Vladimir Pudding was not one to shirk a fight. When he saw the bulky frame of the ex-Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland hurtling towards him, he let out a bellow, opened his arms into the grappling position and launched himself at his assailant. Seeing this, Boris employed his rugby-playing skills to feint to his right and then shimmied to his left, raising his right leg to trip the advancing Russian president, who went sprawling to the ground. Boris spun around like a 70s disco king and he fell upon the back of the Pudding, pinning him tightly.
Lapdog and Punt looked at each other, mouths agape and wondering what they should do; separate them? Join in? Fight each other? Lapdog’s jowly features, for Jeremy Punt, were like a red rag to a bull. He couldn’t help himself. He clenched his fist and swung it, rather girlishly, at the Russian Foreign Minister. Belying his outward appearance, Lapdog reacted pretty damned quickly and the blow glanced off his shoulder, with Punt’s fist carrying on into thin air, leaving him off balance and exposed. Lapdog seized the initiative and aimed a kick in Punt’s general direction, connecting with his thigh.
Meanwhile, Johnson had put Pudding into a headlock, with the Russian ex-KGB man struggling and wriggling like a struggly, wriggly thing. Boris had his arms round this opponent’s head rather than his neck, simply because there was no neck to lock onto. Pudding’s gargantuan head proved to be an advantage and Boris found it hard to get a good, firm hold on it.
While all this was happening, the bodyguards now looked at one another, wondering what the hell they should do; separate them? Join in? Fight each other? They had guns. This could get ugly. This could start a war.
Minority News Report 