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You're standing bored at one of those interminable palace receptions, all dickied up but with nowhere to go without breaking some protocol or other. So you sip your wine, eat your canapes, and gossip with your colleagues about the big, rather thin skinned bully who has just hit town.

He dishes out more abuse than anyone but can't take the mildest rebuff. Like braindead. At least Melania has hoisted the yellow flag of surrender and knows how to play the game with style.

Poor Boris is terrified Trump might say anything and hides every time Trump sails into view. So nice to have these European chums to take cover with...oh wait.. these are the guys I'm busy screwing over. Ah well, at least Corbyn has been chaperoned away from my Lord and Master.

Poor old Prince Andrew can't be here to distract the hoi polloi. Something about some nag he shagged causing a fuss. Why don't these people know their place? I have mine shacked up in no. 10 to keep her quiet. Still, mustn't spill my wine over the sofa. The neighbours might get to hear!

Index of Frank's Diaries

by Frank Schnittger (mail Frankschnittger at hot male dotty communists) on Thu Dec 5th, 2019 at 08:20:52 PM EST

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