Alan Milburn wows Labour conference

The best speaker at this year's Labour Party conference — excluding roving rock pundit Bono and his poverty-busting designer sunglasses — was the recently-annointed election supremo Alan Milburn, who unveiled his agenda for the next wave of modernisation: the introduction of Choice into every nook and cranny of the public services, representing the most radical overhaul yet of schools and hospitals since they were first invented in 1945.

"In the NHS alone we've got bags of new choices lined up," promised the former Secretary of State for Health and Efficiency, "and unlike the Tories they're free at the point of delivery. But let's put to bed once and for all this antiquated notion of patients being treated in the NHS. These are living, breathing customers demanding to be serviced in any way they choose, insisting on having their latest whim satisfied just like you and me."

Here was a man who practised what he preached. Only last year he'd resigned from the treadmill of front-bench politics to have more sex with his family, and having worked his way through every position in the Labour Party Guide to Sexual Union (1922 Edition), had hankered for a return to the hustle and bustle of Westminster.

To meet his request the Prime Minister had burrowed under the sofa and whipped out the ancient robes of the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, which he'd hidden from his chief auctioneer in the Lords Charlie Hawker during their famous Spring clean of all the old titles and out-of-date rubbish. "Good thing I kept this. I don't know how I'd have wangled you back into the Cabinet otherwise," Mr Blair had told his mercurial friend.

Now standing proud in the 14th century wig and mantle that goes with his official Cabinet post, Mr Milburn went on to reveal the choices in store for NHS customers going under the knife in the near future — some of which are not even available in France.

For all operations, a choice of anaesthetic — the traditional gas job or a more contemporary hand job.

For an appendix removal, where to have it done — in the nearest NHS hospital, on the way to another NHS hospital, or in Mr Sethi's garage in Bangalore as part of a three-in-one package deal of appendix, kidney and lung removal.

Whether or not to be sewn up again afterwards.

For customers with osteoporosis, what to do while waiting for a hip replacement. Options will include bingo, abseiling in the Brecon Beacons and chemotherapy.

Whether to have the new hip after all or to cure the condition completely with a sex change.

Leaving the best for last Mr Milburn (né Stilborn — The Rockall Times has discovered that he abandoned the archaic form of his Northumbrian family name on entering politics in 1991) moved on to the subject dearest to his heart, childbirth.

"Yes, a woman has the right to choose," he acknowledged. "But it's totally unacceptable that she's faced with the agonising choice between natural birth and a Caesarian. Under New Labour's third way you needn't miss out on either. Have the natural first, we say, and if not completely satisfied with the product you can have a Caesarian to get it put back within seven days, no questions asked."

At these words the female contingent rose to its feet to salute an extraordinary political operator who could put himself right inside a woman's body to fully comprehend the pleasures and pangs of this life-changing event.

A lone Scottish heckler shouted out "Get off my patch you big Jessie, I'm Mr Ruddy Health now!" But it failed to get a laugh and the pugnacious old baldie in pinstripes was quickly picked out by the bouncers and ejected from the auditorium.

Capitalising on the moment, the maestro of modernisation (whose legitimate domain of responsibility is a tiny medieval fiefdom situated close to junction 34 on the M6) stepped to the front of the stage, and raising his arms aloft called out "What do we want?"

"Choice!" the delegates bellowed back.

"When do we want it?"

"Approximately half-way through the third term!" they responded in unison, aware of the administrative time-lag involved.

The elegantly coiffed heir apparent to Mr Blair finished up with a flourish. "I leave you to ponder the most important question of all," he invited his audience. "The question that every GP will be asking at the end of each consultation as they write out the prescription: 'Would you like fries with that?'"

"Yes!" the entire hall clamoured with outstretched hands.

"Ah, right, um..." As the first speaker after lunch, Mr Milburn had counted on a polite refusal. He stood empty-handed on the platform, sporting an apologetic grin.

The delegates waited. Milburn's reputation for delivery was on the line as frantic phone calls were made behind the scenes. Suddenly the smell of fat filled the air and Ronald McDonald bounced up on stage festooned with a dozen whopping red buckets brimming with golden fries to hurl into the crowd and save the day.

Previously

• Tearful Milburn kids tout school recorder concert ticket
• Milburn kids 'fed up already'
• Too few nurses? Nonsense, says Milburn