The Hatching of the Great Misogyny Distraction Plan

Deep in the bowels of Party HQ, the Inner Circle have gathered for a think-in to plot the party’s way out of the abbreviation crisis Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken.

Paul’s just off the phone. Can’t make it but he sends his regards.

Someone organise for a tray of Ashers’ finest buns to be sent to his house anyway. The curry my yoghurts will be spitting mad after he licked their Leefaaa!

The congratulatory exchange helps break the tension.

Leader, we’ve got a problem though.

Ouch! I did it again. That’s the second time I’ve sat on the bench next to those newly installed boilers. This place is always roasting these days.

The assembled, representing Ulster’s greatest and goodest, take up their seats around the table as The Leader prepares to address them.

Listen up. We need a plan. I’m calling it Operation Distraction.

An excitable Admiral interrupts.

Who was it allowed Winky to call time on Twaddell? A good aul’ parade row is just what we need now!

The Mayor snorts in disapproval.

You can say that, but you didn’t have to sleep in that grubby caravan once every two months, listening to Nutts Corner CDs and that aul’ fool rabitting on every Saturday afternoon.

Growling, Not-so-Gregarious Gregory grabs a roadmap from Robin’s driver.

Give me that map! Not like he’ll be needing you for much longer. Anyone know the way to Longstone Road? That worked for Brian. And what about Garvaghy? Do our eejits still do their dignified thing there every Sabbath? Can we not find somewhere to beat the drum loudly? Well? Well!!!

In serious tone, Solemn Simon addresses them.

I’m afraid the Lambegs are all in hibernation. We could try but it’s hard to whip the masses into a frenzy in brass monkey weather. Once Lundy’s burned the fancy new costumes Paul’s paid for all get put away for the season. Hasn’t helped that he’s printing money to throw at every Hall we got- everyone’s busy filling in forms to be rubber-stamped.

The others lower their heads. The Leader speaks.

I think I have it. It’s a stretch, but I think it just might work.

Go on……

Let’s tell them I’m being picked on because I’m a woman.

Silence descends upon those gathered.

Yet more silence.

Even the piano player stops playing.

Sammy turns away, biting his lip. Hard.

Erm, how are we going to pull that one off? It’s not like, erm, how can I say this diplomatically, like we’re known for being the greatest defenders of women’s rights!

At this, Ian og loses his battle- and will- to contain his laughter.

Miaow! or was it Mooooo!

Don’t forget Cinderella and her ugly sisters!!

The room explodes into laughter as memories are relived and retold to the younger pups.

Shhhh!

I think I can pull it off….

That’s the problem…

After fixing an icy stare on the soon to be Siberia Craigavon bound upstart who stage whispered the insolent retort, The Leader continues.

I’ll tell them it’s all because I’m a woman. My public love me, after all. I am not amused by the calls for my resignation. Don’t they know who I am?

Somebody get on the phone to the other half of GARLENE. We need a powder puff interview to even have a chance of pulling this one off!

Thus was history made, and the Fresh become Stale at the dawn of The Year of Our Lord 2017.