A New Prime Minister

'The exit polls have suggested that I am the new Prime Minister,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'So I'm going to bed now. Lots to do tomorrow - running the country and all that.'
'Oh really?' I say. 'And what exit poll would that be?'
'The one where Mrs Miggins agrees I'd be a good Prime Minister and then pecks Mrs Slocombe until she agrees, too,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'And of course I voted for myself, which means I have received one hundred percent of the electoral goat.'
'Surely you mean vote?' I say.
'No, I mean goat,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'His name is Percy and he's in the back garden tied to the washing line. He's all right for now because we got him a vegetable dhansak and pilau rice from the takeaway, but you might want to consider moving him before you hang out your next lot of smalls.'
I know I ought to look in the garden, to check on the goat status of Much Malarkey Manor, but it has been a long day and I don't think I have the courage or the strength.

'So,' I say, changing the subject, 'what will be your first act as Prime Minister Pumphrey?'
Mrs Pumphrey leans against the fridge where she is currently rooting for a Dairy Lea Cheese Dipper.
'I thought I'd get a new cabinet for the dining room,' she says. 'Something in oak. And then I was going to have a holiday. It's been quite exhausting, this campaigning lark.'
'Nothing more global, then?' I say.
'Like what?' says Mrs Pumphrey.
'Well, like sorting out the economy?' I say.
'All ready sorted,' says Mrs P. 'We've printed more money.'
'I'm not sure it works like that...' I begin.
'Of course it works like that,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'If you need something because you haven't got enough, then you make more. Like you making shortbread,' she added.

Ah, I think. I can understand an analogy that ends in biscuits.

'And what about education?' I say.
'Wasted on the young,' declares Mrs Pumphrey. 'So I'm banning it for people under twenty one. Keep children in boxes until they show an inclination to learn, then release them into schools. '
'Health care?' I venture.
'Go to work on an egg,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'Make me a mug of cocoa, will you? I'd do it myself only I'm Prime Minister now, and I'm going to claim your services on expenses.'
'You can't do that,' I say. 'It's immmoral.'

Mrs Pumphrey fixes me with a beady eye.
'You are assuming that chickens have morals,' she says. 'And that is a very dangerous thing to do.'

So I make Mrs P a mug of cocoa because I don't want to go to bed with holes in my knee caps.

And there we go. No need to sit up all night waiting for the results to come in. Mrs Pumphrey is the new Prime Minister and it sounds like she's already on top of things. And however you voted today (you did vote, didn't you?) , just be thankful you won't wake up in the morning with a goat called Percy tethered to your washing line.