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Britain to be the 51st state Mr Trump? You’re taking out of your Back Passage

EXCLUSIVE: A transcript of a secret telephone conversation between US President-elect Donald Trump and the Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer, has been leaked to the Daily Drone. Experts claim it proves Trump is intent on taking over the world, using tactics learnt from Vladimir “Mad Vlad” Putin.


Starmer: “Yes? Make this quick, I’ve got the NHS to fix this afternoon. Plus precisely 822 houses to build if we’re to keep our promise to the people of Britain.”


Trump: “Keith, is that you? You need to calm down. That’s too much stress, my friend… too much stress.”


Starmer: “Keith? Who’s Keith? How did you get this number? This is Keir Starmer, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Sir Keir, actually. Who is this?”


Trump: “Well, we’re on the hot line, Keith, so who would you say it’s likely to be?”


Starmer: “Mr President? I wasn’t expecting…”


Trump: “I guess not. But here I am, Governor.”


Starmer: “Governor? You make me sound like a pub landlord, Donald. Haha.”


Trump: “Let’s observe the courtesies, shall we? You were doing just fine with Mr President.”


Starmer: “Well, then, you may call me Prime Minister.”


Trump: “That brings me, Governor, to the reason for my call.”


Starmer: “Which is?”


Trump: “Well, the last time we spoke you mentioned the so-called Special Relationship.”


Starmer: “I did, Mr President. And as you know, I am determined that we renew that relationship, breathe new life into it, fulfil its destiny.”


Trump: “I’m glad you feel that way, Governor. We have a great opportunity – right now – to achieve all those things. And make Britain Great again… We’ll make Britain Great again, yes we will.”


A voice can be heard in the background, chanting USA! USA! USA!


Starmer: “What’s that?”


Trump: “Oh, that’s just Elon. He’s a little exuberant, probably forgotten his meds again.”


Starmer: “I see. So, what is this opportunity, Mr President?”


Trump: “Keith, I’m offering you – that is, the United Kingdom of whatever you said – the chance to become nothing less than the 51st State of the United States of America… nothing less than the 51st State. With you, Keith, as its Governor, naturally.”


Starmer: “I… I… I…”


Trump: “You’re overwhelmed, I can tell. Take a moment, Keith. Breathe, that’s it.”


Starmer: “We are a sovereign nation. With an actual Sovereign. I’d never get it past him, for a start. Then there’s the people to consider.”


Trump: “Details, Governor. We can come to them in due course. For now, think of the advantages. You would immediately be under the protection of the most powerful nation in the world. That’s gonna be important. Especially if Elon gets his way.


USA! USA! USA! Breaks out in the background again.


You would also be a part of the world’s richest economy. Course, we’d have to take a look at that welfare state of yours. You’ve got a lot of people sucking the lifeblood out of your country, Keith… Sucking the lifeblood out. How come no one works over there, Keith? We’re gonna have to put that right. And, you know, being part of our booming economy means you get to avoid the tariffs that are coming. The great state of Great Britain escapes all that… well, frankly, poverty, Keith. So, what do you say, do we have a deal, at least in principle?”


Starmer: “Actually, we are a very hard-working nation. Did I mention that I am the son of a toolmaker? Anyway, it’s not that easy ditching an entire constitution. I’ll have to talk to the King, my Cabinet. We’ll need a vote in the House, maybe even a referendum. I’m not an autocrat, this is a democracy. And another thing… Ow, get off my lap and stop digging those claws in!”


Trump: “You okay, Keith? What’s going on there?”


Starmer: “Nothing, Mr President. It’s only the Downing Street pussy.”


Trump: “Wait, you have your own…”


Starmer: “No! A cat, it’s a cat. Humphrey, the Downing Street cat. He was sitting on my lap and now he’s snagged a thread in my best worsted. And I’ve got the Governor coming in this afternoon.”


Trump: “But, Keith, you are the Governor. I thought I made that clear.”


Starmer: “I mean the Governor of the Bank of England.”


Trump: “Well, you can save a salary right there, Keith. Once we’ve reached a deal, you folks will be using the mighty US dollar. This Governor guy… won’t need him no more.”


Starmer: “Will we have to drive on the right?”


Trump: “Yes.”


Starmer: “Is all this because we’re an island? You seem to have a thing about islands.”


Trump: “You mean Greenland? That’s close to a done deal, Keith. Didn’t even have to deploy the US Marine Corps. Just our mention of the possibility was enough. We’re going to get our hands on all those minerals and the Back Passage will be under control too.”


Starmer: “Northwest… it’s called the Northwest Passage.”


Trump: “I know what I mean, Keith.”


Starmer: “Mr President, we’re both busy men. Was there anything else you wanted to have cordial and constructive discussions about?”


Trump: “Since you mention it, Keith, I’ve been hearing about this Eel Pie Island. They say it has a hotel where the Rolling Stones used to play. I could replace it with a Trump hotel, get those guys back to open it with a concert, maybe even a season. Whaddaya think?”


Starmer (muffled): “Janice, get me von der Leyen on the phone. Urgently!”


*****


Hiring and firing in Fleet Street was often completely random. People came and went on a whim.


I’m not talking about the inkies, of course; their jobs were as safe as the houses they bought on the Costa Blanca with the money they leveraged from despairing managements.


No, I mean the journalists. Some, who caught the eye of the chairman (or his wife), commanded princely salaries. Often a car was thrown in; perhaps like crime reporter Percy Hoskins, they were given a grace and favour flat; or like Jean Rook, offered a seat on the board.


But these were the lucky ones. In the times before employment law made sackings bureaucratic, legalistic and very expensive, the average journalist had to rely on his union, usually the NUJ, to keep him out of trouble.


Imaginative bosses could find ways round that approach, though. Michael Frayn, novelist, playwright and erstwhile columnist on the Guardian and the Observer, recalls a couple of them in an interview he gave to Tony Gray for his book Fleet Street Remembered.


Former Mirror features editor Gray met him in the Waldorf Astoria, which is where, Frayn told him, David Astor used to bring people to sack them.


“It never happened to me, but he brought my predecessor, Paul Jennings, in here and gave him lunch and then told him that in future they wanted him to do a lot more – travel writing and women’s pieces and fill-in bits for the business pages, but of course still continue his very funny column,” said Frayn, now 91, who wrote Towards the End of the Morning, set on a Fleet Street broadsheet.


“Paul immediately got the message and resigned promptly. You were never fired from the Observer, any more than you were from the Guardian; they just made your life so uncomfortable that you had to go.”


Another ruse, this one favoured by William Haley, editor of The Times, was to can the people you wanted to be rid of in, erm… the can.


“Haley was famous for sacking people in the bog,” said Frayn. “If you happened to be having a pee next to him in the Gents, he was quite likely to say, ‘Oh, and by the way, we shan’t be renewing your contract’.”


Further down the food chain, unscrupulous chief subs and night editors had their own ways of disembarking troublesome crew members.


If they found themselves in earshot of rival executives, they might have an earnest conversation about a “star” sub-editor who was itching to leave but whom they couldn’t possibly lose.


Less subtle than the extra duties; less brutal than the bog brush-off. But it is surprising how often an approach was subsequently made to the flattered fool.


*****


“I've had so much plastic surgery, when I die they will donate my body to Tupperware.” —  Joan Rivers


RICHARD DISMORE


14 January 2025