Publisher's Synopsis
The most controversial figure in U.K. politics has now been immortalised in fiction.
David Lammy, the U.K. member of Parliament for Tottenham, faces his greatest challenge to date-surviving Bruce Masters' fictional world in David Lammy on the Run - A Political Comedy Adventure.
David is joined by friend and foe alike; however, at times it seems impossible to know who he can trust and what the consequences may be of forging alliances with the likes of Jeremy Corbyn and Tony Blair...
Join David Lammy, Tony Blair, Jeremy Corbyn and Diane Abbott in the unexpected and comedically uncompromising David Lammy on the Run...
Chapter Eight - Jeremy Corbyn's House 'Dad, where is he? I thought Lammy was never late.' Shaking his head, Jeremy Corbyn replied in silence, not taking his eyes off the whiteboard mounted before him on a presentation stand. 'Well, ' his son continued, 'if he's not here soon, we'll have to make the announcement ourselves; after all, we've assembled the press outside and they won't wait forever, will they?' 'Son, have patience, he's probably caught in traffic; he will be here. I take it you agree, Diane, that we should have David make the announcement, wouldn't it be better coming from him?' Jeremy's colleague in the House of Commons and ex-girlfriend the Labour MP Diane Abbott nodded in agreement as she devoured a large chocolate-topped biscuit in a single bite, impressing both Corbyn senior and junior alike. 'Aha, give him a few more minutes at least, he has been a loyal, well, a mostly loyal comrade over the years, but might we want to scrub that off before he gets here?' Diane said, gesturing to the whiteboard as she found another biscuit from a near empty packet. 'But Diane, ' Corbyn junior replied, 'we NEED him to see this so he knows that he has to resign!' Finishing another biscuit, Diane nodded and shook her head intermittently. 'Yes, but no ... leave all the bullet points, but the heading, that thing, despite it being true and giving us all a chuckle, that has to go-if we have any hope of getting him on board.' Corbyn's son agreed with a shrug and reached for the ink rubber, which accompanied the whiteboard, purchased only a few hours prior. 'Dad, ' he said, 'I think we've got a problem. It's not coming off!' As the man's father approached, it dawned on him that permanent marker pens had been used rather than the specialist whiteboard pens, the kind that were suited to the rubber held in his son's hand. 'You got the wrong pens!' Abbott blurted, hitting the man with fragments of biscuits in so doing. Corbyn senior thought that the prudent thing to do would be to postpone the hastily called meeting; however, doing so would mean sending away the press, who the man already had a fractured and tense relationship with. I can delay him at least, Jeremy thought. 'Diane, can I borrow your phone? Mine's on charge. I'll call David and request he comes at one o'clock instead; that should buy enough time to get some white spirit or something on that thing. I wonder if he knows that's how everyone in Parliament refers to him, eh?' Seeing that the biscuits were no more, Diane huffed and reluctantly handed over her phone. 'The password is 1979. Just the call, right? I've got personal stuff on that.' A car came to a stop outside the Corbyn residence, son and father and Abbott alike imagined that at any second David Lammy MP would be at the front door. 'Run Dad, run. Six months of planning ... all the strings we pulled ... everything we talked about ... my future, our future is at stake!' Before his son had finished, Jeremy was gone, near crashing through his back door in the process, silently scolding his son for potentially jeopardising both of their futures and the
