The Gravy Train

In government Cabinet Office is central, that’s its heart;
it’s like a railway platform from which the trains depart.
The comfy seats, the easy ride, no wonder there’s a queue
but access is restricted to a carefully chosen few.
The PR field is seething, each runs a great campaign
so why is Faculty sat there, alone upon the train?
One worked with Gove from way back, when he ran the DES;
one wrote the manifesto – so to them the answer’s yes.
It wasn’t put out to tender. The Covid crisis – right?
Though half of it is Brexit, but they keep that out of sight.

Next on is Henry Dimbleby, the guru of good food;
he was the boss at Leon, so to cavil would be rude.
He met the Goves on holiday, by chance, at Marrakech;
they swooned at his mojitos: a magician, in the flesh!
When Brexit is in prospect remainers are forlorn
but the Dimblebys are round at Gove’s to greet the brand new dawn.
So when a figurehead’s required to write the food report
Gove knows he has the go-to man, he needs no second thought.
Henry’ll provide the platitudes, he knows which way to go –
don’t criticise the benefits, disturb the status quo.

And then there’s Topham Guerin, two whizzkid Kiwi boys
who influence elections with their social media toys.
A phony Labour website was one game they liked to play;
the Tory Party’s Twitter was renamed – factcheckuk!
And now they’ve got three million quid to do Covid-19
replying to an advert that no-one’s ever seen.
This is a kind of magic where the public’s never told
exactly who gets paid for what, or how the deal was sold.
It’s all aboard the gravy train, a ton of treasury trove;
forget the bids, the expertise, cos all you need is Gove.