A Letter To Gordon Brown

(this letter was sent to Gordon Brown on 12th March 2010 – awaiting a reply)

Dear Gordon Brown,

Let me first begin by saying that you are a very handsome man. Don’t worry this isn’t one of those letters. I haven’t enclosed my knickers.

I saw you once in real life. Afterwards when people said, ‘oo, what was Gordon Brown like?’ I said ‘much hotter in the flesh than he is on the telly’ and they said ‘no way’ and I said ‘yes, way.’ You see Gordon I know a handsome man when I see one, and you, with all that height and thick hair and the Scottish lilt, are a handsome man.

The public deserves to know that you are much hotter in real life and the election campaign is the perfect time to tell them. I’m thinking billboards and a party political broadcast. Don’t worry, darling, I know you’re busy so I’ve sorted out the campaign for you. It’s sexy. This election needs to start getting us hot in our M and S briefs. And it’s funny. I’ve always found that the main problem with parliamentary campaigns is that there just aren’t enough knob gags.

Your billboard is a beaut. It is a photo of you, Gordon, standing alone in just a pair of union jack boxer shorts. I’ll let you keep your socks on, you are a Scots man. You’re looking directly at the camera with your lips slightly parted and come-to-bed-eyes. The slogan reads Gordon Brown: Better In the Flesh. Good eh? And that’s not all. At your feet lie a pair of boxing gloves to show us that you’re up to the challenge, to show us that you’ve got balls. But, Gordon, I don’t mean balls literally. Make sure those boxers don’t gape, the electorate doesn’t want to see your hairy fellas. The boxing gloves show that you are going to fight for our vote, fight for our love, fight for this love, Gordon.

Do you see what I did there? I cunningly led into the lyrics of Cheryl Coles pop classic Fight For This Love.
We gotta fight, fight, fight, fight, fight for this love
We gotta fight, fight, fight, fight, fight for this love
We gotta fight, fight, fight, fight, fight for this love
If it’s worth having it’s worth fighting for
You must use this song. I’m sure you know that. I’m sure the first time you heard those words, you thought, ‘back of the net! That’s my election campaign song’ and you popped some hair Extension shampoo in the post to Cheryl to thank her. But let’s take this one hip-wiggling-step further. You remember Cheryl’s sensational appearance on The X Factor? Course you do. No one could forget the sight of our Cheryl in those slashed-at-the-side-trousers.

You and your cabinet are going to perform Fight For This Love in a party political broadcast. Don’t worry Gordon, you won’t need to sing actual notes, you can just say the lines in a sexy voice like she does. The outfits can be made really cheaply with a pair of old suit trousers and some scissors.

Now then, I’ve enclosed some DVDs to help you with the dance routine. Gordon, I don’t wish to be indelicate, it’s just I have a feeling that the lot of you probably dance like Bez with both his legs in plaster. You may find it hard to copy Cheryl’s choreography down to every hip flick and jazz hand. So I’m going to set you off with something simple.

Right, gather the cabinet together in a V formation. You at the front, flanked by Darling and Mandy, the rest of them in rows behind. Get a Lord to read the dance steps in bold.

It’s easy. Like a line dance. So…off we go.

Step, step, step (by step, step, step obviously i mean sexy stomp, sexy stomp, sexy stomp -with ATTITUDE, head up, lips in a pout – that’s it Gordon, looking good)

Rotate hips to the right. Rotate hips to the left. (Think Shakira. The Hips Don’t Lie. We’re all very relieved John Precott resigned for this one)

Right shoulder up and back. Left shoulder up and back (make sure David Milliband stops grinning, his lips should be parted seductively for this one)

Step to the right and shimmy. Step to the left and shimmy ( tell Harriet not to look down, she’ll look like a drunk mum at a wedding.)

Step, step, step and boxercise punch

Repeat

Really it couldn’t be easier. For the finale, the cabinet are going to lift you up, Gordon. So you just lean back and they’ll take your weight and lift you gloriously in the air (I would check the height of the room first) They’ll walk you round the stage area and then exit. It is usually advisable to strike a pose when you are in the air Gordon. Legsakimbo can be very dramatic.

And there you have it. Your new poster campaign and party political broadcast sorted. I’d take the morning off now and watch This Morning.

On a lighter note. I’ve joined a gym. You’re fighting for this love, I’m fighting the flab. Not that you’d be able to comment Gordon, when I met you I was in a thong. Good grief, I didn’t mean that, did I? A throng! Anyway, yes, time to fight the flab and combat the cheese. Because I do like my cheese ,Gordon.

Well, warmest wishes to you and I really cannot wait to see it all.

