The bags are packed, the wife has powdered her nose, there's no time to lose, let's jet off. Where to, next?
The world is our oyster! 'Where do you fancy going, Pauline?' What about an all expenses-paid trip to Barcelona? Courtesy of John Q. taxpayer!
When the Boss is away the Deputy shall play, Let's hope we dont see him in Barcelona!
'We need a break don't we Pauline? Those media hounds have burned us out.'
'Oh no, it's THE SUN, look over there, we better scuttle back to Donation Street before they see us making a quick getaway!
'Let's ram those media dogs, ' said Prezza, they're a damn nightmare!'
The jag is in the parking bay by the side, or maybe two but there is not enough room for Tracey!
'Let's hope the Boss doesn't hear about this, otherwise i'll be mincemeat!'
SUN reporter looked bemused by all these goings on.
'I thought he was meant to be running the country?'
So Prezza is, but his idea of management is 'Peace man!'
Those corruption rows just won't go away. They stick around like a bad smell, Tony, a bit like a deputy PM who just won't pack his bags even when the game's up.