Remainders of Today. (sorry)

When they write The Memoir, i want a guarantee that Cameron and Clegg are Forced to write it Together. For a start, i'm not paying twice to subsidise the further adventures of these two Diamond-Encrusted Top Hats as they skip blithely across the Political Playpark of Europe or shimmy onto Letterman to the opening bars of Champagne Supernova. Secondly, i'm not paying at all, i now earn nearly enough to afford to park outside Tesco, everything else goes McSchool Dinners and Single-Parent Tax (whereby all the feckless Divorcees put a bit extra back into the state so that Philip Green can buy Kate Moss a new Minkskin Tutu). The local library is now the workhouse, Roger's Book Group are in charge of sacking for mailbags.Thirdly, whichever way they're Made To Do It, it'll be really really satisfying for the rest of us: take turns with chapters, 'i did not, that was his idea', 'i SAID to lock the doors, and hide the fire extinguishers'; Or get Cameron to do the first draft and then let Clegg proof-read with a highlighter and a red biro, THEN give it back to Cameron; Or, and this is my personal favourite, lock them in a room, a tv studio, preferably- oooh the Big Brothers House- and only leave them one pen, or one apple mac, whatever. Dangle the Publisher's Advance above them- bundles of notes, gold bullion- as long as it's Heavy. Let them fight it out to justify the Fear, Degradation and Misery they will have brought to this country by the time it comes to the composition of 'Why I Was Right'. Doesn't much matter who gets the Upper Hand, does it? Then we cut the rope that holds the money. If it doesn't kill any one straight off, there's always a fair chance of suffocation, or we just leave them there, with only the Cash for Food. Hopefully, we can watch them literally choke on their Wealth, and cherish the irony for a moment, before the rest of us, The Statistics, go back to sifting through the Ashes of the Welfare State in search of cockroaches to add to our gruel.