Roosevelt and Churchill. Reagan and Gorbachev. Burnham and Trump.
The tone is set when Andy Burnham arrives at the UN General Assembly (Unga) three hours late, courtesy of another UK air traffic control meltdown. The prime minister’s chief adviser, James Purnell, intercepts him.
“Agenda’s simple,” Purnell mutters. “Nato and Patriot missiles to Ukraine—good. Illegal Israeli settlements and war in the Middle East—bad. Always let him think he’s winning. Don’t look confused if he starts rambling. And remember, however bad you think it’s going to be, it will
be worse.”
They walk to a meeting room behind the stage where the US president has only recently given his annual
Unga address. Donald Trump is already there, watching a film on a gold-plated
laptop.
“Mr President,” announces his adviser Susie Wiles, “this is Andy Burnham, the former mayor of Manchester who once said that any politician who gives you the time of day should be ashamed.”
“Mr President…” Burnham begins. Trump raises one hand and cuts him off. Loud explosions ring out of the gilded Lenovo. Burnham refocusses.
“That looks exciting. What
is it?” he asks, in the manner
of a substitute teacher inspecting a weaker student’s crayon work. Trump spins the laptop around.
“Ant-Man and the Wasp. They have this luxury SUV, fantastic vehicle, very high quality, and they hit a button. Boom. It shrinks to the exact size of a Hot Wheels toy. I’ve got guys at the Pentagon working on the exact same thing.”
“You have that technology?”
“They tell me it’ll be ready by Christmas.” He slams the laptop shut. “Alan.”
“Andy.”
“Alex.”
“Andy.”
“Whatever. You’re not like Keir, are you?”
“No, if you look at our polling, I’m completely different. Mr President, regarding the Middle East and the illegal settlements, we believe a coordinated international framework–”
“Nobody cares about frameworks, Alex…”
“Andy,” interjects Burnham.
“It’s about deals. Strong deals. You shouldn’t be giving away any islands, okay? That’s a bad deal. Look at Russia. Putin respects me. He doesn’t respect you guys. I told Volodymyr, no more blank cheques. We’re losing billions. Nato: total freeloaders. What’s the time, Andy?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The time. What is it?”
“Oh. I see. Mr President, certain things I may have said in the past were political calculations, rather than heartfelt sentiments.”
“What’s the time?”
“Well, it’s 3:15pm,” states Burnham.
“One-nil. I got you! Susie, write that down please, negotiations begin with President Donald J Trump winning the first exchange. Big Mac?”
“Yes?” answers Burnham, confused and admittedly peckish. Trump clicks his fingers and JD Vance appears in a McDonald’s uniform complete with paper hat.
“Dress properly for the president next time,” Vance instructs the PM as he places a pair of Big Macs on the table.
Burnham attempts some statecraft. “Mr President. The ongoing conflict in the Middle East… That you’re handling very well,” he adds, following a cough from Purnell.
“That he’s handling expertly,” corrects Wiles as she puts a napkin beneath Trump’s chin to catch some dribble.
“And the ongoing difficulties in the Strait of Hormuz…”
“The Strait of Hormuz! I put that place on the map. Nobody had heard of it before me. You know your prime minister calls me every day begging me to do something about it? It’s sad. Very sad.”
“I am that prime minister,” replies Burnham.
“Are you saying he doesn’t know that?” contests a disembodied voice.
Burnham looks down to discover secretary of war, Pete Hegseth, holding an abdominal plank beside the table.
“No, of course not,” Burnham hurries to clarify.
“Then why are you giving away the Shetland Islands?” asks Trump.
“I think you mean the Chagos Islands,” corrects Burnham, forgetting himself. Wiles lights up. Vance sneers. Purnell tenses.
“Are you suggesting the president doesn’t know which islands he’s talking about?” accuses Hegseth.
“I’m sorry, I’m from Manchester, I have Oasis on the brain. Particularly the oceanic kind,” pivots a man with 25 years’ experience of getting grilled on North West Tonight.
“Manchester! Soccer. Cristiano Ronaldo, great friend of mine, very high energy. He told me I could have played for the USA. Do you think I could have played for the USA at the World Cup?”
“It wouldn’t have been fair on the younger players,” says Burnham, growing into the role of world statesman.
Trump glows and leans forward conspiratorially. “You’re not in Manchester now, Andy. You’re on the world stage, and on the world stage you need Trump. Susie tells me you’re a smart guy. You’ve got to start saying you like me more in public. It’s bad for your brand not to. Very low ratings. How about we do a deal?”
“Mr President, I understand the preference for deals. But Britain still needs clarity on Israel and the settlements. Without that, any wider agreement becomes very difficult to sell at home.”
“What about the Hot Wheels?”
“The Hot Wheels?”
“Yes, the Hot Wheels. If I give you the shrinking tech, Andy, and believe me the Pentagon is very close, the best scientists, the absolute best, what do I get in return? A Trump Arch in Westminster that doubles as a top-grade military storage complex with sniper positions on the roof?”
Burnham glances at Purnell. Purnell glances at Wiles. Beneath the table, Hegseth begins to tremble.
“Er, yes?”
“Two-nil!” shouts Trump, reopening the laptop while raising his half-eaten burger. “See Andy. This is what winning looks like. Write that down Susie. We’re making tremendous progress.”
