British National Party

The far-right British National Party, which is contesting 69 of Britain's 72 European Parliament seats, could have its election ads banned after a poster demanding "British jobs for British workers" was found to feature American models.

"Bugger. Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger. Brian, have you seen today's paper?"

As if turning 35, having a bad hair day and finding your favourite dress didn't fit wasn't bad enough, now this. Jenny's day was turing from bad to worse. Nerves and the faint smell of stale bread in the office made her want to puke.

"Nope. Sounds like it's not good news. What's up?"

"They've found out about the modelling agency. I told you we should have gone for locals, in spite of the teeth."

"Oh, crap. So what's the angle?"

"'BNP sends British jobs to American beauties' They're accusing the clients of hypocrysy."

"Bugger. We're going to get fired, you know. "

"Yup."

Jenny was dying for a fag. But somehow she had to salvage this situation. It had all seemed such a good idea. The agency had had such a simple idea - to capitalise on the xenophobia and fear of economic disaster in the community and turn it to the British National Party's advantage. Brian, of course, had come up with some real humdingers, but the BNP had wanted something simple and comforting. British jobs for British workers. Short enough to read as the bus went past, familiar enough to ring a chord of nostalgia in the masses. Advertising gold. But the photographs had caused problems. The BNP hadn't been in favour of the 'authentic' shots of real British workers, and they felt that the scare tactics of showing immigrant workers getting rich was too blatant. They'd wanted Britisth workers, but slightly glamorous. And then the photographers had gone on strike. It was just so much simpler to go with the American agency. Jenny had worked with them before, and knew they were good. And, as it turned out, they had the perfect models. They had that classic British look, but with an American healthy glow. Utopian. Perfect. But not actually British.

Although the temptation to hide out in the lavatory was strong, Jenny instead went to beard the lion in his den. And the metaphor was accurate - Dan had a roar that could turn your toenails inside out and had been known to eat interns alive.

"Jenny, how could you let this happen? I should fire you now. This firm's reputation..."

"Don't bother. I quit".