Tony Blair's sheep hurry off to Ladbrokes to put their money on his departure.
These days the New Labour Party is in trouble. When they win a byelection, it's termed "shocking". With a leader who's over the hill, politically, the backbenchers keep threatening to revolt, over the education bill, the terror bill, the latest Cabinet scandal—they need a stern border collie to keep them in line.
The other pastures are looking greener these days.
The Tories have a young, attractive leader who talks about poverty in a way only an Etonian can: "I'm not actually poor, but I did tour Africa in my gap year." David Cameron, who seems to have forgotten what the Tories stand for, wants to eliminate the last vestiges of royal power, even though he's a fifth cousin a few times removed from Her Majesty. The herd wonders if he's been munching on the wrong kind of grass.
And now the Liberal Democrats have a new leader too, having kicked poor Charles Kennedy out on his drunken bum. They've tried a new tactic. Instead of electing a youngster who changes nappies and advocates for strict environmental policies while Bono whispers from his iPod, they've gone with wisdom and a knighthood: 64-year old former Olympian Sir Menzies Campbell. (That's pronounced "Meng-ies", or Ming for short.) This old Scot has been around the hillock a time or two; he knows the Lib Dem party line and sticks to it: environment and poverty. "Greener pastures for all, I say!" The herd agrees.
Meanwhile, Tony Blair's sheep are sheep no longer; the backbenchers frolic at Ladbrokes, placing bets on how long he sticks around before handing over the shepherd's hook to Gordon Brown.
I caught these sheep at Chequers running away, whether toward greener pastures or from the dogs is anyone's guess.