Monday

It’s a busy week. I’m being briefed in the Oval Office.

“Remind me,” I say. “Which one is the dude in the dress?” My aide checks his clipboard. “That would be the Pope, sir,” he says.

“And it’s not a dress.” “Kilt,” I say, correcting myself. “Because he’s the King of Scotland.” “No, sir,” says my aide. “You may be thinking of Gordon Brown, the Scottish Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. The Pope is from the Vatican.”

I nod. “The Vatican. In South Korea?” “Again no,” says the aide. “President Lee Myung Bak is coming from South Korea. He is our third guest this week. Japanese-born, I believe. The Vatican is in Italy. Although Pope Benedict is from Bavaria.”

“Hold on,” I say. “We’ve got a Scot from England, a German from Italy and a Jap from Korea? Hot damn. And they’re all in dresses?”

My aide shudders slightly. “Just the Pope in a dress,” he says. “But it’s not a dress. Or a kilt. I gather it’s actually some kind of cassock.”

“Russian?” I say. “Never mind,” says my aide. “Have a pretzel.”

Tuesday

My first meeting of the week, with the dude in the dress. Definitely not the Jap. “Bless you, my son,” he says.

“Fank you, my son,” I say, putting him at ease with my best Dick Van Dyke accent. He just looks at me. My aide studies the ceiling. Maybe it wasn’t so good.

“Soooo . . .” I say, after a while. “How’s the little lady enjoying America?” My aide leans close, hissing that it isn’t really a dress and our guest is a gentleman. But I’m not an idiot. I explain. I didn’t mean him. I meant that chick of his.

The guy goes pale. “Mary?” Her, I don’t know. “Nah,” I say. “I meant his wife. Sarah?” Very gently, my guest tells me he is not actually married. “Lucky man!” I say, and I wink. “Play the field, eh? You old dog.”

Wednesday

Yeah, that was all quite odd. Can’t believe they let a German take over from my old friend Tony Blair. And what’s with the funny hat? Gotta be honest. It all went a bit frosty. No wonder Tony never liked the guy. I was talking about the credit crunch and the war on terror, but he just kept going on about condoms and abortion.

In the end I snapped, and told him Tony should have his job, period. The guy just smiled sadly, and said that Tony would probably agree.

Afterwards, my aide said I couldn’t have a pretzel. Asshole.

Thursday

Another meeting, with the other guy who isn’t a Jap. I’m told Tony had a lotta time for him, but I gotta say, he doesn’t look all that holy. Crumpled suit, shifty eyes, weird gurning mouth. “Good to see ya,” I say. “My old friend Tony thinks you’re great. He’s a big fan” My guest seems a bit taken aback. “I swear,” I assure him.

“Like, he pretended not to be for ages? But his wife was always totally into you? And, although he never let on, he was too? Pictures of you in his house and everything. Everybody knows it.” My guest insists that this is all a big surprise.

Friday

Exhausted. What a week! One last meeting today. This little guy comes up to Camp David. I offer him a pretzel. “Thank you,” he says. “Let’s talk about Seoul.” “Soul?” I say. “I thought you were the Jap.”

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