As Cabinet Ministers resigned one after the other, in a remarkable impersonation of rats leaving a sinking ship, the new Home Secretary Peter Saintson denied he wanted his boss's job.
'No, no, not me', he said, 'absolutely not, perish the thought!', and taking a large bite out of a Jerusalem artichoke, he continued 'The very thought had never occurred to me, may I be struck by lightning and mauled by a pack of escaped lions before being ripped to pieces by a great white shark, if such perfidious and downright treacherous ideas should ever cross my mind!',
and keepers at London Zoo were told to go and check the number of lions that were in their cages at that moment, while Mr Saintson tried to sneak out of the back entrance of Number 10, Downing Street.
There, more journalists were waiting, and one again asked the Home Secretary if he had ambitions to take over his boss's job. 'No, no, no, no, no', he again answered, 'not me, mate. I'd rather be strangled to death by the Boston Strangler and my body be eaten by vultures than ever take over as leader here! Now, please, I have an urgent appointment with somebody else's wife.'
Then, as a troupe of red-headed midgets exited the building, another journalist stopped Mr Saintson from leaving, asking him if he wanted his boss's job. 'Look, ya bastid, the Home Secretary rasped,
'piss off and leave me alone, I'm NOT after his job, why can't you get it through your thick skulls, I've only told you that three bloomin' times!', and a passing conservative local councillor crowed at that, and the Home Secretary realised the prediction he'd read in The Sun's astrology pages that morning had come true:
'A loyal supporter of the boss shall appear, but by sundown shall have denied thrice the ambition to take over as boss himself, and thence the supporter shall be bathed in shame and champagne and gourmet meals, and a conservative shall crow mightily in Galilee South West', and he hung his head in shame, and was quickly off to jump overboard with all the other rats, while there was still time to escape.
The councillor was still crowing.