SUCK IT UP or 'The DYSE MAN COMETH'
(From an original idea, with grateful thanks to Graham Green’s, ‘Our Man in Havana’).
Scene: The Prime Minister’s private office
The phone rings to the tune of Rule Britannia
Bozo: Hello? Prime Minister here.
Dyspepsia: PM, James Dyspepsia, Singapore.
Bozo: Hello Mr Singapore what can I…..
Dyspepsia: No PM, its James Dyspepsia calling from Singapore.
Bozo: Oh, I beg your pardon James, lovely to hear from you and what’s the weather like in Singapore?
Dysphoria: Hot and sweaty, Prime minister.
Bozo: Very good, just as I like it. Huh, huh, huh, huh.
Dyscrasia: Yes, well, look here PM, I hear you’re crying out for ventilators.
Bozo: Too bloody right and that’s the last time I let Door Mat spend his tuck money without supervision – the little bugger went out and bought shares in some company or other – all above board of course but, well, anyway James, you were saying…
Dysentery: Well, I was just thinking what with lockdown, hygiene’s gone out the window and sales of vacuum cleaners are, shall we say, particularly low. So we’re offering to turn our production over to churning out ventilators which we’re happy to donate to you for the purpose of treating Covid.
Anyway, I’ve sent a diagram of the design over to you which I’m sure you’ll agree is top notch!
Bozo: James, I’m looking at it now, but I have to say the design looks incredibly similar to your latest vacuum cleaner – not that I have any experience of such makhana!
Dysthymic: Absolutely right Prime Minister – and may I congratulate you on your absolutely spaffing use of the Doric Greek for machine!
Bozo: You’re too kind!
Dyspnoea: But that’s the beauty of it. We’ve used our current design and, in fact, with just a few tweaks have transformed it into a ventilator; which at the flick of a switch reverts to its original usage thus, not only saving lives but also saves on the cost of cleaning.
Bozo: Bloody brilliant James! When can we have ‘em?
Dystopia: Inmediatamente! Just a question of the little problem of my guys having to pay tax if they come to Blighty. Seems a bit, you know…
Bozo: Pas de probleme old son – leave it with me, a quick phone call will settle that.
Dyscobolus: Great! Speak soon…
Three Months Later...
Bozo: James, Prime Minister here.
Dyscoidal: Yes PM?
Bozo: Well, just a minor point. These ventilators of yours…
Dyscredit: Went down a treat, eh?
Bozo: Not quite… apparently they were supposed to ventilate but all they did was suck the bloody oxygen and life out of the poor sods. But let me just say, the suction was bloody brilliant – on the upside, their insides were clean as a whistle; the downside was that they all expired – a clean death you might say! Ha! Ha!
Dysaster: Christ! People are never satisfied! Just one little thing is all it takes and we’re buggered! I suppose that puts the kybosh on any future contracts?
Bozo: Not at all my old chum. Don’t worry about that. Oh no, we want to order a whole load more – our hospitals have never been cleaner!
