"No," said Timothy Michaelmas-Daisy, "my handwriting is fine, not that it is particularly calligraphic, but it's readable, as always; why do you ask?" and the Old Man grinned: "just that I wondered if you've had time with Brexit's teething troubles all around you to have written any more speeches?" but Tim shook his head: "not for myself or The Dame; that's what we call the PM," and his friend smiled: "I always picture her as Alastair Sim playing headmistress Millicent Fritton in The Belles of St Trinian's – you know the film?" and this time it was Tim who grinned: "that's what Sir Wilfred said, Sir Wilfred Heath-Robinson, he's the Secretary of State for Cabinet Affairs, it was he who first dubbed her The Dame, I suppose it's a touch mythopoeic! but it's his PPS who actually writes most of the speeches, Quentin Quibb, he's the Member for Penrith and The Border," and the Old Man nodded: "oh, yes, young Willie Whitelaw used to have that seat, we used to share a table in the Bunch of Grapes, he could be very funny, but there was a sleekit side to his nature; so this chap Quibb, friend of yours?" but something held Tim back from replying, as he recalled some of the preposterous ideas that Quentin came up with – he was certainly an Ideas Man and he seemed able to make them up as he went along, flinging out what Sir Wilfred called Quibb's Squibs and although many of them ended up in an imaginary waste-paper bin, there were always plenty more, and The Dame liked to have a few of them in her speeches – she had a soft spot for Quentin and it was he who coached her in her rehearsals, suggested when she should lower her head and look sideways if she was having a runt at the Leader of the Opposition, Mungo Jerry, or Jacob Yule-Logg of the European Rugger Group, her Arch-Enemies in the Party and Jacob was the Archest, the canker that unchecked threatened to destroy the Party!