He turned his head so that he could speak to Tyler, who was just behind him.
“Why didn’t you arrange to have a crowd of admirers waiting for me Tyler? God-dammit, you’ve made me look like an unpopular ass-hole!”
He turned to look at the press once again, a beaming smile on his flabby face, and descended the steps. When he got to the bottom, he cast his eye approvingly over the long line of cars. “This better be the biggest motorcade any American President ever had, Tyler.”
“It is, Mr. President. I made sure of that.”
They climbed into the lead car and the motorcade set off for the gates in the Heathrow fence that were open to let them through. British police on British cop bikes were waiting for them outside the gates. Doughnut nudged Tyler and pointed at them.
“See that,” he said. “Those Brit cop bikes aren’t anywhere near as cool as our American Harleys. We’re winning the P.R. war already.”
The motorcade proceeded through London with great fanfare to Buckingham Palace, where Doughnut was met by the queen. She was waiting for him at the doors of the palace. He climbed from his limo and headed confidently over to her, and then realised that he wasn’t sure whether he should shake hands or bow, as he hadn’t listened to the briefing he’d been given on Presidential protocol when meeting other heads of state.
I don’t know what I’m meant to do, but I’m certainly not going to be obsequious, he told himself.
He reached the doors of the palace and held out his hand, and the queen looked puzzled for a moment before taking it, and even more puzzled as he shook it vigorously.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Queen Elizabeth” he said, fumbling in his trouser pocket for his mobile with his free hand. It slipped from his grasp and he got frustrated.
“Tyler, get my mobile and take a picture, will you?” He said.
Tyler stuck his hand in the President’s trouser pocket and grimaced as he probed with his fingers, a look of mild disgust crossing his face for a moment. Eventually he got hold of the mobile, pulled it out, and took a picture of the queen and President together.
Doughnut and the queen then went inside the palace and the Queen did the meaningless small talk with him at which she exceled after decades of practice, then she gave a discrete signal to one of her uniformed courtiers who politely informed Doughnut that his audience with the Queen was at an end. Doughnut stood up and despite himself did a sort of half-bow and left, escorted by the courtier.
He got back in his car and the motorcade proceeded along Whitehall to Downing Street.
“I think that went very well Tyler,” said Doughnut. “The Queen is real nice, unlike Their Prime Minister. She talked to me about her dogs and she even let me pet one of them, and she got one of her butlers to make me a cup of tea. They have uniforms, you know. As soon as we get back to America, I’m going to get some uniformed butlers in the White House.”
The motorcade proceeded along Whitehall without difficulty as the police had made sure that no other traffic could enter the road while the President was on it. This caused untold fury all around London, as thousands of cars backed up in every direction unable to move. Eventually the procession reached Downing Street, and the gates to the street were opened to accommodate Doughnut’s limo. The rest of the limos had to wait outside because there wasn’t room for them.
Tyler passed his laptop to Doughnut as their car drew to a halt.
“Look at this Mr President,” he said.
Doughnut scrutinised the screen. There was a news bulletin on it:
“Anonymous Government sources have today confirmed that the President is having an emergency briefing from the British Prime Minister to assist him with domestic policy affairs at home.”
His brow furrowed.
“Why, that treacherous limey bastard. He’s done exactly what we didn’t want him to do. Get onto the White House right away. Tell my P.R. men to deal with this.”
He noticed something else on the screen, a news item about a tragic incident in Jacksonville. A huge explosion had destroyed several buildings near the famous Jacksonville beach, including restaurants and shops. There had been scores of casualties.
“My God, Tyler,” said Doughnut. “We have to get this over with and get back to Washington before that lunatic Havoc blows up the entire eastern seaboard.”
He climbed from the limo all smiles as cameras flashed. The press were eager to talk to him, but lines of police held them back. He walked to the door of number 10 with Tyler following a few paces behind.
“Is it true you’ve got problems in America that you can’t handle?” One of reporters shouted.
“Why do you need our help?” Another shouted.
Doughnut gave them a bland smile and waived.
Camemblert was waiting on the steps of number 10. Doughnut paused just before he got there and turned to face the press.
“This is just a regular state visit to cement relations between our two great countries!” He shouted. “It’s nothing to get excited about!”
Then he grinned and waived again, and shook hands with the PM for the cameras. The two men jostled with each other, each one wanting the other to enter first. They both knew that the first to enter is seen as being less important than the second to enter. The PM had height on his side, but the President had weight on his side. After a savage contest lasting well over a minute, they both got stuck in the doorway for a moment, then somehow got free of it and staggered through into the entrance hall at the same time.
Tyler followed closely behind.
Johnson was waiting inside, and he swiftly closed the door behind them.
“Are you satisfied, Prime Minister?” He asked under his breath.
“What? What was that?” The PM wheezed crossly. He was red-faced and out of breath, as was the President.
“Nothing, Prime Minister.”
“Right then” said the PM turning to Doughnut, who was mopping his sweating brow with a white handkerchief, “Let’s go through to the drawing room, shall we? Follow me.”
He led Doughnut and Tyler along the hall, past the many portraits of glorious former Prime Ministers such as Margaret Thatcher and David Cameron and Tony Blair, which lined the walls, and through a door into an impressive lounge. Johnson followed them in.
“Take a seat,” said the PM.
Doughnut collapsed into a chair, which groaned with the effort of supporting his weight. Johnson shuddered. Then Doughnut wrung out his sweaty handkerchief onto the expensive carpet, and Johnson shuddered again. Doughnut thrust the handkerchief back in his pocket and he looked around the room, frowning.
“The stuff in here looks like it went out with the Ark,” he said.
Johnson raised an eyebrow.
“It’s got history,” said the PM. “I suppose you don’t appreciate that, because you don’t have much of that sort of thing in America.”
“History is bunk. Anyway, that’s enough of the small talk. Let’s talk about my problem, that is, er, my situation.”
The PM smiled.
“Let’s have some drinks, shall we?” He replied. “It’s a bit early for gin and tonic, how about a tea or coffee?”
“I’ll have a large Cappuccino,” Said Doughnut.
“I’ll have an Americano please,” said Tyler.