The story so far: As part of a European work-sharing initiative, the GLB Greatest Living Bulgarian Boyko Borisov and Posh-boy David Cameron have swapped jobs. Batty Boyko is now in Downing Street and firing on all cylinders. David Cameron is somewhat less comfortable in his Boyanna Residence)
Previous episodes can be found in earlier posts
E-e-ekh these spoilt English! I talk plain down-to-earth common sense to them and they lose their glass balls. Sometimes I feel homesick for my patient countrymen who know how to handle a crisis because they meet one every five minutes. And they like queuing! It gives them a chance to catch up on the gossip and complain about the black market.
Don’t talk to me about shortages. In my house we always had fifty plastic 5 gallon containers full of water, so we could flush the toilet when the tap water stopped; my mother had five hundred candles and matches for the electricity black outs and we always had twenty Turkey cans full of petrol in the cellar. You call them Jerry after your enemies. I’ve decided to call them Turkey. My word is a new dictionary entry. I’ll tell Volen.
So grow up English! All I said was you could use Turkey cans and learn to queue.
What’s all this about pasties? I got a phone call from Chancellor George. He put a tax on hot food. And now all hell broke loose. I asked George – what’s a pasty? He hasn’t got a clue. Then I get Prince Charles on the phone because they’re Cornish. Turns out they’re some kind of meat banitza. I called a press conference so I could be seen eating one. Mmmmm! (eukh!) I get a very strong taste of turnip, but I manage to smile. I’m not posh – not like my ministers. It takes me five hours to get the taste out of my mouth.
Not been a good week. Some sneak photographer snapped me with Abramovich before the Chelsea game. It seems I have to steer clear of rich people for the time being – especially after Chancellor George cut the higher rate of tax. Then some clown in the Toff’s party was caught on camera saying that ₤250,000 would buy a lunch with me. Actually I’m a lot cheaper, especially now I’m eating pasties. I had to fire his bottom and then go find a pub which wasn’t full of bankers and let working folk buy me beer and bend my ear for ₤2.50.
I keep asking my ministers about Romania. It’s Bulgaria’s neighbour but no-one seems to know anything about it. Not like Greece, Serbia and Turkey. My ministers seem to know a lot about these countries. There are even jokes.
Don’t worry about Romania, David! they say. Only gypsies live there. Well, these gypsies want to own Bulgaria’s Black Sea oil. Or was it gas? It’s like the Falklands all over again, only closer. I phoned up Basildon Council for advice. We don’t want caravans on our nice new oil rigs.
There’s a pretty grim island in the Danube where they’ve wanted to build an Atomic plant. Gosh! the size of the fish there is already jaw-dropping. Once the generator gets going, I’ll be able to sign up Bruce Willis for Sturgeon Jaws 1,2,3 and 4. Perhaps I can get Hugh Grant to play me.
I phoned Boyko the other day about my health reforms. When I told him all the Bulgarian doctors were leaving to come to the UK, he just laughed. Then he asked me if I was going to put a tax on hot banitza.