The Evil Twin of Gunga Din

You may talk o' your fair share

When you're quartered safe out there,

An’ you send for more champagne an’ pension pot it.

But when it comes to money,

We no longer find it funny

When you take the bleedin’ shirt off us that’s got it.

Now, in Blighty’s rainy clime,

Where we now all spend our time

A bailin’ out 'Er Majesty the Queen,

Of all them smug-faced crew,

The vilest man I knew,

Was that mercenary scoundrel Fred Goodwin.

Hungry? Eat the rich

Crivvens, verily and foresooth, Fred Goodwin's been stripped of his knighthood. We might as well go home, lads. The revolution’s over and the good guys won. That £14 million pension pot and guaranteed, index-linked £340K a year for life will be scant recompense for his being addressed as Mister by the few people who like him; the rest of us already had a suitable title for him, one in the vernacular idiom, and he's keeping it but he’ll never have to stand in a dole queue with us.

Of course, the very idea that the man should have been accorded any enhanced status by endorsement of the state as proxy of the crown - or vice versa; these things are never clear - given what we now know of his record over the piece, offends most sensibilities, but in a country where traditions of state ceremony are as fiercely protected as they are here, this compulsion must surely be consistent if nothing else. The prime function of the ceremonial state is to define and maintain its structures; evenhandedness is more than just an imperative, it is its very purpose. Surely in a country as fond of pomp as these sceptred isles there should be protocol for such eventualities?

So long as there exists a suitable reciprocal procedure in event of the dishonouring of a title, one which is accorded equal status with the original investiture, I‘m all in favour of the honours system (with some essential modifications and redefinition of what constitutes outstandingly honourable deeds, naturally) Ordinary citizens on minimal incomes who work for£20 cash undeclared can expect to have their benefits stopped and to be vilified in the press and pub. The disabled know better than to venture outside at all, as the presence of a pulse is now considered clear evidence of fraud of the sort the tabloids and their readership salivate over.

Knave declines tart options

In a surprise move that sent shockwaves through the City of La La Land, it was announced today, contrary to widespread speculation, that the Knave of Hearts had decided not to steal any tarts at all this year, despite having the opportunity to take as many as he wanted. It is believed that the Knave, who is a renowned expert and avid collector of fine tarts from all around the world, had quite enough tarts and other confectionary already and didn't really need any more.

It is thought that pressure had been brought to bear on him by representatives of the Queen, who had gone to considerable effort to bake them, and all on a summer's day, too. She had apparently muttered some rubbish about many of her subjects "barely being able to afford bread." It was feared that the King himself might have beat the knave full sore on noticing them missing.

In other news, it was reported that organised gangs of overweight cats were continuing to remove seemingly endless quantities of cream from the dairy and nobody seemed to be trying to stop them. Each was taking a turn at helping themselves while the others stood by, diligently ensuring that each gets as much as he wants.

 

One was seen playing a fiddle, one disappeared into its own grin and another was last seen sailing away in a luxury yacht described by police spokesman, Officer Dibble, as “beautiful" and "pea-green”. It has not been confirmed as yet whether or not he was in the company of a foreign national known only as The Owl. It is thought that they may be in possession of plently of money, which has been concealed in a large denomination bank note, as well as an undisclosed quantity of honey.

It is not yet understood if these crimes were connected to an incident earlier in the day, when a small dog was heard laughing at a dish, who was reported to have been seen leaving the country in some haste in the company of a spoon. A lawyer for another suspect, a well known cow, said his client was "over the moon".

Later in the day, a number of bears were seen entering a wood, apparently for a picnic. It was not yet clear whether they intended to defecate, but we spoke to an expert in bears who said, "Yeah, well. They're bears, after all. Knowing them, they probably will." 

Cutting benefits of doubt

At first glance, George Osbourne's announcement that Child Benefit will be cut for high earning families may seem eminently sensible and even politically digestible and therefore should be welcomed. Mr Osbourne himself said that he was doing this as a "matter of principle", so we should be grateful at his equanimity and generosity as well as infinitely credulous. This gesture has that lovely tint of redistributivism, of punishing and rewarding, a kind of fiscal S&M. It appears to show the rich taking on a reasonable burden and, by dint of them, for once, not being the ones getting clubbed, the poor seem to be benefiting. We didn't used to be so easily pleased, but we take our pleasure where we can these dark days.


Personally, I have issues with Mr Osbourne's stated political principles, so anything marching under their banner needs frisked before I fall in behind. In the short term, it will get up the noses of many instinctive conservatives, which many of us see as self-evidently a good thing. We will laugh at their hypocrisy when the scream about the injustice of having their benefits cut.

As political stunts go, it takes some beating and came right out of Whitehall's top drawer, with a spin John Major tried and failed to master in Thatcherism 2.0. Judging by the Venus flytrap-like reflexes of our political media, Osbourne seems to have landed triumphantly on his feet. At last, he was seen to be wielding the axe directly at those who could afford it for a change. It's a pity he didn't think of this earlier, but no matter.

His consistency cannot be questioned either. Picking on one easily demonised group is always a winner as by doing so he defines a majority by default. It doesn't matter that it is a completely phony one; by mixing and matching like this, everybody feels both vindicated and under siege. Nearly everybody, anyways. And of course, those who are already sharing far more pain than they can reasonably manage aren't going to shed tears at the plight of Tarquin, 29, and Tabatha,26, design consultants from Islington, for whom child benefit was a fraction of the au pair's spending money.


It is probably precisely because of this that we should be suspicious. George Osbourne's philanthropy has, to date, generally come at a considerable price to those who can least afford it. At least with previous attacks on the common weal he had the decency not to seem too pleased about it. He wasn't actually grinning ear to ear anyway, which is always something. Such modesty seems to have escaped him this time.