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  Monday 20th March 2006  Politics   Powered by Yeast Logic
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Psst, wanna buy a peerage?

Revealed: the full extent of New Labour's cash for coronets scandal
by Greg Doublewank and Paparazzi O'Leery

New Labour have a dropped yet another bollock this week as it has become apparent they are not quite the squeaky clean people's champions they purported to be in 1997.

Having been "loaned" 1.5 million large by an Indian businessman who wished for anonymity, an embarrassed Tony has now had to hold his hands up to the fact that the unnamed businessman is now a Lord

Ian McCartney: ArseLabour Party Chairman Ian McCartney said earlier that Labour had spent every single penny it had on campaigning. "It just doesn't come cheap these days," he whined, "but since we've emptied the House of Lords there are a lot of spare seats. So what better way to reward a well-heeled sycophant than get them robed up and their arses on our side of the Upper House?"

A secret tariff from Labour HQ has come to light distinguishing what each honour should be conferred in comparison to the loan amount. An extract reads:

"Where the loan amount exceeds £10,000 a knighthood should be considered up to and including £100,000. In excess of £100,000 up to and including £1m, knighthoods and minor aristocratic titles should be mandatory. Any amounts in excess of £1m up to and including the national debt of Mexico, Lordships should be granted in perpetuity (or for life, whatever the greater) especially if the donor is from a “popular” area of the community and denies everything."

Indeed, the extent of New Labour's fundraising efforts was revealed last weekend when leading Rockall businessman — Vincent "Vince" Venison, landlord of the islet's Fighting Dog and Pikey public house — admitted to The Rockall Times that he too had been approached before the last election and offered a peerage and "my own coat of arms" in return for "500 grand, no questions asked and keep your trap shut", as he put it.

Speaking to our Paparazzi O'Leery in the pub's deserted pre-lunchtime snug, Venison recalled: "Yeah, it was just around election time and two suits came in and asked for sparkling mineral water, which got me suspicious right from the off. I thought they might be from the Guardian, so I was just about to set the dogs on 'em when they whipped out this full-colour mock-up of what my coat of arms might look like were I to make a 'loan' to the cause.

"Now I was really worried, because the last lads who were in here looking for a contribution to the cause were all from Dublin and showed me a picture of what my kneecaps would look like if I didn't chip something into the bucket. In the end I got rid of 'em by saying: 'You've made a mistake cos my old man once shook hands with man who owned an Irish setter' which as everyone knows practically makes you born-and-bred Provo if you're from Boston, so they looked satisfied and buggered off.

"Oh yeah — the coat of arms? Nice job: guillemots bombasted rampant on field guano and azure supporting a pint of Olde Wifebeater under the motto 'We Aim to Serve — Eventually' as I recall, but 500 grand? They even offered to throw in a 'David Blunkett' fast-track immigration voucher redeemable at the Nationality and Immigration Directorate so if the missus ever needed the nanny's visa sorted sharpish..."

At this point Venison broke off to serve his first customer of the day: chicken farmer Davey Leveret who eyed out man with suspicion. "Not from the fuc*king Guardian, is he Vince?" he muttered, fingering his traditional poultry decapitator in a menacing fashion.

"No mate, it's about that fast-track peerage business," assured Vince, setting a foaming flagon of ale before the thirsty farmer.

"Oh right, good one," enthused Leveret, making himself at home next to the shove-ha'penny board. "Right mate — I don't care which party you're from I've got 20 grand which says that come next election I'm Lord Leveret of Rockall. Look, here's a sketch of a coat of arms me missus knocked up — that's a sheep regaurdant fesswise with haddock urinant below voyding knives crossed on field sanguine..."

At this point our man had to beat a hasty retreat from the pub as an excited mob of regulars — alerted by SMS to the possible presence of a New Labour "fixer" — stormed the snug waving bundles of readies and demanding a range of services including the lifting of Asbos on tearaway nephews and elevation to senior posts in the Government.

We later made the lists of demands and cash on offer available to the Lord Chancellor. A spokeslackey told us: "Yup, this all looks pretty straighforward. There's a couple fo things you need to know, though: all of these favours will have to be declared and the maximum you can pay for one transaction is now 500k. So, you'll just have to tell your local supermarket magnate Dave that not even two million will buy him the science minister's hotseat. Is he interested in four different posts at half-a-mil a pop? Tell him to call me — we'll do lunch."

Previously

Go on then, hard man