The Ongoing Diaries of Thruxton Cum-Largely

British Government Special Advisor

Thursday, 23rd August 2012

So Azil Nadir has been sentenced to ten years in prison over the Polly Peck fraud. After almost 20 years on the run for stealing a paltry few tens of millions he was daft enough to return to the UK (from Northern Cyprus), all to prove his innocence. Oh, how foolish he was to try and do that in a British Court!

Lord McAlpine, a previous Conservative Party treasurer and now, to my mind, suffering the mental problems associated with advanced age, says we must repay the money he donated to us. This is a disastrous idea. Why hand back 20 year old money? It’s unnatural and anyway, whom would we repay it too? Nadir? He’s the one who gave it to us and we’ve just locked him up. I suppose that at least we know where to send the cheque that way.

Nadir hasn’t been a donor to the Conservative Party for, well, almost 20 years and, clearly, we wouldn’t take money from him now, not now he’s been caught. A chap should never be caught. Bankrupt, morally corrupt, rumoured to be frequently in flagrante with an endangered species, a chap can be any of these things, but never caught. Hand money back? No.

I have written to the Health Minister suggesting that Lord McAlpine may need some quiet time for his obvious mental problems, preferably in a locked room with no telephone.

At least this afternoon bought some good news. The ever begrudging and biased BBC has decided not too erect a statue of the hero of all the world’s killjoys, communists and poor people, George Orwell, outside Broadcasting House. The reason was delicious, they felt he was too left wing. I chuckled so hard I almost choked on my Martini. They shouldn’t make those olives so bloody small, it’s dangerous. Really rather embarrassing as I was at the Foreign Office trying to negotiate an arms deal with a gentleman from an oil rich country in the Gulf at the time. Naturally, who would want to sell arms to an oil poor country?

Friday, 24th August 2012

Our betrayal by the Murdochs is complete and I am furious. His tawdry rag, I can hardly bear to even write it’s name, The Sun, was all over Whitehall this morning. Normally, I wouldn’t pee on it if it was on fire but today he has had the temerity to publish naked pictures of the third in line to The Throne, our noble but occasionally high-spirited Prince Harry. In days of yore we’d have had a damn good public hanging for insulting The Crown like that. I keep reminding myself that Murdoch is Australian and therefore possesses a criminal heritage and a grudge against the Mother Country.

This is clearly revenge for his uncovering at the Leveson Inquiry into press criminality but that can hardly be blamed on the Government. We went out of our way to cover it up, as far as we could. We even employed a few of his inept staff and lent them a horse, but ultimately it was they that were caught hacking phones and stalking people. If we benefited, it was tangential and obviously unintentional. I am confident the Government is clean on this one. Or, at the very least, nothing can be proven. I would never be so slap dash and amateurish. If I ever were to ever eavesdrop, of course.

This is why we should never have given the Colonies independence. The Americans (almost certainly Democrats, or worse, Liberals) took the photos, an Australian published them, and you can be sure the whole of Europe is laughing at them. Jealous enemies surround us on all sides. Well, we still have The Crown, even if by now they have all seen Harry’s jewels. I’ve been watching old speeches by Margaret Thatcher all day just to lower my blood pressure.

Next time our so called friends want help with a war I shall endeavour to make sure that our tanks all break down at the most inconvenient time. It shouldn’t be difficult, they tend to do just that anyway. I’m also sure one Captain Harry Windsor would be only too happy to help. I must remember to speak to Brigadier General Chicken-Philpott over at the Ministry of Defence. He has always felt anywhere outside of the City of London is a deadly foe waiting to strike, even Newcastle and especially Wales. It’s why we lock his door from the outside during office hours.

Henry is a UK musician, sound designer, occasional journalist, and owner of Derailed Records. Read other articles by Henry, or visit Henry's website.