Christmas Eve, 2015. David Cameron is awoken again from his sleep by a wailing noise, as a third ghostly apparition appears...
“Oh for Heaven’s sake? What is it now!” grumbled David, as his final spirit visitation stood in the dark corner of the room, chuckling quietly. He couldn’t quite see the spooky visitor, but it appeared to have blondish hair. “I am the ghost of future times!” cackled the apparition, in a Cumbrian accent.“I’ve seen the film...” David said smugly, “...and it’s ‘the ghost of Christmas Future’”.
“No, dearie!” shrieked the spirit. “I am the ghost of July the 15th, 2016. Hahahahaaaaa!!!”
David looked around the room, wondering if the security team could make it there in time if he dived for the panic button attached to the back of the picture of Margaret Thatcher on his bedside cabinet. The ghost, now hopping from foot to foot gleefully, continued it’s tormenting.
“How do you think the Referendum vote went, Davey? Badly. Boris, that UKIP chap and Gove got their way!”
“Not funny.” Muttered David, darkly.
“You handed in your resignation, Daveeey!” cried the ghost, clapping it’s hands. “There was lots of speculation about who would replace you, but Boris didn’t want it! Then there was a leadership contest. Gove pulled out, and before you knew it, it was just Andrea Leadsom and Theresa May”.
“What?!”
“A leeeeeadership contest, David!”
“No, that name...”
“May?”
“No, the other one.”
“Leadsome.”
David’s pale, shiny, face suddenly turned to a grin. “Now I know this isn’t real! I’ve never heard of Angela Leadshoe!”
“Moving on...” said the ghost, quickly. “You handed your notice into the Queen, gave a little speech outside Number 10, then wandered off humming a funny tune”.
“I’d never do, do do do, that! We’re talking about less than 7 months from now - this is completely ludicrous! Boris not go for my job? Imaginary people called Leadstone, for Heaven’s sake! Theresa May is Prime Minister! Utter tosh. I refuse to believe it!”
Reaching out, he turned on the lamp, to discover Tim Farron in the corner of the bedroom, wearing a white sheet.
“Tim?! For God’s sake man! What are you doing?”
Ghostly Tim, slightly crestfallen, sat down heavily on the end of David’s bed. Looking sympathetically at Cameron, he whispered; “This is all true. Horribly true.” before grinning cheekily, and adding “Hilarious, isn’t it?! Except the Brexit bit, obviously.”
Cameron pondered the situation. The ghosts of Christmas past (John Major) and present (George Osborne in a negligee) both showed him terrible things. Was this true? Could this vision of the future become reality? “What if I change my ways?” he asked, hopefully.
“Too late for that, matey. What do you think this is, some kind of fairytale?”
“Oh no...” moaned the Prime Minister. “Corbyn’s going to love this...”
Ghostly Tim chuckled, “Actually, I’m off to see him right now. I’ve got some bad news for him too!” before vanishing in a cloud of smoke that smelt vaguely of Kendal Mint Cake.
This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column, in the North West Evening Mail, on the 15th of July 2016. In their "In today's Edition" section they descried it as 'Cameron's Christmas Carol' whilst retitling the column itself as 'Not a ghost of a chance, Dave'. A couple of bits disappeared, including the last Kendal Mint Cake line.
This one is really rather strange. There is a longer version, and I could have gone so much further with it, but I'm still not sure if it's entertainingly clever, or just bizarre. I guess you'll have to decide that for yourself...
(Continuing the wander through some random Youtube bits, today I'm listening to Peter Howell & The Radiophonic Workshop's "The Astronauts". B-side of the Doctor Who Theme with Tom Baker on the front, random sci-fi fact nerds!)
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