“It was no time for hammering,” confirmed the Prime Minister, “we had quite enough of a hammering in the election, which we still, I might add, won.”
“Although I generally play the flute,” Ms Foster demurred, “on this occasion, I was of course prepared to put the interests of the Ulster people first, and grind out a deal.”
Both sides were at it for many hours, with fears initially that their respective track records of selling arms and using arms would prevent the necessary leg lock out of wedlock.
But, they knew what had to be done, and there would be no surrender from the task in hand. No, our nation’s interest had to be preserved. A deal had to be done.
In the third hour, scissoring briefly paused, after a member of the 1922 Committee referred to the DUP MPs as immigrants. This entailed much discussion about the respective parts of the sovereign nation states which make up our United Kingdom. The discussion over whether our Olympic team should be Team GB, Team GB and NI, Team NI and GB or simply Team UK also caused matters to be suspended temporarily. But soon Ms Foster Stormounted Mrs May again, and the talks ground back to life.
“Heat me up like I’m an empty barn,” glowered Arlene, whilst Theresa arched backwards to assist her with her task of bringing strength and stablility. Bringing her youthful experience of grinding wheat into flour to bear, she smashed into the Belfast dock with a cry of “One…billion…pounds…maybe…even…more.”
This did the trick, the Union was saved, and we now have a government.
Meanwhile Jeremy Corbyn was vomiting more than you presently are in a corner of Glastonbury, having read John McDonnell’s stupid comments about Grenfell.
