Garden-gate

"Please sit down. You are obliged to answer our questions. This is an official enquiry. Could you give your name please."

"Petronella Feudal -Baron. I take it this isn't going to be a lengthy session. I have a mascara wand to pick up from Harvey Nicks."

"We'd be grateful if you could just tell us exactly what happened in the garden at 10 Greening Street, on the date in question."

"Happy to. Fuss about nothing. The idea that a little get together during a panic about some fictional germ warfare attack is the subject of an inquiry is absolutely ludicrous."

"Just what happened, please, Miss Feudal- Baron. Opinions aren't necessary. I want to remind you that on the date in question, it was forbidden to gather either indoors or outdoors, for any social purposes whatsoever. This was a government mandate in response 

to the serious threat posed by the situation. I'm sure that I don't need to remind you that people countrywide were observing this mandate, accepting that there was a need to stay calm, and to shelter in place."

"It wasn't the prime minister's fault."

"I didn't say that it was. Please describe what happened."

"The PM had just got out of hospital after a nasty bout of pneumonia, poor lamb, and I wanted to cheer her up. She and Richie had been through hell. Not only was she holed up in some godforsaken National Health place, he had to choose the wallpaper for the refurbishment himself. Anyway, I bought a crate of champagne."

"Carry on."

"I popped into Greening Street with it that afternoon on my way to the gallery. Just as a little token gesture from me, really, to say how glad I was she'd made such a good recovery.

I was told to take it through to the garden. Apparently, for some ridiculous reason, it was thought safer to direct people to the garden. A trestle table had been set-up and someone had put a set of leaflets about levelling up on the end of it, with a huge stone on the top to stop them blowing away. It was just the one sheet.

Apparently, employees had been told to come down during the afternoon and take one to read in their offices.

I am the first person to want to read something about social justice, especially if it is just the one side of paper, so I put the crate down on the trestle table and picked up one of the leaflets. I thought it would be a lovely surprise for the PM. and Richie if I took the bottles out of the crate and set them out on the table for taking inside and laying down in the cellar later. Yes, of course no one else was there. Except for the child."

"The child?"

"Yes. Child of some staffer or other. Off with a tummy bug. I'd just started to read the leaflet, which wasn't of any great interest as it happens, when there was a loud popping noise.

The child had a bow and arrow set. She had the good luck to be able to launch twelve arrows in succession, each popping the cork of a champagne bottle. It was incredible to watch!

I laughed out loud of course, and I suppose the sound of my laughter must have brought a number of employees outside, all of whom couldn't believe the coincidental popping of all of those champagne corks. Silly to waste it. Naturally enough, they'd run out into the garden bringing their pre-dinner snacks along with them, so there were a number of bowls of crisps and Fortnum and Mason sausage rolls on the table, by the time everyone had taken a discreet half a glass of champagne and gone back in to finish the day's work."

"And was the PM present?"

"Yes, she was, briefly. She had heard the noise and come out into the garden to make sure that all was well. She spent exactly 25 minutes outside. I remember looking at my watch as she was wrapping a couple of sausage rolls up in one of the levelling up leaflets."

"Thank you. Anything else you want to tell us?"

Yes. Even if the PM HAD let her hair down and enjoyed a little soiree in the garden with some champagne and nibbles, and a bit of social mixing, so what? I don't think the so-called Great British Public has any idea what it is like to hold the reins of power. They have no compassion. And if I hear ONE more 

whinging anecdote about granny dying all alone in a care home, over an iPad or through a window, I'll scream."

"Thank you, Miss Feudal- Baron. You are free to leave."

Siobhan O'Sullivan