I looked… inspired.
Indeed, you did.
That was amazing!
Watch your step.
I was amazing.
Rather! Well done.
Rock and roll!
Well… party politics.
I. Am. Buzzing.
They liked you.
A total knockout.
First conference speech.
First of many.
Always very memorable.
Blackpool – fucking – illuminations.
Come this way.
Blackpool Pleasure… Bitch.
Turn right here.
Had it all…
And right again.
Pace, power, control.
Through these doors.
Charm, charisma, magnetism.
Modesty doth prevail.
Headline pledges delivered.
Sharp left here.
“Growth through strength”
Avoiding the press.
“Strength through focus”
Sorry, not now.
“Focus through independence”
Not right now.
Message on point.
Not right now!
Job well done.
Take questions later.
In my palm.
“Minister needs air.”
A standing ovation!
Along this corridor.
Future leader’s speech.
Steady on now.
Yes… of course.
Up these stairs.
Up and coming.
Some perspiration there.
Heart’s going mental.
That adrenaline surging?
Knees are jelly.
A natural high…
Wouldn’t say that.
Of Columbian origin?
Money well spent.
Just be careful.
I always am.
Apparently not always.
Who’s up next?
Your only challenger.
Sir Edmond Smallbrook?
The very same.
Fucking old bore.
Yes… well… then…
He’s yesterday’s man.
Not so sure.
Need fresh blood.
A stirring thought.
The next generation.
Well, he’s steady.
So are donkeys.
Two horse race.
So they say.
The next PM.
Hardly a choice.
Heard very similar.
From on high?
Ask no questions.
Chatham House rules?
Mum’s the word.
No contest, mate.
If I may.
I’m this century.
Just in here.
He’s practically prehistoric.
Somewhere more private.
Boring old fart.
Where we’re uninterrupted.
Tired Victorian values.
Once was Empire.
He’s yesterday’s news.
About tomorrow’s news.
I’m the future.
A word, please.
This country’s future.
About last night.
What about it?
In your room.
In my room?
Come on now.
What about it?
Don’t be coy.
I don’t understand.
Let’s be adults.
I’m telling you.
You weren’t discreet.
I wasn’t – how?
You were… recorded.
Recorded? By who?
Rather, ‘by whom’.
Who? Whom? Who!
A third party.
You are kidding?
Afraid not, sir.
A honey trap?
A honey trap.
The red tops?
That’s very possible.
Fucking tabloid press.
We don’t know-
But there’s proof.
There is proof.
They have what?
Girls. Boys. Drugs.
For fuck’s sake.
Lots of honey.
Being fucking facetious?
I’ve seen it.
Is it bad?
Opposed to good?
For fuck’s sake.
I’ve seen worse.
Not fucking helping!
Course not, sorry.
My wife. Shit!
Your wife indeed.
Be cleaned out.
Could be costly.
Lose the house!
A distinct possibility.
And the kids!
Always the victims.
It out there?
That’s the thing.
It’s still contained?
For now, yes.
Oh, thank fuck.
Not much time.
Make it disappear.
The thing is-
Can you not?
Not that easy.
Must be able…
Editor’s a friend.
Anything, please, anything.
Roomed at Eton.
Whatever it costs.
A queer sort.
Save my career.
Greedy little blighter.
Fine! How much.
Going rate? Hundred.
How fucking much?
A considerable sum.
Don’t have that!
Cheaper than divorce.
Where would I..?
Is there anyone?
Who can I..?
Save your career.
Maybe could ask.
Think. Someone. Anyone!
And he’s loaded.
You should try.
He’ll help me.
Then call him.
Bit sketchy though.
The thing is...
I’ll owe him.
It’s just that-
With my prospects.
A slight issue.
Future Prime Minister.
You are… were…
Eh? Meaning what-?
This causes… complications.
Causes complications, how?
It creates ripples.
But I’ll pay.
Ripples get noticed.
It’ll go away.
Ripples rock boats.
No, no, I’ll-
Let them settle.
I’m so close.
Pull out graciously.
I’m the next-
Bide your time.
Leading the polls.
Fight another day.
What about Smallbrook?
What about him?
He’ll win now!
So, he wins.
Easy for you!
Does it matter?
Your job’s safe.
Think longer term.
Just a minute.
So he wins.
This honey trap!
Wins this battle.
He did this!
Wage a war.
The dirty bastard.
Be like Churchill…
Dirty, dirty, bastard.
Fight the campaign.
Dirty old money.
Wage the war.
No fucking morals.
Pot calling kettle?
An Old Etonian.
Believe he is.
Just like you.
I did lodge.
And the editor.
Not sure what-
Old school ties.
A scurrilous suggestion.
Well, I’ll be…
That phone call.
Proper stitched up.
Best be quick.
The game’s rigged.
My editor friend.
No new players.
Waiting to hear.
Rigged at birth.
Erase the files.
Fuck you all.
Best be quick.
_________________________________________________________________________
Hello? Sir Ed?
…
Everything went well.
…
Works every time.
…
Floreat Eto indeed.
…
May Eton Flourish
…
Family. School. Party.
…
Rule of three.
Editorial
OK, so this one maybe doesn’t work, I’m not sure. However, I had the germ of an idea from the 3 word slogans that certain politicians have chosen to use in the recent past. There’s a natural rhythm to them that people tend to respond to. They’re certainly punchy – especially when illiterative. I thought it would be interesting to see if you could make an entire story using just that technique. The ending could be cleverer, maybe.
Pl@tpav - Telling Stories 