I
give a little wave to the crowd, Adolf is still
a little moody over the whole testicle business.
He cheers up when I tell him that they win the war
and the 1966 world cup (tee he).
Well,
I know it's pretty much read that the Nazi's weren't all
popular in the 1930's and 40's, but you can't argue about
there abilities to organise a transport infrastructure.
With very little hope of John Prescott having an idea
between his ears to solve our transport dilemma's, I fire
up the old time machine and it's off to Deutschland.
Mr Hitler offers me some advice on how to deal with the
unions, I must say it makes sense, I just need to find
a long enough wall to line them up against.
Adolf, as he insists I call him, wishes through me to
inform all you historians that his testicle count is two.
I declined his offer of a sworn affidavit from his doctor,
which prompted him to grab my hand and place it on his
groin, "See!, Englander, two!" he yells, as
I stutter, 'I believe you, I believe you.'
Driving
through the streets of Berlin, Mr Hitler tells me to "Shoot
that vanny, Prescott". I assure him that the 'Vanny's
as good as gone.'
I mull over what I seen so far, would it be so hard for
the British public to show me the same adulation I witnessed
on the streets of Berlin?
There's going to be a few changes when I get back, mark
my words, democracy my arse! This is the way forward.
The British public must realise that if we want a transport
infrastructure to be proud of there has to be a few sacrifices
along the way, starting with the big fat "Vanny."
Adolf
wants me to embellish my little white lie on how
his daughter Margaret becomes the first woman
prime minister of Great Britain. I buy time by
checking his testicles again. I can see a tear
in his eyes when I tell him that she was eventually
shot and her body burned in a ditch by members
of her own party.
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