The Butler Report

Dear Mum,

This week my main task as valet to the Prime Minister has been trying to prevent him strangling anybody during the hard-fought negotiations between the Lib Dem and Tory halves of the coalition over the forthcoming Budget.

The PM is becoming increasingly frustrated at the Lib Dems' negative, obstructionist stance.

"For God's sake," he screamed at the Deputy PM during Cabinet, "you've got to oppose us on something! What's it going to look like if you just go along with everything we say?"

A contrite Deputy promised he would set the Business Secretary to work on coming up with what the strategists call a SAD, or Safe Area of Disagreement.

The PM's advisers are very worried that if the Dems are seen as indistinguishable from the Cons, voters will punish them in the May elections, leading to panicking Lib Dem MPs ostentatiously voting against the government, thus collapsing the coalition, which would result in the Mayor of London becoming leader of the Tory Party.

Hence the need for regular SAD outbursts by Lib Dem members of the government in order to to keep their voters keen.

The Foreign Secretary has pointed out that this tactic entirely depends for its success on the average Lib Dem supporter being slightly more naive than a new-born kitten who suffers from a genetic predisposition to scepticism deficit disorder, to which my employer replies: "Exactly! How can it possibly go wrong?"

Sadly, all the Business Secretary could manage in the way of a manufactured row with the Chancellor was the observation that in a general sort of way and notwithstanding the exigencies of the situation - and being in absolutely no hurry about it - he did rather feel that, all things being equal, rich people ought to be if not required, then at least encouraged to pay (just occasionally) in the fullness of time, the odd penny or two in (if you'd pardon his French) income tax.

And even that was undermined by his later clarification that this was something he advocated only in principle.

The PM is tearing his hair out, and has been forced to appoint the Paymaster General as Acting Leader of the government's Liberal wing.

Well, I'd better sign off now, Mum. I'm overhearing the security services explaining to the PM their new software for early detection of subversive plots.

The computer listens out for certain trigger words amid the cyber-chatter which are signs that someone is talking about the Prime Minister.

These phrases, they have just told my employer, include "Number Ten," "Tory leader," and "arse impersonator."

Honestly, I must put a stop to this - he's had a bad enough week already, without these rotten beggars winding him up.

I'll write again when I get a moment.

Your affectionate son,

Rodney

PS. I suspect Granny was being sarcastic when she asked me what the female members of the Cabinet had done to mark International Women's Day, but for her information, they bought all the Downing Street cleaners a box of chocolates - and a very big box it was too.

I have no doubt this sisterly gesture will go a long way to softening the cleaners' disappointment when their temporary contracts run out and they're deported back to their origin countries in the cargo hold of a Hercules.