OUR Man in Westminster, Sir Charles ‘Chatty’ Chatterton MP, is committed to truth, transparency and decency. He is happy for TCW Defending Freedom to publish his correspondence to his constituents. Sir Charles has represented the people of Greater Tittleham since entering Parliament in 1966. He is an Assistant Under Secretary of State at the Department of Health.
My Dear Friends
I have no doubt that many of you will have had the experience of sitting quietly in the Drunken Ferret, perhaps with a glass of their excellent Stoat’s Snout IPA, a pheasant sandwich and a bowl of badger-flavour crisps, only to have your serenity interrupted by a chap who sidles up to you wanting to talk about hunting, pigsticking or whatever. Later, after he has bought you a round or two, he reveals his true purpose which is to persuade you to buy a share of a vineyard in Montenegro.
My great uncle, Augustus, had a similar experience in the thirties. He was some sort of mandarin in the Foreign Office and had dealings with a devious Kraut by the name of von Ribbentrop. He claimed to want us to ally with Germany against the Socialists, but in reality he had a visceral hatred of our achievements and wanted to destroy the Empire.
I tell you this because my boss, Stephen Barclay, recently entertained a dreadful cove called Gates. You may remember him as the bespectacled computer salesman who was very friendly with the wrong ’un Epstein. It seems that Gates is intent on injecting everyone with experimental substances to combat viruses being developed in the Ukraine and China. I caught a glimpse of the ne’er-do-well as Barclay paraded him around the Department like a show pony. I have to report that I have never felt so nauseous since I saw the current monarch cavorting with Jimmy Savile. Fortunately, my secretary, Catherine, was on hand to calm my nerves and bring me a glass or two of twenty-year-old Glen O’Doom.
What struck me most about Gates was his smirk. As my father wisely said, ‘a gentleman never smirks’. In my opinion such people are the lowest of the low. A smirker is one who tries to hide a toxic mixture of anger, insecurity and narcissism. I advise you never to smirk.
I had hitherto believed Barclay to be a relatively harmless dolt, but his meeting with the smirking stinker comes hard on the heels of his deal with a failing American company called Moderna to which he has donated a hefty chunk of your money to build a poisons factory in Britain. Barclay is yet another useful idiot, and it is now clear that the enormous vacuum between the ears of the Secretary of State is easily filled by the weasel words of any passing snake-oil salesman.
A number of you have written to me with your concerns about an impending alien invasion. I have to say that government by some technically advanced geeks from another world cannot be any worse than what we have now. However, it is highly unlikely that any advanced civilisation would want to have anything to do with our planet. I urge you once again to avoid all media and be reassured that I shall inform you of the approach of any inter-planetary invasion force.
There is no doubt that the American war against Europe has caused all manner of goods to become more expensive and it is quite understandable that people are looking to find the best ways to feed their families. My man Mellors tells me that he has noticed several interlopers lurking on the banks of the Tittle, no doubt desirous of removing our trout. It is clear to me that these poachers are not from Tittleham, but should you encounter any such people please apprehend them and warn them that Lady Veronica’s worsening gout has cast a dark cloud over her and that she is patrolling the riverbank on her hunter itching to use her shotgun.
On a happier note I see that the crocuses and daffodils are once more adorning the Hall grounds and I am reminded of Christina Rossetti’s evocation of the coming season . . .
There is no time like Spring,
When life’s alive in everything,
Before new nestlings sing,
Before cleft swallows speed their journey back
Along the trackless track, –
God guides their wing,
He spreads their table that they nothing lack, –
Before the daisy grows a common flower
Before the sun has power
To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.
Before I leave you with those comforting words, I have to tell you that on more than one occasion I have been offered a variety of inducements to be more restrained in my denunciation of the imaginary hobgoblins with which the government wishes to scare you. But I tell them this: hang me if you wish; tear out my bowels; drive a stake through my heart; but I will, never, I repeat never, be silenced. It is my destiny to be a tribune for the good people of Tittleham; you salt of the earth, you pillars of civilisation. Mark my words, together we shall overcome the devilish forces that seek to enslave us and we will ensure that they will never achieve their new order of technocratic tyranny.
Your humble and enduring servant
Sir Charles Chatterton MP