Tony “Bono” Blair is a bit confused. He believes he is the famed British Prime Minister of the same name, deposed after winning a third term. Things begin to look up for Tony when a letter arrives offering a position with McCreedie construction. Thinking he is taking over as CEO of a powerful NASDAQ company, Tony accepts the offer and travels to Scotland, hoping to meet the people, regain their trust, and use his new career as a springboard back into high office. The new career isn’t all Tony had hoped, and he finds himself building a cement runway at Ardrossan International Airport.
… Tony’s been ordered to dispose of the mountain of concrete that Jim Baird removed for him … that means a trip to the dump … Paterson is ever watchful … Tony’s obsession with deadly chemicals resurfaces … are these the WMDs he longed to find in Iraq? …
The name Baird had a kind of rugged ring about it, like my own rugger-tug name.
The dump was at the farthest edge of the airport. I could feel broken breezeblocks through the thin soles of my trendy but impractical golden Nikes. Wind-shattered plastic crackled on a fence, and seagulls stretched and flew. Something toxic laced with resin fumes made my nose itch, and there was an electrical hum as though a million flies were gathering forces nearby.
I wheeled the barrow across the dump. Paterson followed. It really wasn’t the place I would have chosen, but it so had to be done. I had to walk where Lib Dem party workers feared to tread.
Wooden pallets, giant spools, nests of wire, old tyres, the metal teeth of a broken caterpillar track, blocked my path. I tipped the concrete mountain off the barrow.
I saw the poison containers, the drums of toxic liquid, stacked like cans of deadly fizzy drink, and then it all made sense to a clever clogs like me. Paterson, like Saddam, was a naughty liar. The chemicals hadn’t been destroyed at all, and I told him. I told him he was a very naughty liar, and I was going to make him eat humble pie because those were drums of nasty chemical. He said something very rude indeed.
Tony Blair: The Wilderness Years, the novel, ISBN 1-4196-0573-9
This Blog Is
Dedicated To Me, Tony ‘Bono’ Blair.
Without Me, None Of This Could Have Been Possible.
Check out Ian Duncan Smith’s satirical blog Hold It Up For Ridicule.