A few weeks ago Bullingdon, the minister’s special adviser, invited me over to his office (which I noticed had been renamed the “Meeting Zoo”) at DCMS for a chat about his next Big Idea.
Suddenly the door swung open. In came a chimp in a dress, pushing a tea trolley. I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“I know,” groaned Bullingdon. “It’s come to this. We’ve got an exchange programme with London Zoo.
“Jeremy’s hiding in his office. But Ed’s in a cage in Regent’s Park, eating bananas, laughing when he soils his nappies and doing tricks for the crowds. There’s a sign reading ‘Do not feed the sub-human’ on the bars, but everyone ignores it. He loves the attention. He doesn’t want to come back, but he’ll change his tune when winter comes.
“Do you remember that time a few months ago when Labour mocked Jeremy in the Commons and said they wanted the organ grinder not the monkey? Little did they know. The monkey’s back as minister. Worst of all, the animals are doing fucking brilliantly.”
He took me next door to the “Policy Zoo”, a darkened room with thumping house music, illuminated only by strobe lights. Inside, I could just make out an octopus wearing shades in a huge tank.
“That’s Mystic Mash,” said Bullingdon. “Ed chose it personally. If you ask it a question, and pour enough alcohol and Class A in through a tube, it’ll choose one of two balls – blue for yes, and red for no.”
“Do you mean…?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “It was the animals who decided that core museums should go, and referred the takeover of BskyB to the Competition Commission. Both great decisions that Jeremy was too scared to take.”
Suddenly the door swung open. In came a chimp in a dress, pushing a tea trolley. I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“I know,” groaned Bullingdon. “It’s come to this. We’ve got an exchange programme with London Zoo.
“Jeremy’s hiding in his office. But Ed’s in a cage in Regent’s Park, eating bananas, laughing when he soils his nappies and doing tricks for the crowds. There’s a sign reading ‘Do not feed the sub-human’ on the bars, but everyone ignores it. He loves the attention. He doesn’t want to come back, but he’ll change his tune when winter comes.
“Do you remember that time a few months ago when Labour mocked Jeremy in the Commons and said they wanted the organ grinder not the monkey? Little did they know. The monkey’s back as minister. Worst of all, the animals are doing fucking brilliantly.”
He took me next door to the “Policy Zoo”, a darkened room with thumping house music, illuminated only by strobe lights. Inside, I could just make out an octopus wearing shades in a huge tank.
“That’s Mystic Mash,” said Bullingdon. “Ed chose it personally. If you ask it a question, and pour enough alcohol and Class A in through a tube, it’ll choose one of two balls – blue for yes, and red for no.”
“Do you mean…?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “It was the animals who decided that core museums should go, and referred the takeover of BskyB to the Competition Commission. Both great decisions that Jeremy was too scared to take.”
