Away in a manger, no crib for a bed. ‘Cause Pontius Cameron had kicked them out and put Mary and Joseph on workfare. “‘Tis good. ‘Tis the Lord’s work,” saith Liam Byrne and took all the flak for what the Romans did hoping to get himself a little governorship somewhere nearer Rome.
And so it came to pass that Jesus wept and grew into a fine young man, if a bit chippy. He overturned the money changers’ counters in the Temple at Bankside but Fred the Shred escaped to spend more time with his millions. Jesus gazed upon Goldman Sachs, Lehmans and the rest and would have asked his Dad — his real Dad — to smite them a bit but he was an absentee father and off elsewhere leaving his son to sort it out while they made £35 billion profit when they were supposed to be bust. “‘Tis a miracle”, saith Jesus unto the Lord but was told to call back later as he was spending quality time with his other kids.
Some of Jesus’s mates tried to camp out at the Temple, but whereas the money changers had been greeted with open arms and fat guts, the janitor set the dogs onto them.
Finding the priests at Labour Party HQ useless and hungover anyway, Jesus tried to chivvy up the troops but was told he was a troublemaker. “Look what you did to the Temple,” they said. “Jesus Christ, you’ve made a right mess.” “But it wasn’t me,” saith Jesus. “It was the money changers.” “Of course it was you,” saith Liam Byrne, again jonesing for a promotion. “You haven’t got a bean and you and your skint pals are a drain on the state.” Which was wicked for he was no slouch himself when it came to eating all the state-subsidised pies. “Besides, Dusky, you ain’t from around here.”
“‘Tis another miracle”, saith the Sunday Times when their Rich List revealed the creation of even more billionaires despite the country supposedly being on its uppers. “Ain’t no miracle” saith Jesus, “and those uppers are pure Christian Louboutin – they’ve just lost their red souls … and replaced them with our souls”.
Jesus tried to explain to everyone that the riots were just the meek inheriting the earth as they were fed up with pie in the sky and wanted something a tad more substantial before they died, but was all but crucified for saying so. “Phew, that was close”, he muttered. “No wonder they call me Twinkletoes because I am fleet of foot, unshod as they be except for these here Birkenstocks, and they will never catch me.” Some say that Dad got wind of that message and set the hubris police onto him.
Before they stop’n’searched him on suspicion of possessing principles, he threw a couple of parties. At the big rave, he tried to prove you can’t feed a mass of people on a tin of sardines, a Wonderloaf and a tin of Carling, but the scribes got the wrong end of the stick and said they’d all had a slap-up lunch. The scribes had, but at Chipping Norton, and they were all pissed by the time they arrived.
At his Labour Party farewell do, Jesus prophesied that someone would betray him before the cock crew, and they all trampled each other in the rush to prove Jesus right with Liam Byrne issuing several screeds applying for any top job that would have him.
The next day Jesus was run out of town but was such a nice guy that he told his Dad not to hold it against them. “They’re arseholes, Dad. They haven’t got a clue. They’re not worf it.” He was supposed to come back a bit later, but he took one look around and was off again, this time to move in with his Dad who’d promised to take him fishing.
FACT FILE: The collective wealth of the UK’s 1,000 richest rose 30% in 2009 in wake of economic crisis. The combined wealth of the top 1000 rose by over £77bn to £333.5bn, biggest annual increase in 22-year history of The Sunday Times rich list.
The cost of benefit fraud is £1bn. Unclaimed benefits amount to £16.5bn.
Estimated tax owed to us: £70bn
Anna’s food blog here: