Sketch Script: Why do we wear poppies, again?
Simon:
Ready?
Minister:
No of course not. Remind me why I’m doing this again?
Simon:
Erm, one-second. {checks notes in folder}. Because if you don’t the PM said he’d tear off your scrotum and lock it in the budget case.
Minister:
Ah. Yes. I liked that one actually. Vivid imagery. Must remember it for my memoirs.
Simon:
Nobody gives a s**t about your memoirs Simon.
Minister:
Says my ever loyal PR officer.
How long have I got?
Simon:
Err… [LOOKS AT WATCH] 17 minutes.
Minister:
Maybe I should go shmooze a little before it gets started. Perhaps I can at least get them to put away the sharp knives before they get a chance to stab me in the back.
Simon:
Well, it’s a nice thought but there’s always the proverbial shank hidden away in a sock. Or indeed somewhere less savoury. Besides, a dull blade hurts more, trust me, that’s what I’d use. Y
Minister:
You’ve put an unnerving amount of thought into this.
Okay. Wish me luck.
Simon:
Woah woah, hang on. What are you doing?
Minister:
What?
Simon:
You’re not wearing a poppy.
Minister:
Well observed. Your point being?
Simon:
You need to wear a poppy.
Minister:
I don’t think I do. Besides… I don’t want to wear a poppy.
Simon:
I don’t care what you want, what is this GCSE politics? You have to wear a poppy.
Minister:
Why, Simon? Why exactly do I have to wear a poppy?
Simon:
Well it doesn’t exactly look good does it?
Minister:
Oh God he we go. Alright, go on. Enlighten me. Why does it not look good?
Simon:
It’s disrespectful.
Minister:
And there it is! The metaphorical bollock in the udon.
Simon:
I don’t even know what that’s meant to mean.
Minister:
Yeah, truth be told neither do I. I was trying think of a more imaginative way of saying that it’s bollocks... But you know, bollocks hidden in plain sight. Like a meatball or something.
Simon:
So that’d be spaghetti then.
Minister:
Yes alright “Bollock in the bolognese then”go for the alliteration - the point is; I beg to differ. I don’t think it is disrespectful at all.
Simon:
Really?
Minister:
Yes, really.
Simon:
And how’s that then?
Minister:
How’s that? Well, let’s think of a few things that show more respect, shall we? How about providing adequate healthcare for returning soldiers? Or widow ‘slash’ widower support? Or Counselling? Or re-training for life after active service? Things that the country could actually to help them, perhaps? After being shafted by us in the first place, sending them to die in war… all the while we don’t even tell them the truth as to why they’re going half of the time.
Actually, no… no you’re right - that’d be too pricey. It’s too much for the budget. The PM might have to give up his Waitrose biscuits in the morning.
Diversion tactics, instead. That’s the ticket! What about a big parade? We’ll throw a parade and get the queen to carry some paper flowers. Put it on the telly. Once a year will do. No need to over do it. Otherwise people might start remembering that we cause most of the damn wars in the first place.
Oh, by the way, that reminds me; “Simon, have we signed that new weapons deal yet? The one that provides guns to the same people we’ll be fighting against in 10 years time? You know? Kill millions of people - using the weapons that we provided them? Smashing. As long as we ‘remember’ them afterwards it’ll be fine.”
Just don’t forget your f**king paper flower while you’re sending lambs to the slaughter. Lest we be disrespectful.
Simon:
[Sighs] Are you quite finished?
Minister:
Oh shut it, Mary Poppins. Just give me the f**king flower.
[GIVES FLOWER.]
Minister:
And what in the arse-ing hell is this?
Simon:
It’s your poppy.
Minister:
No, this is a f**king enamel badge. When was this bought?
Simon:
I don’t know, a few years ago?
Minister:
A few…? Are you f**king kidding me? This is something we paid a quid for, a few years ago and we just keeping dusting it off every 11 months?
I’m campaigning for actual money for these people. Trying to drag them out of the s**t that we so often put them in and we can’t even be bothered to buy a new poppy every year! I’m trying to get the country to remember them 365 days a year, not once. We’re not even doing that!
And yet by not popping this piece of s**t on my lapel, I’m somehow being ironically disrespectful!
[SIGHS AGGRESSIVELY.]
For f**ks sake. I hate this hyprocrisy.
Simon:
Yes, well, you hate a lot of things.
Minister:
I do. I really do. I hate you.
Simon:
I know you do. But that’s fine, I know that deep down you hate yourself more.
Minister:
My dear Simon, it’s not deep down. It’s not deep down at all. I keep my self-loathing right on the surface.
It’s why I do so well with the ladies, I seem vulnerable. They think they can change me.
Simon:
Paul McKenna couldn’t change you.
Minister:
Yeah well, fortunately I’m not trying to shag Paul McKenna am I?
Simon:
I wouldn’t judge you. What you do on your weekends is up to you. Actually no, that’s not true - what do you on the weekends is Monday’s Daily Mail.
Minister:
Nothing is my own Simon. Tell that to the Register of Members' Interests. You play Angry Birds while having a s**t and they want you to register it as a hobby.
Besides, the point is, by actually giving a sh**t about veterans - nobody cares. All I have I really have to do is wear this hand-me-down on my jacket and everyone just falls in line. It’s like dropping twenty pence in a homeless person’s cup and thinking you’re a f**king saint.
Simon:
[LOOKS AT WATCH] Well, I see what you’re saying, but you now only have 9 minutes.
Minister:
Oh fine. I’ll wear the fu**ing badge. I look like I’m head girl, but I’ll wear it.
Simon:
Oh come now, you’re hardly head girl. Head girl’s are usually popular.
Minister:
PR officer! Simon. That is your job title. Remind me why I hired you?
Simon:
You didn’t. And nor can you fire me. So as your PR officer, I’m telling you to wipe the look of “I’ve just smelt a fart but I’m not sure if it’s mine” off your face and go try not to f**k things up.
Minister:
“Not fucking things up”. That’s the level that we’re striving for. Fine. Once again one will just toe the line, getting f**k all done and everyone can go about their lives with blinkers on.
Sod the schmoozing, I’m going to the stage.
[WALKS AWAY.]
Simon:
You forgot the poppy!
