The Honourable Parliamentarian, who also holds an important ministerial post, adjusted his crimson silk tie, cleared his throat with the practiced rasp of a seasoned speaker and looked squarely into the lens of the TV camera.
‘Allow me to be honest and entirely transparent with the electorate,’ he declared, leaning forward to project an air of deeply sincere urgency. ‘The current situation regarding the national butter reserve is, quite frankly, unprecedented. But I can assure the nation that our Government is taking robust, decisive action.’
‘Minister, isn’t it true that the entire supply was accidentally auctioned off to a boutique artisanal bakery?’
The politician offered a warm, patronising smile.
‘What the opposition fails to grasp is that this is not a crisis, but rather a tremendous opportunity for innovation. By delegating our dairy distribution to the private sector, we are encouraging a more agile, market-driven breakfast experience for every household across the nation.’
‘People are spreading lard on their crumpets, Minister.’
‘And what a marvellous testament to our resilience,’ came the reply, without missing a beat. ‘Our grandfathers fought hard through the last war on dripping and sheer determination. I have every confidence that the public will rise to the occasion, embrace this historic culinary pivot and back our traditional lard.’
He paused, glancing at his watch. The interview was over. He turned on his heel, slipped into the back seat of his chauffeured Jaguar and unhitched his seatbelt just far enough to reach for his leather briefcase. Inside sat a pristine, foil-wrapped block of salted imported butter, smuggled in via a diplomatic pouch.
He took a small pocket knife from his waistcoat, carved off a generous slice and popped it into his mouth.
‘Home, Adam,’ the Honourable Parliamentarian murmured, closing his eyes as the velvety fat melted on his tongue. ‘And do remind me to launch the campaign for National Lard Week on Monday.’
