An open letter to the Prime Minister regarding the necessity of a
strong drugs policy prior to the next election
Dear Dave (you don’t mind if I
call you Dave do you?) I am writing to you as regards to your perilous poll
position with the Tories. Now don’t get me wrong – I’m dyed in the wool true
blue Conservative here, fond of canapés and sherry and one-upmanship, but one
cannot remain unconcerned by the scurrilous reporting of our loyal journals of
note such as The Telegraph and The Spectator who increasingly point out that
you yourself are seen as a third-rate estate agent from the home counties flogging
a dead horse (i.e the United Kingdom.) Hope is at hand however Dave. You can’t
help but gaze out from the joyous Notting Hill soirees you so frequent and not
notice that there is one tonic that we of the Right can unite upon. A
cutting-edge, thrills and spills pastime that is apparently all the rage
amongst those of your natural constituents as well as amongst plenty of those whom
your policies are designed – RIGHTfully I might add – to punish. I speak of
course of Base. Beemers. Bings. And a good
ole Big 8. I dare say you might be a bit out of the loop re street “slang”
Dave so let me spell it out for you – I’m talking of the freebase form of cocaine.
Crack.
Now I know you might be a
confirmed resident of planet “fuddy-duddy” sitting up there in your ivory tower
in Number 10 (put away those old Smiths LPs Dave!) but no doubt you are conscious
of the overwhelming groundswell of Great British love for crack at this point
in your tenure. From gatherings in garages in Norwood to the upper-echelons
enjoying a joke and a smoke amongst the well-heeled and upper-profiled it is
clear that crack has a steadfast place in the nation’s heart (and wallets) just
at a time when the reforming coalition government of which you are the head is
struggling to find a “vision”, a “brand”; in short is failing to show the world
that it is just a wee bit Zeitgeisty.
Mr Cameron, looking around the state of a despondent education sector, a
housing policy up the spout, an NHS on its last legs and rocketing fuel costs
it does indeed raise the question: Dave, are you smoking crack? And if not –
why not?
Now I do not propose that by indulging
in the use of crack Dave that you should make this a daily occurrence. No one
wants to witness you monged out of your eyeballs having bade “Harroe!” to a Chinese trade delegation.
Or slipping into a paranoid psychosis during PMs Qs. No what I’m suggesting is setting
up an opportune (or several) photo-op or clandestine tabloid stings featuring
your new-found love of the pipe. Let’s face it it hasn’t exactly done Rob Ford
any harm (in fact the Toronto mayor has personal approval ratings way above
your own), neither has the Boutros-Boutros Ghali fuelled antics of Nigella
shaken her “street-cred” with a Middle England on whose votes you so depend.
With pipe in hand (or melted drink can or wrapped tinfoil - whatever’s your
poison) and with three-white-one-brown deep in your lungs you have the
opportunity to present a newly swivelled-eyed optimism to the world at large
for a nation who doesn’t care about the recession or the cost of living as long
as there’s Bobo to be had and a burst of euphoria akin to the Royal Mail
selloff.
Now in terms of selecting a venue
for the proposed use-up. I myself luckily retain a small maisonette south of
the river and might be able to help you out. What I am proposing is a cosy
Sunday evening get-together - just you, me, your redoubtable companion
“Sam-Cam”, my neighbour Hassan who’ll be bringing the “gear” and no infants
please (really not suitable; and on the bright side you won’t have to
“remember” your daughter following the insatiable ten minutes of pure rock
rush. ) All we need is a few choice snaps of you and the missus chasing the
proverbial dragon to sneak their way to the red tops (am sure a latter-day Coulson
amongst your press corps can arrange this) and - hey presto! – we have a
rejuvenated PM with an edgy young image; unafraid to make difficult decisions
be it concerning the “bedroom” tax or burning some sweet sweet Paradise White,
thereby attaining the kind of incendiary confidence that one can only associate
with a Conservative custodian of Downing Street. Think hard Dave. Your country,
your party and your social status depends upon it. Let’s go roast some blow “bro!”
With admiration and concern
Rupert Thorncroft
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