Amber Rudd: stuntman

Of course Theresa May would appoint Amber Rudd as Home Secretary. She wouldn't want her successor in that great office of state to be anything other than a miserable dissappointment in comparison to her tenure. When someone is promoted they would like to be missed in their old job.

I imagine Theresa coming to this position after having filled all the other vacancies in her cabinet, after having dispensed all the poisoned chalices and hugged all her most serious and detested rivals especially close to her bosom, and on turning to the one remaining empty chair, wondering "now, who is left that will make me look *good*? Who can I rely on to be even more incompetent than I was? Which eager puppy dog is super keen to make even the most repellent, politically damaging announcements on our behalf? Who can be relied on to fly even the most ridiculous, ungainly kite?"

Her eye falls upon Amber Rudd. Amber's dismal failure as a businesswoman is matched only by her meteoric rise once she quit business for politics. Her tenure at the Department of Energy and Climate Change was so effective the department was abolished. There was nothing you could ask her to say about renewables she wouldn't happily contradict five minutes later at your behest if your shale gas pals phoned you and requested it. There's nothing she won't do if you ask her. Perfect. She can be the fallguy. My very own 'bitch Stewie'. Bitch Theresa as it were.

"Amber?"

"Yes boss?"

"Amber, I'd like you to be Home Secretary"

"Really, boss? Aw, shucks, boss, thanks, I won't let you down, boss, I promise"

"Good, good. Now, Amber, the conference season is coming up, and I have a small problem I was hoping you could help me to solve."

"Gee, boss, anything, you name it boss"

"Well, ever since that Brexit thing happened, people have been expecting us to do something about it"

"Um, ok, boss"

"I want to stage a coup, Amber. I want to accelerate us into an abyss of fascism. I am going to call this abyss 'the centre ground' so it can be reported by the press as something utterly unremarkable. It's what the country needs in these tumultuous times, Amber, what with all this Brexit turmoil. It is absolutely the right thing to do, I'm certain of it. It's the measured, sensible response. Steady hand on the tiller in stormy waters, all that stuff"

"Sure thing, boss"

"It won't be messy and horrible like Munich. No, history will record that the Birmingham putsch didn't take place in a crowded beer hall, with demagogues struggling to their feet on trestle tables trying to make themselves heard over a rowdy crowd of malcontents, no, history will show a polished and professional coup delivered at a podium, with elected government ministers speaking into a microphone with crisp, clean diction, in reassuringly confident tones, from an autocue, in the full glare of the cameras broadcasting it to the nation."

"Whatever you say, boss"

"You see, Brexit was always supposed to be a palace coup, an internal struggle between school friends. The original intention was weaken Cameron with the narrowness of his victory. This is why we didn't know what to do when the other side achieved more than they intended by his narrow defeat. But now the coup has turned ugly because all that's left that has any direction and purpose are the demons we unleashed to achieve all this."

"Um, ok, boss, I think I follow you"

"Which is, unfortunately, what always tends to happen when you attempt to cultivate and harness the people's fascist instincts for your own political ends, you see"

"If you say so, boss"

"So you see, we need a coup to restore order. It should be easy given we are already the party of government"

She tries to quell an awkward, self-conscious snort of laughter, quickly suppressed.

"I doubt most people will even notice"

"To be honest, I hadn't noticed, boss"

"The problem is, these demons, as it were, are now wandering around this green and pleasant land, beating up Romanians, stabbing Polish people, and so on, and we need to say something to keep them happy. I was thinking we could require registration of foreigners, basically chapter two of Mein Kampf, but, you see, I couldn't possibly be seen to advocate this myself, you understand?"

"Um, I think so boss, yeah, I get it"

"Good, good. You realise these demons are metaphorical?"

"What's a metaphorical, boss?"

"So .... I want you to do it, Amber. Think of yourself as my body double. It'll be like being a stuntman. I'm sure you'll have a lovely time and be very good at it"

"Sure thing boss, thanks, boss"

Like bitch Stewie, Amber would probably collapse in a heap at some point. But not just yet.

And now to Theresa's other problem: new found prominence. Her inscrutability can no longer go unscrutinised. They might find out there is no enigmatic taciturn reclusive genius in residence, just a well-dressed but dumbfounded incompetent. It's not that the curtains are drawn. It's that they might find out there are no curtains, and we are kept in the dark because the lights aren't on, and no-one's home. They might pop the bonnet on this classic British sports car and find there's no engine inside.

Who can she turn to that has had to deal with being 'found out' having been thrust into a position of enhanced prominence? Who can she ask for advice?

"Ruth!?"