Jeeves and the slipping Truss, by Sackerson

You’ll have seen that photo of me in a tank, the snappy radio helmet wrapped round the old Truss bean: Maggie, thou shouldst be living at this hour, was the gist of the message. https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/liz-truss-takes-after-margaret-thatcher-in-a-tank-as-she-criticises-russia-mlbdbvhzt I wanted to show my framed copy to somebody the other day but Jeeves told me he had sent it away for cleaning months ago. He’s a marvel, keeps everything spick and s. By the by, if you’re wondering why I have a valet rather than a maid, it’s because men are much easier to control, as Carrie will tell you. In any case, Jeeves is a bit of an old maid himself, what with anno domini; and he doubles as an aide in my department; so convenient.

But I digress. My visit to Moscow gave me the excuse to buy a new hat, one of those pillbox fur jobs. https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2022/feb/09/liz-truss-moscow-toughest-russia-sanctions-plan-doubt Jeeves raised an eyebrow a quarter inch and said something about Lara, but I replied haughtily that cricket had nothing to do with it and the decision was unalterable. One has to stand one’s ground.

Thus it was with a certain air of triumph, a first battle won already, that I sported the new tile as the Ambassador and I headed for the Kremlin, ready to make my mark with the Russian Foreign Minister.  Once inside I lost no time in launching the attack and was doing very well, I thought, giving him what for on Ukraine and the need to withdraw his troops from the border, all that sort of thing.

But then Lavrov bowled me a googly, saying it was their own border and didn’t I recognize the sovereignty of Russia over the Rostov and Voronezh regions. Naturally I thought he was referring to parts of Ukraine, this being the res under discussion, and so I told him in no uncertain terms that ‘Great Britain will never recognize Russian sovereignty over these regions.’

There followed one of those silences heavy with the unspoken. Lavrov was quaking, with fear as I imagined, but when I glanced at the Ambassador her face was sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, as I have heard Jeeves say. I bent the noggin towards her and she whispered that Rostov is a Russian oblast, which I must say is what I felt like ejaculating. I was in the mulligatawny good and proper. https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/kremlin-cites-truss-error-evidence-west-doesnt-understand-ukraine-conflict-2022-02-11/

I’ve never been any use at geography, as you will know from my confusing the Baltic and the Black Sea the other day https://www.dailymail.co.uk/video/vladimirputin/video-2604297/Video-Liz-Truss-confuses-Baltic-Black-Sea-700-miles-apart.html , and I have to admit that my own map was starting to turn as pink as a chart of the old British Empire. I was just looking towards the window and wondering whether there was a sturdy drainpipe within diving distance when I heard a soft cough behind me.

It was Jeeves, who had accompanied us as minute-taker and interpreter. At that moment I was as desirous of his help as the hart that panteth for the water, and he did not fail.

‘Mister Lavrov will see that as a mark of respect for Russian ways our Minister is wearing vernacular winter headgear, despite the unseasonable heat in the capital. Clearly it has interfered with her auditory acuity and caused her to misinterpret what you said. As she and the Ambassador will doubtless be eager to confirm, the British Government fully accepts the right of Russia to dispose its forces within its sovereign territory as it sees fit.’

All was well again and looking back, I think I can see this moment as merely a stumble on my upward path. https://www.conservativewoman.co.uk/should-we-mistrust-the-malleable-ms-truss/

Once back in the hotel and bathing the tonsils with a much-needed stiffener, I turned to Jeeves. ‘That hat, Jeeves,’ I said.

‘Madam?’

‘One has to keep refreshing one’s wardrobe. I think we can dispense with it now. Perhaps one of those pre-loved premium fashion sites?’

‘Thank you, Madam.’

With apologies to P.G. Wodehouse