Off you go, Alistair.'

Last Wednesday, as Big Ben chimed midnight, a pair of football boots was smuggled in to a small terraced house in central London. All day Thursday, as the sun beat down across the country and voters forgot about the local elections, a young boy called Leo was forced to play football for as long as he could.

His mother declined to join in for fear of damaging her very posh white pixie boots.

By Friday morning, the news was out.

Six-year old Leo had broken his metatarsal, the youngest footballer in Britain to do so. As the day wore on, it became clear that he had broken all of them. There was outrage from parents everywhere and sympathy aplenty.

By Friday evening, the story took an unusual twist when Leo's father Tony revealed that he too had a broken metatarsal, but that both he and his son would fight onf I mean play on as soon as able.

The story continued to dominate the headlines as temperatures soared in the first hint of the much-predicted summer from hell.

The election results showing big losses for the ruling party slid into metatarsal oblivion.

Even the remarkable success of right-wing racists failed to stay in the headlines. By the weekend, the prime minister had promised an urgent inquiry into the metatarsal affair and had sent his personal sympathies to father and son, praising their spirit and saying that that kind of spirit had inspired him to stay on as boss.

'That's all, Miss.'

'Thank you Alistair. Now remember children, when writing fiction, it is important to entertain and intrigue. You want the reader to stay with the story to the end.

Alistair's story was full of intrigue at the start, but I felt the end was not really plausible and I felt a bit cheated. Gordon what did you think?'

'Miss, I thought it was a lot of nonsense really, but that's always been Alistair's style, to stretch the truth.'

'Ah Miss that's not fair.'

'Alistair, be quiet and let Gordon finish.'

'Thanks Miss. I thought that the prime minister would have had to slink away after such a double-whammy . . . the bad elections and the metatarsal scandal, but to make it more exciting, make it look like he's staying, but then he realises that he really must go. That's a much better ending.'

'Yes, Alistair you want to say something?'

'Miss, isn't it the case that truth is stranger than fiction. No matter what I might write, in real life, more peculiar things happen. I mean, what about that story about wealthy people giving money to political parties and then being offered a seat in the House of Lords. Unbelievable but it happened.'

'Ming, you wanted to join in?'

'Well Miss. I thought it was a clever story, and what a master stroke crippling the father and the son. The way it tied the fortunes of one ordinary family in crisis to the fortunes of the PM in crisis and both came out winning. If I was in charge, I'd want someone with Alistair's imagination.'

'Thanks Ming, a good aspiration to want to be in charge. Anthony why don't you read your story out?'

'But Miss, it's not finished and someone will just shout out an ending.'

'Well Anthony, collaboration is a good thing.'

'But it's my piece of fiction and they'll just ruin it.'

'Now Anthony. We've talked about this before. You have to learn to share more. Now read the story please.'

It was a sunny Friday but inside a small London house, the atmosphere was dark and broody. One man sat silently at a posh desk. In front of him was a pile of photographs which he shuffled around the desk. Finally, he moved some to the left, some to the right and a few he tore apart and dumped the remains in a wastepaper basket. "Bring me another photo of Charles, John and Ruth, " he barked to his servant. "I like tearing them up."

"They'll all be here soon, " the servant said nervously.

"They can wait to know their fate . . . as long as it takes me to decide, " said the man before carrying on with his work.

'That's as far as I've got Miss.'

'Ah, please Miss. I know how to end it, please Miss.'

'Yes Gordon?'

'Ah, Miss it's always Gordon trying to finish my stories. Why doesn't he write his own for a change?'

'Carry on Gordon.'

They all come in to his office, one by one and tell him he can't be the boss anymore and that someone else needs to run the family.

'Oh for heavens sake, if you're going to finish the story, at least come up with an original plan.'

'Anthony, calm down and stop interrupting. What did you have in mind when you started?'

'Well, the man knows that the people are restless, so he gets rid of the weaklings, brings in new cronies and continues his ruthless rule.'

'Yes, possibly. Alistair, you look very keen to offer something.'

'Yes Miss, that ending has been done to death too, and anyway, Anthony completely ignored the word election in his story, which is cheating really. But, he should end it with backslapping and praise, a few rewards, a few scoldings and then quietly and carefully build up a small, tight team of supporters to stab them in the back when he's ready to retire. That's the trick. This guy in the story is obviously tough and doesn't need to worry about a bit of unrest, disagreement, sex, fraud, racists. No he wins out, that's the story.'

'Thanks Alistair, very interesting. 'Well, thanks to everyone for such a spirited performance.

Let's repeat it soon.'

'Miss, and next time we can we use the words history, reputation and legacy. That would be a good one to do.

I'd enjoy that.'

Susan O'Keeffe is a senior producer with the BBC