King Tony the Peacemaker talks turkey in Stormont

Trimble: `My Lord - you cannot bomb your own true subjects!' Tony: `Oh, can I not! That's what King Slobodan said!'

Another section has come to light of the long-lost Shakespearean masterpiece, The History of King Tony or New Labour's Lost, Love and I am proud to bring you this fragment today. Fresh from his triumph in Serbia against the evil King Slobodan, King Tony is back on the warpath to bring peace to Northern Ireland...

The scene is a great meeting house in Belfast, capital of Northern Ireland. Enter King Tony, followed by Sir Alastair Campbell, with Prime Ministers in attendance, spin doctors, Orangemen, etc, etc.

Tony: And so I do declare this parliament open.

My fellows Scots, we have fought long and hard

To have a place where we can talk all night

And gain th'illusion of independence...

Campbell: No, no, my Lord! This is a different

place!

Tomorrow do we go to Edinburgh!

Hereafter is all fun and devolution!

Today is graft and deadline-talking time.

Tony: 'Tis true. I should have known 'tis Ireland here

By all these hard-lined faces gathered round,

These minds worn smooth by bigotry and bias.

Know then, my thick-skulled Irish subjects,

My disaffected Unionists led by Trimble,

My treacherous Papists led by Adams here,

Who, to hear him speak, you'd think a saint

Who never in his life has seen a gun -

Know then that if you do not sign for peace

Before the midnight hour has struck tonight

You all will suffer my true wrath and anger.

Trimble: Meaning?

Tony: That the bombs will fall on

you tonight

Here in Belfast, blowing up your infrastructure,

Bringing you peace, against your murderous will.

Trimble: My Lord - you cannot bomb your own

true subjects!

Tony: Oh, can I not! That's what King Slobodan

said!

But soon he heard the whistle of the rockets

And soon he crumbled, begging me for peace!

Trimble: 'Tis not at all the same. If you bomb

Belfast,

You will be just like Slobodan in Kosovo!

Tony: Whatever. Just get your act together here

And make me seem the monarch that I am!

The scene changes to the Passport Office in Petty France, where crowds of starving and dying people are lying around. Enter Sir Jack Straw.

Straw: May I have your attention for a minute?

You all do come from overseas for asylum,

And in due course you shall be processed...

Adviser: No, no, my Lord, you have it wrong again! These are all British folk, seeking their holidays! They do but wait their passport to be given!

Straw: And what does keep them here?

Adviser: Duke Prescott

Has ordered that a bus lane go through here

To relieve the pressure on the public roads.

Straw: And has it worked?

Adviser: No. Things are twice as bad.

Enter a tall female figure in boots and enormous spectacles. It is Dame Janet Street-Porter.

Janet: Oh, strewth, me blisters! Bring my

Odoritas

And let me have a sit-down for a while.

I have walked this blooming land all day

And now am come to - where am I, by the way? Straw: In Petty France.

Janet: In France? Oh, say not so!

I must have taken a turning wrong somewhere. For I was meant to meet Sir Elton John

And have a chat with him about the country -

Cruising, cottaging, all that sort of thing.

Well, sod that for a lark. I'll get a taxi!

Exit Dame Janet Street-Porter. Enter Sir Greg Dyke, arm in arm with Lord Melvyn Bragg.

Dyke: Tell me, dear Melvyn, now that I am head

Of all the King's Broadcasting Company,

What is this thing called radio? TV I know,

But this poor thing with paltry sound alone,

No pictures to relieve the gloom: what can one do?

Bragg: A word, dear Greg, in secret. What to do

Is send young Paxman packing from his perch

And let me Start The Week again instead!

Dyke: And will it bring the ratings up again?

Bragg: They'll shoot right up, like shares in LWT. Dyke: Hot diggity dog. Let's do it right away!

Exeunt Dyke, Bagg, Straw, severally, leaving dying crowds still awaiting their passports.

More of this exciting stuff soon, I hope.