The Conservative party’s recent decision to employ a giant evil squid as a policy advisor raised a number of questions. Where did they find the colossal, malevolent cephalopod? Does the strategy suggest a degree of desperation from a party suffering at the polls? Will it eventually rise up and kill us all? As such I was delighted to have been sent by this fine journal to interview the gargantuan marine mollusc.
Those of you who don’t follow politics closely may have missed the news last week of the Conservative party’s decision. Essentially, the surprising gambit was explained as an effort to speed up the party’s policy formation channel. It is believed that having first discovered the creature either in space, the ocean, or at some kind of temporal rift in the fabric of spacetime, the Conservatives quickly found that the malicious giant was strongly against extensive benefits for the poor and needy, highly critical of public ownership and sceptical about modern educational ideas. The monster has quickly gained great popularity amongst the Tory grassroots.
I was told that I was to meet George Osborne at 9am on Tuesday morning and he would take me to the squid. I met him promptly at the given time by the entrance to Portcullis House. As we walked through the passageway into Westminster palace I asked him: why a giant evil squid? And why now? He was reticent. “It is totally untrue that our new policy guru is a ‘giant evil squid’,” he snapped. “The creature is of extraterrestrial origin and hence is clearly not a ‘squid’ in the taxonomic sense. Indeed, its biology is very different to anything that evolved on earth. We believe it uses a complex system of hydraulic chambers for locomotion and breathes in nitrogen. Besides, if anything it more closely resembles an octopus.”
As we walked through the entrance hall towards the old chamber an odour that was at once both otherworldly and somehow fishy began to envelope us. My sensitive nostrils, honed over the consumption of a thousand glasses of fine burgundy at one particularly raucous journo party, were distinctly unimpressed. As we neared the ancient hall the walls grew more and more densely covered in sucker marks and deep scars that must have been cut by the slap of a wayward tentacle.
Finally we arrived at the ancient debate chamber where the creature was being housed. Osborne beckoned me to enter through the stone doorway. Finally I gazed upon the form of the horrible invertebrate. “Bring me Nick Clegg, I wish to devour him,” commanded the squid in a bellowing voice, its tendrils winding their way through Westminster. “Also, no housing benefit for anyone under 25 – they can just live in their pods, like I did when I was a slightly smaller giant evil squid. Bring me more krill.”
Junior looking Tory aides ran around replenishing the vast pile of tiny crustaceans that lay before it. I nudged Osborne to prompt him to introduce me. “Oh great evil master, I bring a visitor who wishes to speak with you,” he called up to the squid. “Fuck off George,” the creature replied and fired a huge glob of purple ink at the chancellor, transforming him into gooey silhouette. “I don’t talk to journalists.”
To be continued…