The tape reveals a rare glimpse into the Machiavellian mind of the man who has single-handedly won the War on Terror, slashed Hospital waiting times and endeared himself to millions of eco-friendly Brits by his popular ban on fox hunting.

TONY: “I meant to call you.”
GORDON: “Oh, I see. What’s new then, what’s on your mind?’
TONY: “Well, there’s two things actually, and they’re both rather, ha-ha, delicate.”
GORDON: “Rather ha-ha delicate you say? Sounds - interesting…’
TONY: “Well, err, Gordon, you see the thing is, well… Now I don’t want us to argue again. I know we’ll only both end up hurt and confused. But there are things we simply must discuss.”
GORDON: “Hurt and confused? What are you talking about?”

TONY: “Well, it’s just I don’t want you getting upset.”
GORDON: “Look here’s what we’ll do. We’ll both put our knobs on the table. Sort this out like men. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine and well take it from there.”
TONY: “Really? Do you think that’s wise? It’s just that I’ve got John Prescott in the office today. You know he’s rather excitable. And if I get, err umm, ‘little Tony,’ out, he’s bound to notice. You know what he’s like.”
GORDON: “I didn’t mean… It’s a figure of… Oh forget it, never mind. John’s there you say? Could you do me a favour and tell him to stop urinating in the plant pots in reception.”
 
TONY: “Oh, he’s doing that again is he? Look the thing with John is, he’s a little, well, er — eccentric. He means no harm, you know. Actually, he’s a really nice bloke once you get to know him. You’d like him, really you would. He’s not too bad if you can work out what he’s saying and he doesn’t try to start a fight with you. You know, actually, he’s a bloody nice bloke.”
GORDON: “Eccentric? Well that’s one way of putting it. The man's a total arse.”
TONY: “Yes, yes, Gordon, really that’s quite enough. Can’t we all just get along? You know, like the good old days. I remem—”
 
(At this point on the tape the Prime Minister broke off and the sound of a door opening followed by muffled speech could be heard in the background)
JOHN '2 Jags' PRESCOTT: “What the fook? Prime Minister, you do realize you have your cock out on the desk?”
( two loud thumps are quickly followed by more rustling, the sound of a zipper closing and further muffled speech)
TONY: “Oh, er , Hi, um — John. Look, could we leave our ten o’clock until later?”
JOHN '2 Jags' PRESCOTT: ‘Why? It’s ten o’clock now isn’t it?”
TONY: “Well, yes, but I have the President of France on the phone — ”
JOHN '2 Jags' PRESCOTT: “— Oh, that snotty ponce. Well I guess I'll leave you to it then.”
(lengthy pause)

JOHN '2 Jags' PRESCOTT: “Ah, I get it now. Your cock I mean. Beautifully disrespectful gesture you sly old bugger. That titwank Chirac’ll never know; subtle but brilliant. I'm surprised I've never thought of it myself. Well, I’ll leave you for now.”
(sound of heavy footsteps and door slamming ) 
 
GORDON: "So I'm the president of bleeding France now, am I? Well it's not quite what I was after, I was hoping for something a bit closer to home."
TONY: "Well, Gordon, I could hardly tell him it was you could I? He'd get all jealous and then there’d be trouble.”
GORDON: “Hmm..”
TONY: “Okay, to business. I’ll come right out with it. Thing is..you see, um, as I’m sure you're aware.. Look Gordon. Look here, we're simply going to have to re-brand this war thing, before the election, I mean — if not sooner.”
GORDON: “You what?”
TONY: “I’ve had the marketing guys take a look, and this war is, just, well — far too messy. There are dead people in the streets of Fallu, Falla, er, some place in Iraq. Did you know that? Christ, Gordon, people are dying out there and frankly they're starting to smell. We have squaddies coming home in coffins. Pictures of screaming women in bombed out streets. Mass looting. Not to mention dozy American tarts interrogating prisoner's testicles with cattle prods. Frankly it’s a bloody PR nightmare.”

