The Ministry of Eurovoice: Part II



  • Paloma Faith gathered all of the newly formed Ministry of Eurovoice around a large “e” shaped table, with Vs for chairs. It was slightly uncomfortable, but once you managed to get past the pins and needles, it was actually a very comfortable chair.

    “Right. Now that we've been refounded under my leadership, we need to initiate Operation Douze Pointe. We need to get Taylor to join us for our plan to succeed. What are your ideas?”

    “Well.” Started Mary Lambert. “I still think we can use money as a weapon. We’ve been collecting outside supermarkets for days now. Doc Mustard has even resorted to begging on the streets.”

    “Excuse me,” Hozier interjected. “I think Taylor - despite her known love of money - would still refuse to join us. I say, we kidnap her, force her to go along with the plan, and pay her to stay quiet.”

    “You’ve all got great ideas. And I’ve Commissioned the Poet Laureate to write us some lyrics for the secret plan.” Paloma continued, as she passed around sheets of paper.

    Silence fell on the room as they all read their own sections of the lyrics.

    “I like it!” Perrie said, louder than expected.

    “It’s pretty nice. Not really my style, but I can go with the flow.” Hozier added, smoking something ‘Earthy’.

    “I love, love. And this is really… lovely.” Mary said, wearing a cute cat jumper, stretched to its limits.

    “Thank you all for your opinions.” Paloma said, judging all of them. “I shall call up the Poet Laureate here to give our personal praise to him.”


    Taylor Swift sat in her large, pink chair, stroking her cat.

    “Daddy this is not good enough. They haven’t even called me.”

    “Well, sweetie, do you really want to go back to them?”

    “YES DADDY!”

    “Well sweety why don’t you call them?”

    “BECAUSE I’M ANGRY AT THEM!!”

    “I know that Tay… But surely you need to reach out to [i]them[i]”

    “That’s a stupid idea Daddy.”

    Taylor got down from her chair and checked her voicemails. No one had called except the Organic Brioche Sellers, Richard Dawkins’ preachers, and the Police asking her to hand herself in.

    “Can the police seriously go away. They’re so lame.” Taylor sighed.

    “Honey, we need the police to keep our values and laws.”

    “You own a gang and a dairy smuggling company Daddy.”

    “Minute crimes. What about crimes against FASHION?”

    “Oh yes. That Queen Anastasia… she always dresses like Great Aunt Carrie Underwood.”


    Back at the Ministry of Eurovoice, the Poet Laureate had entered the building.

    “He’s coming, he’s coming!” Mary Lambert said, squealing like a little girl (when she was quite the opposite of “little”).

    The lift opened to reveal… Doc Mustard. Everyone in the room gasped.

    “YOU’RE the Poet Laureate?” Paloma shouted.

    “Indeed I am.” Doc replied.

    “How the f-”

    “I am a very good Poet. ‘Sonnet 69’, ‘Sonnet 420’, and ‘Sonnet 666’ got international praise. And therefore I got the job in 2014.”

    “Wow.” Mary Lambert said, in a totally silent room.

    “Here, I’ll read you what I wrote for the Coronation of Anastasia:

    The beautiful Queen Anastasia,

    With her legs as wide as Eurasia,

    She’s become the Queen,

    She’ll now pass on here genes,

    To whoever is nearest.”

    “That was the most bullshit I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” Paloma said, smoking with a cigarette holder.

    “But do you like the work I’ve done for the music?”

    “Well… yes…” Paloma said, visibly shocked.

    “And you want to keep using it?”

    “Well… yes…” Paloma said now visibly angry.

    “Then you’ll be with me for longer than you had hoped, Paloma.”

    “You bastard. Get me a drink of whiskey, Alfonso.”


    Taylor Swift took out a litre carton of Cookie Dough Ice Cream from the freezer.

    “They still haven’t called my little Angel Pie?”

    “No Daddy…”

    “Why don’t I call them?”

    “Daddy, no. I’ve got to wait for them to call me.”

    “Okay Hunny Bunch. I’ve got your 8 Apple Watches you asked for.”
    “Oh thanks Daddy!!”

    Mr Swift went into another room of the flat, took out his phone and dialed Paloma Faith’s number.

    “Hello, it’s Mr Swift.”

    “Ah, Mr. Swift. What do I owe the… pleasure?”

    “I want you to take Taylor back. She’s more than willing to come back. Just give her a damned call when I hang up.”

    “Well… okay Sir…”

    Mr. Swift ended the call and waited. As ‘promised’ Paloma called the Swift Household again.

    “Hello. Who is this?” Mr Swift said, purposefully louder than he would normally.

    “You know who it is, you ignorant behemoth.”

    “Oh? Paloma Faith?” Mr Swift said, still loudly.

    Taylor came running into the Study.

    “It’s Paloma? Let me talk to her.” She said, ecstatic.

    “Okay Banoffee Pie.”

    “Hello - it’s me Taylor.”

    “Hi Taylor. It’s Paloma. We at the Ministry have decided we want you back within our ranks. We have a special idea for how to win in Thurston, and we would like you to be there for it.”

    “Of course Paloma!” She squealed. “I’ll be there soon!”


    “So we’re all agreed then?” Paloma proclaimed.

    A unanimous “yes” echoed around the “e” shaped table.

    “Very good. Then let’s start…”


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