Gaddafi Plot

“Dave, darling,” said Sam whilst they were relaxing on the sofa looking at holiday brochures.
“Yes, my sweet,” he replied without looking up from “Sunshine Tours Of North Africa.”
‘Well, Dave, I was just thinking. You know how this business in Libya has all started to go wrong? I saw a picture in a magazine of this Pro-Gaddafi supporter wearing a green scarf and he looked very determined and it made me think that you might not win this one.”
“I suppose so, sweetest, but who knows what will happen there.”
“I had an idea, that’s all. It’s probably silly.”
“Nonsense Sam, you are the cleverest person I know.”

“Awww, thanks Dave. Well, what about this? You know how we have sent all those expensive planes and missiles and things to try and beat Mr Gaddafi and how it just doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere and now everyone in Britain thinks it was a mistake?”
“Well get to the point, my love.”
“OK. I was looking at the pictures in the papers with that Muslim woman being arrested in Paris for wearing a scarf and I just wondered if we couldn’t use that as a clever way of getting rid of Gaddafi. You know how you and Mr Sarkozy have been left all on your own over Libya, well, why not have a word with him about my idea.”

“Ah cherie, mon amour, I have to drag myself away from your caresses. Ah ma Carla, if only I could lie around here with you all day but I have a war to run,” said Nicolas Sarkozy reluctantly sliding his hand from Carla’s thigh.

“Oh non, cheri, don’t go. I love you sitting there like that. Somehow, you look so much more, er, masculine when you are sitting down”. 
“I have to go Carla, you temptress, I have all these gendarmes out there arresting women in headscarves and I need to show them my leadership skills and on top of that I have the war in Libya where it is only me and the Brits and when was the last time Britain and France ever did anything successful together?”
“There was that time in Suez, my love or have I got that wrong?”
“Yes, Carla, Suez was a disaster because the Americans didn’t support us.”
“I knew there was something about Libya that reminded me of Suez.”
The phone rings just as Nicolas had started to unbutton his shirt again.
“Allo, ‘allo?”
“Is that you Mr Sarkozy? Cameron here.”
“David Cameron, the British Prime Minister”.
“Of course – your voice sounds higher over the phone. Is something the matter?”
“Of course there is. It’s this war in Libya. It’s all going belly up and we need to sort it pretty damned quick, if you ask me.”
“Well, have you any ideas?”
“Well, funnily enough, something did come to me this morning. It is is all tied in with your Burka Ban. You know how you are getting all those ladies off the streets if they wear headscarves, well, we were thinking that those Libyan fellas all wear scarves too. What if you invited them over to a peace conference? His nibs, too, old Gaddafi, he likes to float around in a scarf with the best of them. When they are all over in Paris, get them to go on a sight-seeing tour, you know the Eiffel Tour and the Folies Bergeres, that sort of thing, then arrest them for wearing scarves on the street. Brilliant don’t you think?”

“You know, Monsieur Cameron, I underestimated you, mon ami. This could get us all of zee ‘ook and get all that egg off our visages. I am a bit tied up here at the moment but later I shall try smuggling myself into Tripoli with an offer le Colonel cannot refuse. Give my love to your ravishing wife Samantha.”
“I will. Sometimes, I don’t know what I would do without her. What was that?  I thought I heard something.”
“Oh nothing, Prime Minister,” Nicolas kisses Carla behind the ear.  “Just a little unfinished business here at the palace.”

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