Culling the deadbeats

She's enjoying herself:

Theresa May bounced into her Westminster office. She could have just sacked the dead wood over the phone like most prime ministers have done, but why deny herself the pleasure of doing it in person? First in the queue outside her door was Michael Gove.

“Hello, you treacherous little shit,” she said, evenly. “I’ve never liked you. Let alone trusted you. You’re fired.”

“Please don’t,” Mikey whimpered. “Sarah will kill me if I come back with nothing. I’ll do anything. Junior minister in transport...”

“Next.”

Next was Nicky Morgan. “Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t get rid of you?” Theresa snapped. Nicky’s mouth opened and closed without saying anything. Same as it always did.

“Next.”

In came Oliver Letwin. “You’re sacked.”

“Really? I didn’t even know I had a job.” Oliver had never been the most worldly of politicians.