“THAT STENCH YOU CAN SMELL, THAT’S THE SMELL OF DEATH”!

A report from the front-line, on the deadly battles in the Tory Party … in their own words!

SCENE. A deathly hush descends like a thick cloud of mustard gas on the Tory trenches at the end of an horrific week of in-fighting. Four senior Tory figures agree, (with clenched fists and gritted teeth), to meet in a dark, damp, dug-out, deep in the bowels of the stinking, soaking, rat-ridden trenches which have witnessed the worst of the fighting. 

The first is a Tory Lord and former Cabinet Minister. (Let’s call him TL). The second is the architect of the attempted ‘coup’ on Commander-in-Chief May. He’s former Chair of the Tory troops. (We’ll call him Schnapps). The third is a powerful Tory Commentator (TC). The fourth is an ambitious young officer (who I’ll call MP. For that’s what he is).

The group shuffle warily, grim-faced after the heavy setbacks of the past six days. All but (MP) would happily bayonet each other at the drop of a tin helmet. In that tense way, that only hard-bitten tories can muster, their thin smiles betray the snears they’re feeling. Each looks to the other to break cover first. (MP) the least practiced at such tactics, can bear the tension … no more!

MP: “We’re losing the war. The enemy is out-gunning us on every medium. We need to invest heavily in getting our message across especially on social media otherwise we could lose the war’. We’re already haemorrhaging support. Someone I respect looked over the parapet of our big Conflab this week and muttered, in full hearing of many, both officers and foot-soldiers, “That stench you can smell that’s the smell of death”. He was talking about the death of us, of us being decimated at the next big battle.

TL: (under his breath mutters ‘bloody young fool’). With barely restrained fury he then booms …

‘Bloody young fool’ (now he’s expressed his thoughts out loud, he lets rip). ‘You’re barely out of training. You’re one of them’.

MP: (with the certainty of youth, and the arrogance of ambition)

‘We have to offer carrots. Voters in the mid lands I represent, and right across the country. Our people, are sick of the sound and taste of sticks. I can smell the stench of mutiny. They’ll abandon us to posterity unless we ease austerity’.

TL: (now purple), quotes from an article he published and read by all Generals, Commander-in-Chief, Cabinet, and most of the troops. He reads.
“Today’s Mayite conservatives have embraced a socialist ethic – with wishy-washy, opportunistic policies. Mercifully there remain a few Thatcherites, even in the Cabinet. But, sadly, they are being squeezed”.

(Signed, as an accurate record of his views – Lord HF, Former Tory Chief Secretary to the Treasury).

SCHNAPPS (seizing his opportunity, emerges from the shadows of the inner-trench. His boots are covered in slime, his hands in blood. Around him they can see a rank, rabble of rats too difficult to count in the dark, foul pools they swim in).

“I have up to 30 rats scurrying around me”. (We’ll call them MPs shall we). “They’re backing me to give the boot to the .. err .. old boot who can’t even issue a command without choking. She’s kaput, finished, gone”.

Slowly the influential figure of (TC) pushes forward, reaches for his torch (of scrutiny) and shines it into the face of SCHNAPPS.

‘You bloody fool, you know the Rule changed after the butchering of Thatcher, and Major. You, also should know you need 48 of these rats, nowadays, to sign before she, May, be challenged. Now let’s see what you’ve got’. 

TC shines the light into the shadow and slime, counts the rats at SCHNAPPS feet. 

‘TEN. Just TEN! You cretin, you bloody stupid CRETIN. Can you not see how much ammunition you have handed over to the enemy to fire back at us while we’ve been fighting amongst ourselves!’. 

TC turns back to the others. ‘It’s okay, I’ll write a comment piece for the ‘CONSERVATIVE HOME WEBSITE’ saying ‘Divisions ….. what divisions’!

(( NOTE: This is a close representation of the state of the creaking, collapsing, Conservative Party using, wherever possible, their own words )).

Paul Starling