Poetic Licence: A Hot Date With Ann Widdecombe
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Your support makes all the difference.Ann Widdecombe, the shadow Home Secretary has not been idle while standing in for William Hague during his holiday. The MP's schedule has taken in 140 media interviews, 15 major speeches and 16 constituency visits
You'd recognise her anywhere
If only by her style of hair
Pure Norman Conqueror coiffed by Quant
Ann Widdecombe. Shadow-U-Want
The Duty Boot-girl of the right.
Patrols Westminster late at night
Dispensing meals to homeless blokes
While thrusting sticks in Labour spokes
In three scant weeks, with Hague away
Not one spare minute in the day
Without she roars off like Judge Dredd
To crack some slacker on the head
For something that he'd said or done
Forgotten, scrounged or hit and run
She's well tooled-up for any row;
Hospital John? Outside. Right now.
Those pregnant prisoners chained to beds
Now long-forgotten in the heads
Of gloomy blues marooned in shires
Who lick their wounds round dismal fires
Of baseball caps and half-baked spin
Run straight from printer into bin
While image-makers try to knit
A battle-hat for Wonder Squit.
But ah, this goddess underneath
Unwed as yet (like Edward Heath)
Not quite the fairest of her sex
But cannons blazing on all decks
Comes dutifully sailing past
To blast away the mizzen mast
Of some craft idling in the bay
Whose captain dares to holiday
No Tuscany for her my boys
The sort of thing that she enjoys
Are bracing yomps on misty moors
They don't include such softy shores
She's tough on bullshit and the cause
Makes Thatcher look like Santa Claus
God help those gurus of the spin
Should Hague go out and she come in
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