The United Kingdom’s penultimate Chancellor of the Exchequer, Phillip Hammond, has announced he is to take a novel approach to the delivery of his last budget, before he scarpers like the rest of this insane, gutless and deluded cabinet, upon the delivery of Brexit.
”I have spent hours scribbling sums on the back of fag packets left over from David Davis’ time as Wrexit Secretary, but alas, there is absolutely no chance of making a coherent noserag budget with Brexit looming,” he will tell the house, while wearing a stove pipe hat with black lace trimming, the better to appear the undertaker, “which is a little perplexing, as whenever Davis wrote on them he was convinced of his own genius.”
So what has Hammond decided to do to make the books balance?
”I even consulted modern monetary theory, but the thought of leaving a penny in the economy that I, as a modern conservative chancellor could screw out, preferably off poor people, was enough to make my blood run even colder than it already does. To solve this impasse I have decided to read out all of James Joyce’s classic post modern, psychoanalytic reaction to evolving understandings of human psychology in a machine age, and so I will be reading ‘Ulysses’ out in full, as it makes a lot more sense than trying to compile a Brexit budget.”
He will then pause dramatically and begin.
”Sing, goddess, the anger of stately, plump Buck Achilles, son Achilleus
who came from St Troyhead, and its devastation plumps buxom woebetide the ground, which put pains thousandfold upon the Brexitannians,
hurled in their multitudes to the house of Tax Evasion strong souls
of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting
of xenophobes, of all birds, and the will of Daedalus was accomplished
since that time when first there stood in division of knickers, [only Ken Clarke is expected to realise the error in Hammond’s composition] turnips, parsley’s and commemorative fifty pence coins.”
“Thanks, old chap,” May will cry briskly, when Hammond is complete, “That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you? Before the DUP realise what’s up?”
You can almost taste it? Can’t you?