.
In return, Gordon gets to be Prime Minister, he gets to be human and he more importantly: he gets to tell the English what to do. All would be well except, unfortunately, companies have started to realise their dried leaves are not as valuable as they thought and so they’ve had to let people go and they in turn have discovered their own leaves are not worth as much as the money they put into the bank. The Fae’s masterplan is revealed as they are left owning swathes of the country allowing them to expand the borders of their own realm…but there’s a problem.
The TUC is suspicious, as are the Tories, and so they call in Kenneth Clarke to help work out what has happened. Ken, suspects foul play but knows he needs to get to work on his tax return and so he applies classic overseas outsourcing. Through his affectation for cigars and this new fangled Interwebs thingy, he has met a US detective who shares his obsession for Cubans (I mean cigars – before the lawyers call), the perfect man for the job.
Gordon’s not worried though. He’s got the Fae backing him and, whilst he hasn’t seen them for a while and his glamour seems to be cracking a bit and now he comes to think of it his money also seems to have been replaced with leaves, he knows they won’t turn their backs on him. Sure, there was this funny note about them owning Number Ten now and him having ten days to move out but he’s pretty confident that’s one of their bizarre pranks. It will all be fine if he could just get rid of that annoying Amercian that keeps dropping ash all over his deskside statue of Harold Wilson – look there he is again and what’s that in his hand? Looks like a mirror…