A CHRISTMAS CAROL BY Charles Dickens Abridged by Henry Morris CHAPTER FIVE – THE END OF IT Yes! And the bedpost was his own. The £400,000 Hästens bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in! “I will live in the past, the present, and the future.” Rishi Scrooge Sunak repeated, as he got out of bed. “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what day of the month it is. I don’t know how long I’ve been among the spirits. Hallo! Hallo there!” He ran to the window and put out his head. He could hear the picket lines, burglar alarms, rioting and police sirens ringing out several streets away. “What’s today?” cried Scrooge, calling downward to Andrew Bridgen who had got stuck in a drain. “Eh?” returned the boy, confused. “What’s today, my fine fellow?” “Today?” replied the boy. “Why, Christmas Day!” “Huzzah!” shouted Scrooge. “I haven’t missed it! Do you know Mone's Defective PPE shop on the corner?” “I sure do.” “And do you know whether they’ve sold the DFDS shipping container full of partially perished plastic aprons that was there?” “It’s still there” returned the boy. “Is it!” said Scrooge. “Go and buy it! I am in earnest. Go and buy it and come back with the man that I may give them the direction where to take it. I’ll give you a shilling for it. Come back with the man in less than five minutes and I’ll give you half-a-crown!” “I’ll send it to the bereaved relatives of Covid group” whispered Scrooge cheerfully. He dressed himself all in his best and at last got out into the streets. He had not gone far, when he came across Mick Lynch, who had walked into his office the day before. “My dear Sir,” said Scrooge, “How do you do? I fear I wasn’t pleasant to you yesterday. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness to …”, here Scrooge whispered in his ear. “Lord bless me!” cried the gentleman, “My dear Mr Scrooge, are you serious? I don’t know what to say to such generosity.” “If you please,'' said Scrooge. “Three hundred and fifty million. And not a farthing less. A great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you.” Scrooge then went to the Christmas service at the church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, stockpiling, queuing for petrol, boarding up their houses. He confiscated the meal vouchers of starving children lest they swap them for class A drugs, and questioned the homeless why they had not yet got on their bikes to secure a zero-hours contract delivering fast food so they could line the pockets of the buy-to-let landlords who destroyed the dream of home ownership for everyone under thirty. He had never dreamed that any walk -- that anything -- could give him so much happiness. Then he went into the basement of his house. He passed the door to the ERG Christmas party a dozen times, before he had the courage to go in, for even in his present state of mind, party games with Des Swayne, Steve Baker and Suella Braverman, still seemed like a uniquely unwarranted torment. But he made a dash, and did it. “Mark Francois,” he implored, “it’s Rishi. I have come to PARTY. Will you let me in?” Francois took off his night vision goggles and let him in; it was a very hearty welcome and they had a wonderful party listening to Suella Braverman recite all the minorities she had ever leveraged for votes in alphabetical order. But Scrooge was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. To catch Shapps coming in late. And he did; yes, he did. Grant/Michael/Corinne/Sebastian was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see them come in. “Hallo!” growled Scrooge, in his usual way. “What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?” “I am very sorry, Sir,” said Shapps. “I'm a bit preoccupied with my latest crypto grift.” “I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer, you're like a hackneyed comedy device with your multiple personas ” he continued, jumping from his stool and poking Shapps in the chest, “and therefore I am about to raise your salary. A merry Christmas, Grant.” Shapps was very surprised, and so were many people who found Scrooge so changed. “Really?” “No. You’re sacked. All four of you. Clear your desks. I mean it. Get out. Now.” It would delight this author to say that Rishi Scrooge Sunak became a better person. That he became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city or town in the good old world. That he lived joyfully ever afterwards. But he didn’t. Already possessing more wealth than he knew what to do with, his goal was to attain power for its own sake, not once demonstrating the humility or modesty that the privilege entails. He was so ravaged by this lust, that it was never said of Rishi Sunak that he knew how to keep Christmas well. So must we offer him our blessings? No. Our best hopes lie with those who wish to lift the lowest. May Rishi Sunak and his cartel of crooks be replaced with a thousand refugees who might aspire to elevate themselves, that they may bring hope, and we may learn from them what really matters, and may that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Truss would say, ‘God bless us, every one!’