"Are you sure about this?"
"Absolutely, sir."
"You mean it?"
"With certainty."
"And you promise this is the last expansion?"
"Well, sir, we could take land from Ireland but there might be resistance."
"We want to make sure about this one. I don't want to face another crisis."
"Sir, by turning the last hectare of land in the north and all the land in-between, from Plymouth to Aberdeen, into a fully-operational set of runways and space ports, we guarantee that the British Isles will be the one and only hub for international flight for all destinations reached by crossing the Northern Hemisphere and into space via the centrifugally-neutral North Pole line."
"Very well. Prepare the speech and I'll talk to our citizens to explain yet again why converting our English cottage housing estates into underground cities is best for our country."
"Excellent, sir. You won't regret it one bit."
"Regret? Never. And schedule a flight to my newly-renovated plantation on Montserrat."
"Yes, sir. Anything else you want, Prime Minister Beckham?"
"Tell Victoria to bring the grandkids along."
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