September Prince of Darkness Special

September Prince of Darkness Special

Terry, Peter Mandelson’s man Friday, is at the kitchen table. He is leaning back in his chair reading a Sunday tabloid football pull-out. There’s a steaming mug of tea at his elbow, and he’s munching a sausage sandwich with onions and brown sauce. He’s not best pleased.

TERRY: [Mumbling to himself] Everton…bloody Everton…

Enter Peter Mandelson, the Prince of Darkness. He has a plastic bag containing hair dye on his head. His face, apart from the eyes, is concealed by a green sludge, probably some sort of face-pack. He is wearing suit trousers, highly polished brogues, and a Hull City replica shirt.

MANDELSON: Am I, Terry, a figure of fun?

TERRY: [Without looking up from the newspaper] Eh? What? Sorry boss?

MANDELSON: Terry. Do you perceive me as a figure of fun?

TERRY: [Glancing up and failing to choke back or conceal his laughter] Er, when boss, exactly? Right now?

MANDELSON: F*****g Hull, Terry. F*****g Hull.

TERRY: That should be hell, boss.

MANDELSON: Eh?

TERRY: Hell, boss. F*****G hell, it is.

MANDELSON: No Terry. It’s f*****g Hull. Not too far apart in cultural or desirability terms, but geographically not actually the same place. They’ve gone too far this time. They know I can’t afford to turn anything down…

TERRY: What’s the matter boss?

MANDELSON: [The tears start and his voice breaks, the face-pack starts running and smearing] First. First of all, Terry, they make me the ethics guru. Give me some title and the press and the media have a field-day…

TERRY: Well, boss, you do have the moral compass of a rattlesnake. If you have one of those at all, you can’t blame the…

MANDELSON: [Raising the volume and the pitch] …Terry. Now I’m the High Steward of Hull.

TERRY: Hull, boss?

MANDELSON: Yes, Terry. Hull. Not Notting Hill, not Islington, not Edinburgh or even Manchester. I’m the cultural ambassador for Hull.

TERRY: [Laughing] f*****g Hull indeed boss.

The Prince of Darkness throws the cucumber slices he was going to place over his eyes at Terry. He misses, and even from nio distance they fall short of the target. Mandy storms off in one Hull of a huff (sorry) and Terry resumes the sausage sandwich.