Short Story 1: PM flies out for talks with Obama
(I’ve written a few short stories as part of the exercises in the writing group sessions I attend and I know they will die a sad death on my PC if i don’t share them so I’m hoping this is the first of many monthly or bi-monthly stories I will post for you guys. Word count is usually around 500 to 1000 words so never too long. This is the first one we tackled last year – the heading was picked off a daily paper which was lying on a table in the library staff room where we meet. It made for some interesting writing in the group. Hope you enjoy it. PS – This is based on fictional characters and the use of Obama’s name is purely incidental.)
“PM flies out for talks with Obama”
“Maybe I should start off with the joke about the American, the Englishman and the Irishman.” The PM stood in front of the full length mirror, adjusting his blue tie. He always thought he looked a little bit like a twit in a tie but the dress code for the job was not very flexible.
His wife looked up at him with some alarm. “The joke your uncle told last Christmas? Are you serious?”
The PM made a face at his wife. He had been serious about it but she was right. There was probably a hidden inappropriate meaning to the joke that Mr Obama would undoubtedly see through with his sharp wit.
“I can’t think of any other joke. Do you know any I can tell to lighten the mood? He’s a funny chap, he’ll probably have plenty to say.”
His wife got up then and went to place a reassuring hand on her husband’s cheek. You don’t need to be funny too love, I’m sure you’ll be fine. He can be funny for the both of you.”
“I doubt it. He wants to talk about BP and the Lockerbie situation. There’s nothing particularly cheery about that.”
“See, you’ll never get the chance to worry about amusing him. Besides you will be in his country so it might be best if you leave the entertainment to him.”
The PM smiled. She always knew how to put him at ease when he got paranoid about things like that.
“I really wish…”
A knock at their bedroom door interrupted him. It was probably his PA waiting to remind him of his tight schedule.
“I really wish you could come with me.”
“I’ll only be a few hours behind you. Not all of us are special, you know,” his wife teased and gave him a quick kiss before going to open the door.
The PM’s meeting with his officials didn’t last long. There had been a four hour briefing the day before and he didn’t think there was much they hadn’t covered when it came to the logistics of his trip. He joined his wife and children just before his departure as they went to stand outside the door of No. 10 to carry out the obligatory act of smiling at the many news people gathered outside their home, armed with flashing bulbs and wide lens cameras.
“This is what they’ve been waiting for,” he whispered sadly to his wife. “Why they’ve really come here. For the spectacle, not because they care about what I have to discuss with him when I get there.”
“Their ignorance is their loss,” she assured him. “You are more than just a spectacle to me and the kids; always remember that. Oh and don’t forget to tuck in your shirt when you land. Last time the press had a field day with that.”
“Yes love,” he said, grinning at his wife as he planted one last obligatory kiss on her cheek and hugged his son and daughter. Then stepping away from them, he waved at the crowd, lifted his left hand into the air for dramatic effect and then whooshed upwards and away.
The crowd ummed and ahhed like they had done the first time they had seen this a year ago during his campaign. It never got old. How could it? They were the only country in the world who could truly say that their PM had flown out for talks with Obama.