Taken from todays Times:
November 21, 2003
True fiction
I love a little country, Tony
By Toby Moore
Our writer anticipates President Bush feeling at home in Sedgefield, Tony Blair's constituency
[img]Download Failed (1)[/img]†œLOOK, Laura, little gardens far as the eye can see,â₠¬Ã‚ he said, peering excitedly through the smoked-glass window as they drove into Sedgefield.
†œFields, Mr President,ââ ¬Â corrected an aide, flicking through the briefing note.
†œWhat? For crops and stuff?ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â It seemed incredible.
†œThey⠃¢â€šÂ¬Ã¢â€ žÂ¢re standard-sized agricultural commodity production units, according to the embassy,ââ‚ ‚¬Ã‚ said the aide.
They seemed awful small, the President thought as his motorcade pulled ahead, forced to move at the pace of its slowest vehicle, the anti-personnel nuclear presidential protection device launcher. Pentagon officials said it was cheaper to put the whole submarine on a low-loader lorry rather than detach the device itself.
Yes, this British countryside was certainly strange-looking, he thought, all rolled up and crumpled. Not like Crawford.
Eggs and tomatoes were flying through the air. How did they get there? Some harvesting technique? He wanted to ask somebody, but there was nobody visible.
†œThat produce is just hitting the road. What a waste of Godââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s good giving, Laura. No wonder their farmers need subsidies. Say, where is everyone anyway?ââ‚à ‚¬Ã‚ he asked the aide.
†œThey⠃¢â€šÂ¬Ã¢â€ žÂ¢re in their homes, Mr President, sealed in. You can just see masking tape around the doors. Itâ₠¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s a security bubble thing.ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚ÂÂ
Finally, the convoy pulled up in front of a large, detached house. †œWeÃƒÂ¢à ¢â€šÂ¬Ã¢â€Š¾Ã‚¢re here, sir. I can see Mr Blair over there. Look, heâ₠¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢s wearing those dungarees you gave him.ââ‚ ¬Ã‚ÂÂ
The President smiled and leapt out as the car door swung open. He liked Tony, and Tony liked him. He liked people who liked him.
†œJust the plastic grass between the tape, please Mr President,ââ ¬Â said a suited man in dark glasses. †œWe havenÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t had time to check the local natural growing material for toxins.ââ‚à ‚¬Ã‚ÂÂ
But he was barely listening, just breathing in that scented country air. My, if this wasnâ₠¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t just like home. Then he saw them. Cows. Black and white ones!
†œTony, you shouldnââ‚à ‚¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢t have.ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚ÂÂ
The Prime Minister frowned. The President slapped his host on the back, smiling. †œWell, I appreciate it.ââ‚ ¬Ãƒâ€šÃ‚ He made a mental note to make sure that next time his good buddy visited Texas, heâ₠¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢d reciprocate, make sure there were some local animals to remind his guest of home, maybe those haggis things that heâ₠¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢d been briefed about.
The aide was less happy and called over the Secret Service squad leader. †œHave those cows been vetted?ââ‚à ‚¬Ã‚ÂÂ
†œYes sir, and sealed with masking tape.ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚ÂÂ
†œGood.â €ÂÂÂ
The President and Prime Minister stood together staring at a silent, rolling landscape. †œYou know, Tony. The cows and fields. This is what binds us, our shared countryside. Except the flying eggs. We still collect ours the old-fashioned way,ââ‚ ¬Ã‚ he laughed softly. †œItÃƒÂ¢à ¢â€šÂ¬Ã¢â€Š¾Ã‚¢s a subsidy thing, ainââ‚ ¬ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Ã‚¢t it? Like the steel business.ââ‚ ¬ÂÂÂ
What on earth was he talking about, thought Tony. Eggs? Best to move on. Was he threatening more trade wars? Tony beamed professionally at his guest anyway. †œWelcome to my home,ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â he said, wondering why there was no mention of eggs in his briefing notes.
They were to walk through the village. The main street was lined with men in suits wearing dark glasses. The President began shaking hands and looked at Tony. †œThis is great, Tony. These people are real friendly.ââ‚ ¬ÂÂÂ
The aide coughed. †œThey⠃¢â€šÂ¬Ã¢â€ žÂ¢re your Secret Service detachment, sir.ââ‚ ¬Ã‚ÂÂ
†œReally? Where are the locals?ââ‚à ‚¬Ã‚ÂÂ
†œThe local, sir. Just the one we managed to get through British security checks in time.ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šà ¬Ã‚Â The President looked at the man in a flowing white tunic and black beard. He reached out his hand. †œDo you know about egg farming?ââ‚ ‚¬Ã‚ Ã¢â‚¬ Å“No, my nameââ‚ ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢s Aaron Barschak. Iâ₠™m more a comedy terrorist.ââ ¬ÂÂÂ
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