But, knowing that would never happen, Timothy Michaelmas-Daisy found his voice: "a large brandy, thank you, Toby," and watched the barman, Flossie, pour him two fingers; "what can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked, "two whips in one place seems a tad excessive, not to say bingeable!" and Toby leaned into Timothy's personal space: "the Dame was so impressed with your speech the other day, when she'd lost her voice and the whole Government was stood at a cliff-edge and all depended upon your clarion call, she wants to hear it again next week," and he laughed, "you seem to be her blue-eyed boy right now! you could always take a clarsach into the House and accompany yourself," but Tim was puzzled: "in what context does she want to hear it?" he enquired cagily, but it was Simon who took up the reins: "exactly the same one, Timmy, old son – when her New Deal gets it's third chance," and Timmy goggled: "you mean she's bringing it back?" and received the assurance that indeed she was: "and we're putting up a Four Line Whip! any Cabinet Minister who fails to vote is going to be hanged, drawn and quartered," guffawed Toby: "by Ripple and me, after we've separated him from his balls, personally and very publicly!" he rubbed his hands together with glee: "so you'd better make it spontaneous, filled with rhetoric and meaning, as many double-entendres as you can muster, and enough threats to ensure that they'll be piling into the Lobbies faster than their hairy little legs can take them!" with which he and Simon drained their glasses and after patting Timothy on the back, squeezed out of the door and went off singing, and playfully whipping each other just to keep in practice, after which Timothy joined Sir Wilfred and Quentin at their table: "what's all this about bringing it back for a third time?" he whispered, well aware that the three Beddingshire Members had their ears tuned in his direction; Sir Wilfred ostentatiously looked under the table, then covering his mouth with his hand, said: "she needs to smash the Confederacy of Dunces to smithereens!" and Timothy looked at him in surprise: "Dunces? what do you mean?" he asked; and Sir Wilfred explained: "the alliance of Right, Left and Independents, together with the DUP, Nationalists, Green and disaffected Remainers – we have to split them up if we're going to command a majority, and she's relying on you to do it, Timothy," at which Tim rolled his eyes: "it isn't even my speech, Sir Wilfred, you know that; my speech-writing skills are nothing but scripturiency – Quentin wrote the speech for the Dame and I don't have the proper cadence, I'm no orator," but his protestations were waved away: "nonsense m'boy, you have a natural diffidence, but that can be overcome by rigorous practice, you just have to sound as if you believe in what you are saying and it will all come out right; remember Passport to Pimlico?" and Timothy brightened at mention of the famous Ealing Comedy set in his own constituency: "of course, sir, it's the first film I remember seeing – it's what gave me ambitions to enter politics!" and Sir Wilfred smiled: "then imagine you are Stanley Holloway as the new Burgundian Prime Minister, defending your citizens' right to self-determination – think you can do that?" and Timothy agreed eagerly: "oh, yes, Sir Wilfred, I'll watch the DVD again tonight and begin practising my delivery – you don't think I'm a bit young to be Stanley Holloway?" but Sir Wilfred shook his head: "no. no. lad, he was your age when they made that film, he was just one of those chaps born looking older than he really was," and he was pleased that Timothy believed him – it was important that Timothy had no doubts about his own abilities, if he was to swing any final floating voters in the House when the Dame brought her New Deal back again, and, possibly, again and again!