Westminster Whispers

Francisco Garcia's Westminster Whispers

The lobby's most acerbic wit on a government in total chaos.

Francisco Garcia

Westminster is a mmmmmurky place. Crammed with secrets, witness to centuries of shady deals and unsavoury compromise. Ideals are crushed. Lofty purpose is consumed by cruel necessity. Our fine journalists have been corrupted into a simpering hackocracy. Truth and honour are all too rare. Yet occasionally there emerges from the squalor someone ready to pour the thick bleach of truth down the damp crevices and blocked pipes where the powerful squat. And the results can be as explosive as you might predict.


Yo Pritti, I get it dudeth. Holidays are awesome… no one has EVER disputed this. But I can’t lie boss, in the diplomacy scale this is less Butlins and more Buttout, right now! You’ve merked yourself like a kipper with this one don, aha. First, an unsanctioned boogie by the Wailing Wall when you’d told Baby May nothing of the sort. Uh-oh. And even a peep for BoboJo, your BOSS… Negative! You seem to enjoy travelling, Miss Patel. So please, step this way, put that figurative baggage down and relax while I call you… a taxi for a legend! Skiiiirrrrrrt


Show some respect, you filthy little squibs. You disgusting little wretches. You rancid, godless slime. Do you think I give the first whisper of a chuff about your indignation. Look at yourself. Oh baby angry ‘cos the Queen and Gary the Crisp Man have been funnelling their tax money into Bermudan treasure chests. Listen, if the demented old bat wants to sprinkle her doubloons across the sands, who the HELL are you to judge. If Bono wants to jimmy his galleons into the batty crease of the world's most sordid havens, then I suggest you let the dosy old rocker get on with it. Newsflash brah, NO ONE cares. Come back to me when you’ve put on some awesome concerts or made poverty history my g… then we’ll talk turkey. Until then… tax this until the pips squeak


YAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWN Another week, another remoaning trash baby giving it the ‘wah wah wahs oooh Mr Junker look at me, I come to Brussels and do the Eurocrat skank just for you, all the time”. Piss off, Piss off, Piss OFF!!! How many times do the dons have to let the common sense skeng fly… Moggy, Redwood, Double D-avies. It doesn’t matter if we crash the WTO party, or sip some cool negotiated brews… it’s happening. So when I hear a miserable little poppinjay like “Lord Kerr” talking CR*P like “we can change our minds if we want to” I just laugh… with utter rage. Oh “I’m not a politician. I’m just the guy who wrote the treaty telling you what the treaty means.”

Leave the "aww shucks" sh*t in your stuffy chambers son. Look, you blubbering old piss artist… this is Mrs May’s Ravers Paradise and if you can’t get with the programme, then the programme will get you… and trust me when I say you don’t want to bump into me down the Geordie Shore when the dust has settled.