FRIENDS: The One with Dave and George and the Biscuit tin "Why on earth does Rupert want to have dinner with Nigel?" asked Dave, wistfully remembering the days when he was the chosen one, ceremoniously ushered by Rupert into his penthouse lair in St James's. The whole gang - Rupert, Wendi, James, Elisabeth, the other one - were on hand with the canapés: as much potted dingo and koala carpaccio as you wanted. And there, in the corner, her flame-red hair silhouetted against the sun setting over Green Park, waited Rebekah, a bottle of ice-cool Kookaburra Riesling cradled in her purple-taloned fingers. "Perhaps if I shifted to the Right, Rupert would invite me back?" asked Dave. "Mmmm," mumbled George. Amazing how Sam managed to craft that neo-Gothic clockface out of marzipan. Oh sorry - I was a million miles away. Not sure that's a good idea. Well, he loved Maggie, didn't he? Everyone did in the end - that's why she's getting a statue in Grantham. How many statues are there of Neil Kinnock - or Michael Foot? "Difficult hair to sculpt," said George. Anyway, Nick won't let you move to the Right. Well, it's all OK for him after Eastleigh. Perhaps I should get Sam to take my points and we could both go to jail - then we might win a few by-elections. Nice if we could arrange a Tory sex scandal, too. Long time since we had one of those. "Oh calm down, dear," said George. There's nothing to worry about. Apart from Theresa plotting against me. And Philip sticking his tanks on my lawn. Perhaps I should move to the Left instead. Did wonders for Chavez," said Dave, remembering the tearful Chavistas thronging the streets of Caracas. There was a state funeral and everything. He even gets to be embalmed and become a shrine, like Mao and Lenin. Why do the Commies have all the best toys? "Well, you could always jail a few judges," chuckled George, polishing off the last sponge crockets and pinnacles. Nationalise BP and give the proceeds to Iain Duncan Smith. "And wear camouflage and a red beret?" asked Dave, aquiver with excitement. "I think Ed could get away with a red one," said George. Yours should really be blue. But blue's a boring colour! Why can't Conservatives have revolutions? It's not fair!" said Dave, slamming the lid down on the biscuit tin - empty now, except for a lone, dull digestive.