And they're off!

No. Not the nags at the 4.15 at Chepstow. I'm talking about the squatters living in Whitehall who have the balls to call themselves a Government.

Today our Prime Minister jets off to Portugal on yet another "hard earned break". Whilst the rest of us can only enjoy a statutory 20 days paid leave a year, often taken under incredible duress from employers who make damn sure you wish you hadn't gone when you get back despite being given the obligatory appeasement of a box of luxury biscuits, our concientious PM enjoys more leisure time than a five year old at nursery.

We're told that running the country is a stressful job and that ministers deserve their time off. I couldn't agree more. The stress of maintaining a credible facade of working hard for the electorate on those rare occasions that the big leather chair at No.10 actually has his fat ass sat in it must be sheer hell for the poor guy. It's a wonder that the silver spoon he has lodged up it allows him to sit comfortably at all as he plots with his henchmen to come up with new and increasingly ingenious methods to screw us all out of our money. There are arch villians in James Bond movies that treat their workforce with more respect. I've heard of Generals leading from the rear but Shameron seems to have perfected the art of leading from another country entirely. Preferably a country with lots of sunshine, sandy beaches, and waiters with little black mustaches mooching about carrying little trays loaded with glasses of vintage Chablis.

No doubt when he gets back we'll be treated to the usual in it together speech, a couple more stealth taxes, and maybe a declaration of war on another Middle Eastern country that the Premier feels has too much oil than they know what to do with.