It is reported that the Prime Minister’s speech to the Conservative Party Conference did not go down well, being interrupted by an imposter brandishing a fake P45, a coughing fit, and a collapsing slogan sign.
Three cheers, perhaps, for Mrs May,
Who gave a speech just yesterday;
She gave it – glad it wasn’t me –
In face of great adversity.
So, first, some goon comes up on stage,
There brandishing a single page,
Which someone had tried to contrive,
To look like a P45.
“Why, thanks,” she said, “I know just who,
That’s for, if you’ll allow me to;
I’ll Send it, after you have gone,
To that old guy in Islington.
I’m sure he’ll need it more than me,
For he is more than sixty-three,
So thanks for coming here today,
And now you can be on your way.”
She turned, then, to resume her speech,
With voice now sounding like a screech,
Because, although she’s not so old,
She’d turned up with a dreadful cold.
The coughing started, it’s not good,
You cannot speak well like you should,
But with some corporation pop,
She carried on and didn’t stop.
She got through to the very end,
Though coughing she could not forfend,
Then as a cheer was raised by all,
Some lettering fell off the wall.
It was a slogan, or had been,
On which she had been rather keen,
But what was left did not allude,
To anything so very rude.
So that was lucky, in the end,
The less that’s said, the less to mend;
But with the interruptions there,
The journalists seemed not to care,
What were her words nor what was meant,
Expressing her future intent.
So that was it, she’d got a cough,
They had enough at which to scoff,
But should we judge her as PM,
Because she had to say, “Ahem”?