One’s household is in uproar. According to the Sun, one once declared one’s fervent preference for Britain leaving the Europe Union in the midst of a fierce argument with Nick Clegg.
“Who?” one says.
“He was the deputy prime minister,” says one’s private secretary, who is completely apoplectic about all this.
Nope. Complete blank. One has nothing.
“Mimsy feller,” explains Philly. “Bog-brush hair. Whines a lot. Wants us to be more like Belgium. Handshake like a fish.”
One tells Philly to shush. Imagine the fuss if it leaked out that we thought that.
“Oh, don’t worry,” says one’s private secretary. “Everybody thinks that.”