Yours very sincerely

A.Friend

(I sent these with the letter to help him)

A Letter To Nick Clegg

(This letter was sent to Nick Clegg on 4th March 2010 – awaiting reply)

Dear Nicky,

Let me first begin by saying that your mum and your old school must be proud of you. You da man. You’re living the dream. You’re head of a political party. But we have a little problem, Nicky. And that is, how shall I put it?….No one’s ever heard of you.

Shhh. I know what you’re saying. You’re saying, ‘Oh, but they have heard of me. I’m leader of the liberal democrats. I’m in the papers a lot.’ Yes, Nicky, love, but you’re in the papers that noone reads and unless they start putting boobs in The Telegraph and Ashley Cole Love Rat headlines in the Guardian they never will. I saw a friend last night. ‘Kirsty,’ I said, because that’s her name. ‘I’m going to write a letter to Nick Clegg.’ And she said ‘Who’s he?’

It’s not really your fault Nicky. No one had heard of Ming either. I once mentioned Ming Campbell when I was having dinner with my sister. Later that night as my sister lay in bed, entwined in her husband’s arms, she said, ‘baby, who the fuck is Ming?’ and he said, ‘how the fuck should I know?’

So the odds are stacked like chairs against an assembly hall wall. With you being the assembly hall wall. But it’s all right poppet, I’m here to help you. I’m here to help you dazzle. Because dazzle you need to do. Hasn’t anyone told you, Nicky, there’s an election coming up? And we don’t like the other two candidates.Now is the time for us, your people, to take you, little Nicky, into their hearts.

The way I like to look at it, Nicky, is like this. Imagine that the nation is a young lady at a party. She’s feeling good. She’s done a 5 sunbeds for a fiver deal, she lost a bit of weight last week after some dodgy Sweet and Sour prawn balls and to put it plainly Nicky she’s up for it. The only available men at this party are Gordon, David C and you. Now she’s already had a bit of Gordon and frankly it was dissappointing, she thinks David C. is a plonker, and, Nicky, all you need to do is give her a lukewarm WKD or do a silly dance to the PussyCatDolls and you could be copping a feel in the downstairs loo. But you’re not doing anything, Nicky, you’re standing by the fridge picking your teeth.

Darling, it has to stop, you have to get in there. And that’s why I’m writing. I’m going to give you some tips to dazzle.

1) You must call yourself Nicky Clegg from now on. Nicky Clegg, see how warm it sounds. Think Nicky Clarke, Nicky Campbell, granted they’re both pretty odourous, but we’ve heard of them, darling. So Nicky Clegg it is.

2) You must stop wearing suits. The only people who wear suits are bankers, undertakers and Piers Morgan. And we don’t like any of them. Haven’t you noticed the popularity of Lady Gaga and Strictly Come Dancing? We want feathers, shades, sequins and hats shaped like lobsters. But failing that a nice tank top with a shirt underneath would do. Never unerestimate the effect a tank top has on a woman, Nicky.

3) You need to stop talking like a politician. When you come home after a hard day’s work and your lady says, ‘ey up, squidgy bum how was your day?’ do you respond by taking a deep breath, doing a quick impression of a girl about to throw a netball and saying, ‘well, i start from the simple premise that this election to be different to the last several elections for the simple reason that…’ ? Of course you don’t because your good lady would say, ‘Whoah, there, Nicky, back up till it beeps. Why are you talking like a freak?’ Well, that’s how we feel when we hear politician speak. Now please stop it.

4) You need to use fake tan. You have an unfortunate case of politicain palor. You look grey. Don’t worry it’s common. I would recommend Johnson and Johnson Holiday glow, and while you’re in Boots I’d get some of their Protect and Perfect serum as politics causes premature aging of the skin.

5) You need to do something so that the little papers will write about you. I would suggest calling Simon Cowell and asking him if you could cover Danii’s maternity leave but I’m not sure he’d take the call. Therefore, you must harness youtube and Twitter. I realise you’re already using them. But Nicky, darling, you’re not doing it right. No one wants to watch you on The Andrew Marr show unless you’re saying ‘Ed Balls,’ and then sniggering like a twelve year old over the word ‘balls’. This I recommend you do, you then need to post the footage on youtube under ‘Nicky Clegg’s Gaffs’ along with another short clip where you attempt a Justin Timberlake dance move at a wedding and fall onto a bridemaid and break her leg. As for Twitter, don’t Twitter links to your interviews, Nicky! No one wants to read that. Twitter things like ‘David C. is a twat’, protest your innocence by saying you were hacked, but keep them coming.

I do think these little changes could make all the difference, Nicky. Jolly good luck with it all. I shall be following your progress avidly.

On lighter notes, I really think Spring might be on the way. Hurrah!

Yours very sincerely

A.Friend