"I say, Dave! Things are looking a bit sticky again."

"You spent your pocket money again, Gideon? OK we'll get Pickles to go round and duff up the Lib Dems for their lunch money again. That always seems to work."

"It's a bit more serious than that I'm afraid, Dave..."

"Well, I could probably lend you a few hundred to keep you going. How much are you short?"

"£25 billion."

"God, Gideon. We can't have burned through all that money AGAIN!"

"I know, I know. But who knew it doesn't grow on trees? It always did in the stories Papa told me when I came home on holidays. At least I think it was Papa. It may have been a footman..."

"For the last time, no-one cares about your childhood sob stories. We all had it tough, you know."

"...Then there are all those wages to pay..."

"Come off it, Gid. You haven't paid anyone for years. Everyone knows that.

"It's like the last days of the French monarchy out there with peasants eating grass. Not that I have a problem with that, you understand, but can't we get IDS to redesignate them as lawnmowers or something?"

"I would, Dave, but he's still sulking over that bloody universal credit plan of his. Now he's saying Maude's stolen his computers or some such nonsense. I think he's gone off his rocker."

"Between you and me, he was never that well secured in the first place. All that business about being the 'quiet man' and being in the weekend SAS, and now he never stops whining. It's not exactly the Dunkirk spirit is it? And this the celebratory year too!"

"Er, I think you'll find that was the second world war, Dave..."

"You mean there were two of them!? I was never much good at history. I used to get my fag to do my homework for me. Good God! It'll cost us a fortune if we have to celebrate that one too."

"Don't worry, Dave. WWII didn't start until 1939 - we'll be long gone by then. But, speaking of spectacular retreats..."

"Good grief, not again. This party's got more reverse gears than a Leyland bus. What about all these 'hard-working' types you keep banging on about?"

"Oh, we made them up. Sounded good at the time. You know, workers not shirkers, strivers not skivers...

"Idiocy not ideology...?"

"That's it, you've got it! And anyway, anyone who did have a job won't for long the way things are going. There is one thing we could do though..."

"Yes. What?? Emigrate??"

"Hit the spongers again. They're still shellshocked from the last time so it should be easy enough."

"Now you're the maths guy here Gideon, but surely if you subtract from zero you get ... er, zero."

"It's either that or tighten our belts and cut back on unnecessary expenses. Your personal hairdresser, for example..."

"Alphonse is NOT an unnecessary expense! He is an artiste! You're just jealous because your hairline is disappearing north faster than an Exocet whippet."

"You promised you wouldn't mention the hair, Dave."

"I also promised the country would be safe in our hands! I didn't keep that one either."

"Yes that WAS funny. I could hardly keep a straight face. But to be serious for a moment. What are we going to do?"

"Can't we just blame it all on the Bulgarians?"

"They didn't turn up. Totally unreliable these eastern Europeans."

"By Jove, I've had an idea! What with all this 1914 malarkey the answer is staring us in the face. Let's bring back conscription and start another war. Gove's been like a dog with a bone on that one for years. He should never have been given that Blackadder box-set and the collected work of Max Hastings from the secret Santa."

"Great idea, Dave. Get all those scroungers off the dole queue and boost our arms industry in one go. They're the only ones manufacturing anything at the moment. The only question is who are we going to fight?"

"We don't want to be too ambitious. The last thing we need is another Afghanistan. What about Scotland?"

"Well, it is traditional but technically they're not a separate country, yet."

"That bloody Salmond can't do anything right can he? Well, let's revert to the usual plan... Hello? Is that the White House?"