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"Greetings, dear reader. I am the Ghost of Christmas Future. Come with me on a short journey, to our first Carolean Christmas…
"‘Tis Christmas Eve. Scrooge Kwarteng sits in his office, enjoying a postprandial brandy and cigar. Above a roaring fire, the mantelpiece is filled with Christmas cards from his rich friends. No wonder, for Scrooge’s tax cuts have made them much richer this year.
"Across the land, shops are filled with people, but most are not there to buy festive food and gifts, for they have nothing to spend. They are there for warmth, as these are Hard Times, and only the rich can afford to heat their homes. Those lucky enough to have a few coins loiter near the fresh food, hoping to grab some yellow stickered items before the shops close. Among these is Roberta Cratchit, a hard-working nurse. She hopes her salary will stretch to a few items from the supermarket’s Pauper Range, so her family need not go hungry on Christmas Day. Roberta wishes she could afford a Christmas present for her sick son, Tiny Tom. Malnutrition has given Tom rickets and anaemia, but the NHS is underfunded, and Tom can’t get a GP appointment, never mind the hospital treatment he needs.
"The queue from a nearby food bank stretches for miles, but there is not enough food to go round, as few can afford to donate during this cost of living crisis. Angry murmurings are heard as two TV presenters dodge the queue, but Holly and Phil have media passes, so the rules of common decency do not apply to them.
"The surrounding streets are lined with makeshift tents, occupied by those who can no longer afford a roof over their heads. A police constable passes by – a rare sight in these times of government cutbacks. The tents should not be there, but he does not have the heart to move these people on. He will soon join this illegal campsite himself, for his salary is no longer enough for the basic necessities of life.
"Yet Scrooge Kwarteng does not care about any of this, as he sits by his fireside. Wait - who the Dickens is this spectral figure, entering Scrooge’s office? Is it the Ghost of Christmas Past? No, it is Jacob Rees-Mogg, joining Scrooge for brandy and cigars, before Nanny puts him to bed.
"It is the worst of times… it is the worst of times."
is reported that Mr Ebenezer Scrooge, merchant of this Parish, has let it be known that Christmas this year will be much reduced in both its size, and, more importantly, in its expense, and that can only be for the betterment of mankind.
In support of this assertion, he cites the many shortcomings that will befall this festive season, many already reported by this august publication. The likes of poultry and game, pork in its many guises, and amusements for the children.
Mr Scrooge declares, “If small girls desire a little pony, then let them be sent to the mines where they may become acquainted with many such animals. And boys that crave the most recent game of warfare, let them take the Queen’s shilling and have their fill of mortal combat. And what are we to make of hanging a stocking upon the mantel in the hope of receiving gifts from some imagined jolly benefactor? The very idea. Far better, and more profitable for the household, that they be handed a brush and sweep the chimney clean.”
This most parsimonious Gentleman also decries the need for large roasted fowl upon the Christmas table. “In the absence of such extravagance I suggest a simple bowl of gruel. These years past I have found such to be amply sustaining and always readily available. “
Touching upon the subject of the ‘Christmas spirit’, Mr Scrooge became far more animated in his voice and gesture. “Humbug! I have experienced at first hand this Spirit and much good it did me. A thoroughly unpleasant experience where for a moment I was encouraged to enter fully into this seasonal folly and lavish largesse upon all and sundry. Thankfully I was able to regain my senses and put the whole distasteful business behind me, but not before I had spent far more than any man in his right mind should feel obliged to.”
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