A Christmouse Tale

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the state,
Not a worker was working; no, not for that rate.
But stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
‘Cos it’s cruel for the skivers to have cupboards so bare.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of paedophiles danced in their heads.
And blokes from the seventies, mostly with beards,
Shredded their hard drives and shivered with fear.

Up from the Lords there arose such a clatter,
Lord Baron Von Prescott got fatter and fatter.
His Police and Crime gravy train gone like a flash,
He slunk back to Pauline who kept all their cash. 

The reflection of neon on the rain-sodden street
Gave a sparkle to Bobbies on Downing Street beat,
“Fuck off you plebs!” said the naughty Chief Whip,
But as soon as he’d said it, his career did unzip.

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER and BLITZEN!
This gay marriage lark is so hard to take serious,
Why Dave even bothered is what I find mysterious.

The Queen was well feted this Jubilee Year
And our runners and jumpers and cyclists made clear 
That cheating with drugs like Lance Armstrong was wrong 
But Korean Psy’s Gangnam stole the show with his song.

One thing not short was a year-long inquiry, 
With Leveson imposing on famous folks diaries. 
The outcome was certain, it’s said the press lied. 
And Ed Milibands response? “An inquiry!” he cried. 

So here we all are on this new Christmas Eve,
The politics behind us and all given leave.
To get pissed and make merry and not give a fuck 
About who believes what and Gawd ‘elp us, good luck!

I don't believe it!

So, the Plebgate plot thickens. CCTV footage seems to dispel the previously widely accepted version of events, showing former Chief Whip Andrew Mitchell, far from being engaged in a foul-mouthed rant, appearing to calmly accept the police decision not to open the main gate to Downing Street, then leaving without fuss through the side gate and going on his way. It's also alleged that a supposed 'witness' to the event was not only not there at all, but may be a serving police officer.

I say 'may be' because, frankly, I haven't a clue what's going on now. I rarely take much in the newspapers at face value because leaks, biased reporting and downright inaccuracy are hallmarks of the press in the UK and no doubt throughout the world, but it seems that the default position must now be utter disbelief in anything I haven't observed with my own eyes. And even then the life works of people such as Derren Brown, David Copperfield and "O-ho, that's magic!" Paul Daniels demonstrate how easily we can be fooled.

We apparently spent a fortune in not deporting Abu Qatada, the planet may or may not be suffering man-made climate change and all of a sudden all former celebrities have become rampaging, predatory paedophiles overnight. Did they really land on the moon? Did President Kennedy have a secret sex-change operation? And is Alan Titchmarsh really a government plot to lull us into a state of meek, dribbling, senile dependency ahead of  some massive conspiracy to sell us all to China? David Icke's giant lizards not looking so far-fetched now, eh?

And all of this on the run up to Christmas when normally sane people turn into gurning fools, engulfed in sticky tape, pine needles and tinsel. Housewives dancing around with sprigs of mistletoe whenever the milkman, the postman or the man from Tesco Direct shows up; workers dancing around offices, work abandoned, eagerly awaiting a chance to put their careers in jeopardy after a mid-morning sherry and a secret Santa ceremony. The world's gone plumb [pudding] crazy and I just don't know what to believe any more!

At least we've got Bing Crosby, Bob Hope, Max Bygraves, Dean Martin, Morecambe and Wise, Andy Stewart and the White Heather Club to keeps us entertained and sane over the holidays. Aren't you glad of some stability in an ever-changing world? Sorry, what? Nooooooooooooooo!