Before anyone gets any funny ideas and wrongly labels me, this is satire aimed at and taken from the dire political stance posed by an over-liberal/under-intellectual/ultra-underachieving government.
This now has a different ending to the one I originally posted. It's about a neurotic housewife's analysis of what she believes to be a superior spread.
When I wake up and my back’s itching in the place I can’t get at, I might think of the times when I had a girlfriend to scratch it for me. ‘Up a bit, down a bit. That’s it!’
Deep into the worst recession in British history, it has been decided that the MPs’ lift in the Houses of Parliament is in desperate need of an operative, a button-pusher, someone to steady the ship