The Demise of Lucifer Ogilvie

“I never thought in a million years you were serious.”  Lucifer messed up his hair and looked faintly incredulous.  “I’ve got what I wanted now  with the career and such, all that’s left for me is watching the cricket.”  He looked almost forlorn.

The scruffy artist peered up at him, a grumpy expression contorting her bluish Scottish skin. “Honestly, Lucifer, if you had just kept your hands off the Tedious Tory Totty, everything would have worked out fine.  You know what will happen now, don’t you?”

“Cripes, what?”  Lucifer’s expression turned to one of terror.

“Well, some tiresome and unimaginative money man will decide that Brexit is yet another golden opportunity to punish the poor, kill off the elderly and sell off national assets, and it will all be blamed on you, even though it was your predecessor’s fault.  History will positively hate you.” The artist looked smug.  “At least the other 55% of my unbelievably stupid country might see the light and leave, on the plus side.”

“How was I supposed to know though.  I mean you’re really cool, you’re kind of rebellious and Scottish and stuff and I’m just a dull old Conservative.  How would the party have taken it?”

“Fuck them, Lucifer.  Fuck them.  They lack vision anyway.  Now we can’t do anything for the poor, and we can’t do anything fun globally.  It’s all over bar the giant canal I plan to build in the Borders.”

“You can’t be serious!”  Lucifer was now aghast.

“Of course I’m serious.  And what’s more, I will be planting giant Saltires along my side. And you can forget that potentially lethal bridge over that mess of munitions in the Irish Sea, too.”

“You know how I love bridges.” Lucifer sniffed.  “You ghastly woman.”

“Ha!  I care nothing for your bridges, fool. You made your own bed, you can lie in it. See if I care!” The wild haired artist smirked and turned on her heel. “Enjoy your cheese, while it lasts.”

“Not the cheese!”

“Yes, the cheese shortage will get you, if nothing else does.  No more Camembert boxes for you.”

“Golly!  What have I done to deserve this!”





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