IT HAPPENIN' AGAIN dis week, world. Gittin' another snub on top o' de infamous occasion o' de Gowon visit, dis time it de matter o' Sir Alec Douglas-Home's birfday party at Number Ten. You no doubt bin readin' where Edward Heath layin' on de top-class binge on account o' de Foreign Seckertery reachin' seventy an' still in one piece. Heath openin' up de back room, I unnerstand, also gittin' in de draught Worthington an' layin' on them sticks wid bits o' pineapple an' Cracker Barrel on 'em, not to mention har' boil eggs where they minces de yolks up wid onions prior to stuffin' 'em back in de whites, no expense spared. Also openin' a nummer o' tins wid anchovies in, altho' it beatin' me why people goin' for marinated worms.
Whole lotta nob guests turnin' up, also; lotta peers an' women where you look down de front of de little Paris number, you can see de knees. No doubt he gonna have de Andre Previn Banjo Band an' his wife Mia Sparrow, de well-known warden of All Souls, plus other famous stars o' de dipperlomatic circuit, all gonna be doin' de ole knees-up an' puttin' de Boofs Dry Gin away wid both hands until four in de morning. Sir Anthony Barber bangin' on de wall an' shoutin' "Stop dat bleedin' row, some people tryin' to git a bit o' sleep!".
Only thing they ain't got is me. Bin sittin' by de door, jus' like last week, waitin' for one o' dem cards wid Winnie de Pooh on an' Piggerlet where you open it an' it say We're havin' a party an' we'd like you to come please, lotta pitchers o' balloons an' funny hats an' stuff an' all de animals clearly havin' a damn fine time. Nothin' comin', though.
I wun't mind, only I already bought de present. It a typical piece o' de native folk art wot bin made up special by de local craftsmen, a combined paperweight an' table-lamp, lookin' jolly good on de ole Whitehall desk. Also, it a singularly appropriate present fo' a Foreign Seckertary, on account of it bin made out o' my last one.
The truth is, Sir Alec too damn busy wid worl' affairs to git de guest-list right: pussonally, it gittin' on my wick where he sendin' Sir Dennis Greenhill plus two other top Foreign Office torpedoes down to Salisbury fo' de well-pubberlicised secret talks wid Ian Smith. It beatin' me where de FO prepared to go pissin' roun' de worl' on ten minutes notice every time Rhodesia feel like havin' a secret talk wid someone flash. Why de hell ain't no-one tryin' to woo me back? Why de hell ain't I havin' a bit o' de secret talkin' prior to de unfreezin' o' Uganda funds in London, includin' forty-eight-poun'-seven-an'-six I got comin' from de British Home Stores Chrissermas Club, plus interest? Why de hell ain't no-one lookin' fo' a honourable settlement wid me?
I prepared to be as honourable as de nex' man provided de settlement comin' in used notes, pref'bly oncers, an' anyone can come to my birfday party anytime they likes. I'd like a cowboy suit, if you wondering.
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