The stories of Dave ‘chillaxing’ during the G8 Summit were heart-warming. That is, they began to perform this thermal function after I figured out what the word meant. My first impression was that it was a transitive verb denoting some particularly gruesome way of committing murder.
But then I looked at the pictures accompanying the stories, and they were indeed worth a thousand words. Dave wasn’t hacking anyone to death. He was doing a faithful impersonation of a football lout, throwing his arms up in the air in front of a telly to celebrate Chelsea’s triumph over Bayern Munich. Considering that Dave was going through that thespian routine in front of the crestfallen Angela Merkel, one can legitimately question his tact, manners and diplomatic skills. But then he gave Angie a hug and let her cry on his shoulder, so it was all right.
Just as legitimately one may wonder about the sincerity of that unbridled joy. Here the choice is straightforward: either Dave, who has always declared his affection for Aston Villa, was truly jubilant at the sight of another English team beating the Germans on penalties, or he was putting it on.
If he was indeed ecstatic, then one can easily believe the information helpfully provided by the same stories on his other ‘chillaxing’ habits, such as spending most of his spare time playing computer games designed for 10-year-olds playing truant from school. But the sceptics among us just might suspect that Dave’s tasteless enthusiasm came not from his heart but from his PR consultants.
Rather than getting a jolt of excitement out of an English team fielding only four English players, coached by an Italian and owned by a Russian, beating Angela’s Bavarians, Dave was trying to counter his image of being posh. No Enoch Powell, he. Dave’s not going to quote Virgil in public or profess his affection for Wagner. He’s a regular bloke, and he doesn’t give a monkey’s who knows it, djahmean?
If that’s the case, then he shouldn’t stop there. And nor should George, who was actually at the match, in a private, globally televised capacity. In case our two leaders are wondering what else they might do to prove to the electorate that they are as common as muck, here are a few helpful suggestions.
Those bespoke suits have to go. Instead, when attending the next EU summit on how to avoid a global economic meltdown, Dave and George should both wear patriotic T-shirts, purchasable from one of the stalls around Stamford Bridge. Dave’s could say ‘If it wasn’t for England, you’d all be Krauts.’ George would look most fetching in one proclaiming ‘Two World Wars, one World Cup, so @£&% off.’
That would communicate to those dastardly continentals that Dave and George will stick up for Britain in the only way they know how: by making empty, and if need be offensive, PR gestures. Dave should also, in my opinion, get a tattoo. After all Samantha already has one, and what can bring a posh politician closer to his flock? He should, however, avoid having ACAB inscribed on his knuckles, as that might communicate an insufficient devotion to law enforcement. Perhaps a heart pierced by an arrow would do the job, but this matter does require serious consideration.
Above all, it’s their speech that needs work, especially those vowels that sound as if they came straight out of Everyman’s English Pronouncing Dictionary by Daniel Jones. That simply won’t do. Dave should prove he’s a true heir to Blair, and didn’t Tony ‘Anthony’ glottal-stop his way to 10 Downing Street? Didn’t he drop his aitches whenever addressing an audience that looked as if it would settle for nothing less? Well then, Dave has his role model, and he should learn from him.
Thus, when his new friend François (who doesn’t yet realise he’s Dave’s friend) suggests that Britain abandon “zat rebate unfair and ‘elp run ze boutique European in ze manner proper”, Dave’s proper response should be, “You wha’, mate?” Then of course he should agree, having satisfied the domestic audience that his blokish credentials are impeccable.
And when George is asked by his German counterpart and new friend Wolfgang Schäuble (the one who got him that ticket for the Chelsea triumph, and what gesture could be friendlier?) to contribute another £50 billion to the Save-the-Euro charity, he must learn to reply, “ ’Ow much?!?!” – and only then pay.
The good thing about 10 Downing Street is that it’s a semi, though it would be much better if it were a couple of miles south of its present location. But have you ever heard this vote-winning fact mentioned anywhere? Dave should slip it into his next interview, by saying, for example, “The other night I was at me semi, in the kitchen, cooking tea for me trouble…”
The next election will be secure. Britain won’t be, but who cares? It’s really important stuff that matters.