Sunday, 8 April 2007

Yawning Cherie

Cherie, dearest, watch my lips. I can execute the perfect yawn without moving my lips and without resorting to all that jaw wrenching stuff. If I can, you can. It’s the polite thing to do in company. It took years of practice sitting in the Commons listening to the constant drone of a dozen keen back benchers trying to articulate their words. I honed the skill by having to endure countless Labour conferences with all my cabinet colleagues asleep either side of me. Some of them actually used MY shoulders as a pillow, like I’m some kind of robot without the need for sleep.

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