Toffy, Perky and Bunkum


There’s a distinct whiff of the St Custard’s Senior Prefeks’ Common Room about the trio of Jacob “Toffy” Rees-Mogg, Michael ”Perky” Gove and Ian “Bunkum” Duncan-Smith.

In spite of the fact that one of them has already reached the dizzy heights of Head of House, only to be found wanting (his lack of charisma wasn’t in fact an engaging trait, but was found to be an actual absence of character), the three of them are now clammily united in trying to resolve one urgent question: how to be Topp.


Our job is to ensure, to borrow Perky’s favourite word, that they don’t succeed, a task made rather more difficult in Toffy’s case due to his positively papist enthusiasm for procreation (his most recent oeuvres being Wulfric Leyson Pius and Sixtus Dominic Boniface – knock one down and there’s another immediately behind to take his place. In Latin.).


There must be some sanction they can be threatened with. All three would consider spanking a reward rather than a deterrent; shedloads of Latin prep might silence brainless Bunkum, but the other two would no doubt rejoice exsultate in it; and being shackled to Brexit Bulldog David Davis – which most of us would consider too ghastly a prospect to contemplate – is what they’ve already signed up for. Until the idiot is no longer useful, of course.

So we’ll have to resort to desperate measures. Let’s arrange to send them off to live in a bungalow near Stoke Mandeville. Locked and sealed. With Nigel Farage. Cui bono? Omnes nos.

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