Oiling the wheels? Greasy grifter Dominic Raab is trying to pour oil on troubled waters after his boss’ American double fired the first shot of what could escalate into World War Three.
Raab looked sweaty and troubled as he made his play. The diagnostic throbbing vein in his temple was going nineteen to the dozen as Raab looked, in vain, for a fridge to hide in.
“I, erm, that is to say, the government, well, somebody anyway, wants to advise the public to avoid Iran and Iraq,” he stated masterfully. “I am fully in control of the situation, and I will issue further instructions when we find out where the hell Iraq and Iran are.”
Now perspiring visibly, Raab opened his London A-Z with trembling fingers. “Where’s the index in this flipping book?” he muttered under his breath.
One of his long-suffering aides drew him to one side. “Here,” he said, opening out a large sheet of paper showing a map of the world, with the legend ‘My First Atlas’ at the top. Raab bent over to study the document intently. The aide took a large red crayon from his pocket and drew a ring around the British Isles, a big arrow and the words ‘YOU ARE HERE’. He drew another ring around the Middle East and labelled it ‘IRAN AND IRAQ’.
Raab pondered this for some time. “Does the blue bit mean the sea?” he asked finally.
“Yes, Mr Raab,” answered the aide through gritted teeth. Raab looked overjoyed.
“Then this Iran and Iraq place is somewhere foreign?” asked the Foreign Secretary.
“Correct,” confirmed the aide.
“Right, I get it now,” said Raab, comprehension, or at least its distant relative, breaking out all over his face. He stood up again and addressed the room.
“My friends,” he announced proudly. “We live in an independent and very Global Britain. We stand alone. We do not need to concern ourselves with foreign lands. We are British! There is no crisis! There is no need to panic! There is no need to travel to foreign parts! This is why our ferry companies have no boats. The foreigners will come to us, begging for our help!”
With the Prime Minister hiding in Mustique, and the Foreign Secretary hiding in plain sight, we have absolutely nothing to worry about.