GORDON: “Death, bombs, rape, looting, chaos; yep, sounds like war to me…”
TONY: “That’s really not the point, Gordon. Look the point is, the point is — um, we have decided to rename the ‘War on Terror’™. It’s that word — war. You see, it just has certain, er, connotations. Frankly I'm not too keen on 'Terror', either.."
GORDON: “Connotations?”
TONY: “Yes, connotations. Well, anyway, we have decided to re-brand the war as the ‘Campaign for Organised Calm & Ushering Peace. COC-UP for short."
GORDON: “COC-UP? I'm glad you'll be the one telling the House about it and not me.”
TONY: “Stop being so bloody negative, Gordon. We’ve done the research — we know what we're doing."
GORDON: “Do we now? Hmm, Campaign, Campaign. You know who’s always good in a Campaign situation?”

TONY: “No, who?”
GORDON: “Our good friend John Prescott of course.”
TONY: “Actually you might have a point. He doesn’t take any shit, does he?”
GORDON: “Exactly. In fact I’m just designing him a placard now, so we can air-lift him in.”
TONY: “A placard? Air-lift him in. Do Jaguar make helicopters?”
GORDON: “Who cares? My placard is really rather neat. It says, ‘Allah is Gay,’ in Arabic, in big black letters. I thought we could parachute him into any remaining rebel strongholds — sorry, Freudian slip, I meant 'centres of insurgency'. You know, see how he gets along?”
TONY: “Okay, look Gordon, perhaps we should talk about this later. You are clearly not taking this at all seriously. There is another, much more pressing matter we must discuss.”

GORDON: “Oh…”
TONY: “It’s about The Coffee.”
GORDON: “The coffee?
TONY: “Yes, The Coffee. We both know that I've had a few health problems lately.”
GORDON: (suddenly perking up) “Yes, Yes, oh Yes!"
TONY: “Only two days ago I sent my secretary out to get me some Decaf — doctor’s orders. I specifically instructed her to get me that Carte Noir stuff. I wanted some quality coffee. I am the Prime Minister for fuck's sake. I don’t see why I should have to drink that Nescafe rubbish with the rest of the Plebs. Well, it depleted rather rapidly I’m afraid to say.”

GORDON: “Perhaps I may suggest the Prime Minister should cut back a little — even if is Decaf.”
TONY: “Yes, yes Gordon, very droll. The truth is someone’s being helping themselves to my personal bloody Carte Noir. It really won’t do, you know..”
( long pause)
TONY: “We both know it can’t be John. He only drinks beer.”
GORDON: ‘”Yes, very true...”
TONY: “Okay, no more beating about the bush. I got a chappie from MI6 on the case and you were top of his list of suspects.”
GORDON: “You got MI6 involved? Isn't that a bit dramatic, a bit O-T-T, shall we say?”

TONY: (getting annoyed) “Quite frankly if you think that the health of the Prime Minister of this country is not a serious matter then…”
GORDON: “Okay, okay, okay. Tony. I’m sorry, but it wasn’t me. I promise you.”
TONY: “Do you promise?”
GORDON: “I promise.”
TONY: “Because you know that trust and honesty are going to be very important in the coming election campaign. If we are seen to make a promise, we simply must keep it.”

GORDON: “That’s a very interesting point Tony. Very interesting indeed, I couldn’t agree more. I was wondering if you remember a conversation we had a long time ago... The one where we discussed how it might be possible for two good friends, and political allies, to share the leadership of this party.”
TONY: “Er, hmm, No, er — I'm really not sure I can recall ever having.. look, would you hang on a minute, my special red light's flashing? Look, sorry Gordon, I’ve got George W on the other line. I’ve really got to go."

(At this point there were several loud clicks followed by a dialling tone and the recording came to an abrupt end)

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Story © Sam Morris 2004. Picture and construction © utterpants.co.uk /061204