F.R.I.E.N.D.S
SAM Cam and Frances Osborne were chatting over a girls’ lunch. “I almost felt sorry for Justine when that story about the Milibands’ kitchen…” Sam began.
“Or kitchens…” Frances interrupted. “… broke,” said Sam. Frances’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? I don’t feel sorry! I ask myself whether she dresses that badly because that’s what Ed’s PR people have told her to do. Or does she just think she’s too stupendously intellectual to bother with brushing her hair, let alone opening her eyes before she randomly pulls clothes from her wardrobe?”
“Ooh, I know what you mean,” Sam agreed. “That whole holier-than-though, bluestocking Leftie nonsense can get awfully wearing. But even so, reading her and Ed getting kicked from pillar to post was like watching helpless baby seals being clubbed before one’s eyes.”
“Yes, but it was just ridiculous of them to pretend that a nasty little cubbyhole where they were standing pretending to have a matey cup of coffee was really their actual kitchen. No one we know has a kitchen like that. Apart from in their buy-to-lets, of course.”
“And the silly thing was, we’d all seen their real kitchen three months ago in their Christmas cards.”
Frances frowned. “Hmm… I’m not sure they send actual ‘Christmas’ cards. They’re more like PC, let’s-not-give-offence seasons greetings.”
“Well, whatever they were, it certainly looked like Ed was doing a spot of kindergarten cutting-and-sticking, which is practically all he’s good for, in a perfectly nice kitchen.”
“The sort of kitchen he jolly well should have, since he’s supposed to be a potential prime minister…” “In his dreams!” “…and Justine makes an absolute fortune as a lawyer.”
“I know,” said Sam. “Can you imagine what all her colleagues thought when they saw that? I mean, lawyers are practically like bankers, the way they tart up their houses. She was really letting the side down.”
“What about her clients? Would you hire a lawyer who couldn’t even afford one of the nicer layouts from the Ikea catalogue?”
“Then there’s the whole nonsense about whether it’s actually a kitchen at all. First Jenni Murray says it’s not their real kitchen, just a place where they make snacks, or something. Then Ed goes, actually, they do have a nice kitchen but they choose to use the really grotty one. Come on, guys, make up your mind!”
“Doesn’t that attitude sum up absolutely everything one hates about Labour?” said Frances. “I’m rich enough to have something really nice but I prefer to be miserable by pretending to be normal.”
“If I were Justine I’d be seriously contemplating divorce. I mean, just think of all our divorced friends. What are the first things the exwife always does?”
“Drink far too much and bore one to tears about how all men are b------s?”
“Well, yes, but when she’s got that out of her system she gets three things: a new hairdo, a new diet… and an eff-off new kitchen.”
“In that case,” said Frances, “let’s all call our lawyers.”