THIRTY-EIGHT
The curious thing was that, as Sister Winifrede was transported, dancing her way up Whitehall, all six hundred odd MPs and some four hundred very odd Lords and Ladies, followed, dancing vigorously as the strains of Stravinsky wafted to the ears of the purple-clouded Liberato Zondo, now very pleased his powers had returned.
This, was his greatest ever achievement as a magus d’excellence. A troupe of former power mongers, dancing ritually to entice the dawning of a new era, and then, the gates of Downing Street opened and Mackeroon and Blogg, PM and dep PM, appeared in plimsolls, tartan socks, no trousers, fully clad in body suit and tutu and they commenced ballerinaing their way to the top of the line, to tail just behind Winifrede’s horse and cart. They arrived just as Nelly
