he best thing, the truly best thing about Christmas is…”
“I think you better stop there Prime Minister, we talked about tact…”
“Pigs in blankets, Osborne! Nothing like getting your sausage slapped between a roll of…“
“Spot on Osborne! Why do those Labour chaps have hardly any food this year?”
Looking down the monolithic table, it was clear to see the disparity. The bearded Corbyn sat glowering over a small microwave dinner, whilst his disgruntled MPs looked glumly over a paltry spread of leftovers and greasy takeaway chip wrappers.
Scanning down the polished oak, George had to assume that one or two of their backbenchers were a little jealous; the mountains of roast potatoes, succulent turkey, sage and onion stuffing – all the way down to the pink, glistening ham of Cameron’s forehead, was a sight to behold.
“I have a feeling that Corbyn donated his share of the annual Crimbo piss-up to the food banks this year Prime Minister” “Whining scroungers.”
“Indeed, Prime Minister. But I fear that even Mr Corbyn’s efforts couldn’t deliver to all of them, there’s a million or so this year I think.”
“It looks like Pickles brought his own from home!”
“Yes, we had a sit down with Eric last year and explained the budgetary cutbacks and how they’d hit hardest. Don’t worry – expenses will cover it.”
Jeremy continued glowering from his end of the table, managing a thinly lipped smile as he saw the distant Cameron raise a crystal champagne flute in toast.
“Look at them, the bastards. They’re probably sat over there –“
“expenses will cover it”
“With their turkey…”
“Yes. With their turkey – stop interrupting Watson.”
“Sat over there – probably making fat jokes, or some other insensitive dribble between the lolling of their chins…” Watson nodded.
“You see Tom, I thought our moral stand would get through to the noble Prime Minister…”
“It’s a shame a few of our lot rebelled in the ranks, Sir.”
“I told EVERYONE that Tupperware-ing in Christmas pudding was unacceptable! I’ll make Kendall pay, she can go and sit on her own next to Farage and Lucas for the rest of the dinner.”
“Sir, can I ask: what are we planning for next year? You know, the meat and two veg of our policy.”
“There’ll be none of that Watson, meat and veg is all for the foodbanks.”
“You know what I mean sir…”
“We’re planning to do nothing. Inaction is key – like with Santa. He doesn’t actually do anything but gets all the credit.” “What on earth do you mean?”
“Well we’re not planning on bombing Syria, we’re not planning to renew trident – frankly it’s easier to sit around and make vague statements like giving up Christmas dinner than thinking of ‘solutions’.”
“Right. Can you pass the salmon please?”
“Watson keep up, it’s all sturgeon this year – and you’re not having any of it.”
“Neither are you sir, Scotland seems happy keeping itself to itself at the moment.”
“Merry Christmas Watson.”