It seems that the witches of Westminster have been caught with their hands in the cauldron. To avoid being burnt at the stake they've been resigning from the coven in an unnatural haste.
In some warped plot twist that would make Shakespeare squirm these blackened souls have decided that they have been wronged.
"Fair is foul, and foul is fair" these harpies cry as they organise the hapless master's doom.
You just couldn't make this stuff up. Are there no depths that MP's won't stoop to? Have they no shame? Not even a tiny sliver?
"Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting" - an MP's expense claim or a list of new job titles for them?
