6.
MOOGY’S SPLIT
HIS FINGERNAIL. BENEFIT BASH AT CLUB...NOW. This was the text that vibrated into the awareness of Iain
Duncan Smith, Work and Pensions Secretary five minutes into a House of Commons'
debate on the rise of Great Britain's dependency on Food-Banks and the increase in famine
conditions which had already prompted the Red Cross to launch, for the first
time since World War II, a TV appeal for
aid for the country's 600,000 starving poor, 20,000 of which, children, will be
going hungry this Christmas.
“In the Beatles'
song, Eleanor Rigby, Mr Speaker, the first two lines” said a Labour Party back-bencher, one of a score
eager to add to the three hour debate.”Mr Speaker, If I may quote Eleanor Rigby
by The Beatles.".The MP's seniority in years demanded a reply. “You may”, said
The Speaker of the House. “ ‘ Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in a church where
a wedding has been’. I would like to ask the House, why they think the lady in
the song needed to pick up rice, at all?”
The Tories
suddenly burst out laughing; one of their number
had thought it appropriate to shout out something about liking weddings.
“She was
starving, Mr Speaker”, continued the Labour back-bencher indignantly. “I am also
reminded of an article that recently appeared in a Tory broadsheet on the
popularity of job applications to be a barista, that is B.A.R.I.S.T.A , another
name for a sales assistant in the capital’s coffee shops; 5000 applications to
every vacancy. Without any irony whatsoever the heartless nonentity of a
journalist goes on to elaborate on the love of the coffee bean as primary and
unique cause for the disproportionate numbers applying. Like the Tories and
Lib-Dems, the writer, living in his own callous conservative bubble, failed to
grasp the basic point; desperation within current job market.”
The Minster
for Work and Pensions rotated his phone in his pocket. He couldn’t quite
picture exactly who Moogy was. Married to Cynthia Kenross-Tweedsmuir, something
in Nuclear Fuel. He caught the tail-end of the laughter and, ever eager to fit
in since the days he was mercilessly bullied by members of Bullingdon Club, he
rocked with exaggerated mirth. This sickening response to the plight of those
who, while working still found themselves standing, once a week before shelves
of food donated to, and collected by the Trussell Trust and various church and
charitable organisations - was witnessed not only by the country through their TV
sets, but by the dozen or so users of the very same Food Banks who had been
bussed in to watch the debate from the gallery; five of whom threw up.
Also caught
on camera was the Secretary’s deputy minister, Esther McVey peering down at
something Iain Duncan Smith was holding in the general area of his crotch. Miss
McVey registered the content of the text also recognising its sender, Owen
Patterson the Minister for Food. THE TRUFFLES WON’T KEEP.
It was
unfortunate too that she chose this televised moment to lick her lips. Her
senior member caught this gesture and found himself caught between two urges,
both of which necessitated get a quick get-away.
“Mr Speaker”,
another Labour back-bencher stood up. In my constituency of Tunbridge Wells at seven
O’clock every evening an unsightly scrum breaks out in front the shelves of
reduced produce, food already at the end of its use-by and sell-by dates.
Rumbling jollity could be heard coming from the ruddy-faced Tories.
“Order!,
Order!”, The speaker was battling against a mawkish chorus of jeers and general
hilarity.
“...It is a
case of Tax breaks for the rich and Food Banks for the poor. Mr Speaker...Mr Speaker.
Trying to make ends meet on a living wage not fit for purpose the throng,
mainly the working middle-class, might I add,…the throng around food not fit to
feed to a dog, is such, Mr Speaker…” A crescendo of hilarity rose like a parliment of birds from one side
of the House. “…is such, Mr Speaker that security...that security has had to be
called in to control those whose only crime is that of trying to feed their
children”.
To say there
was not weeping in the aisles at this speech would be an out-and-out lie; the
Labour MP for Tonbridge Wells failed to see the joke.
There
followed a sudden lull in the unbridled mirth coming from the Conservative benches
as Esther McVey eager to be released
from her duties and get to Moogy’s Split
Fingernail Benefit Bash at the Club in
Saint James, hastily took the floor.
“It seems to
me Mr Speaker that the Right Honarable Member for Tonbrige Wells’ time would be
better spent at a more high-end supermarket which does not cater to the mob. As
for the increasing dependency on Food banks, I remind the House that the 1.5 trillion
debt accrued under the Labour government has to be repaid by each and every one
of us. We must all breed within our means, and I propose that any surplus be
given to banks and not, Mr Speaker, Food banks.” Miss McVey returned to her
seat.
The House fell
silent for the first time in a century. A Labour back-bencher, whose hand was aloft,
announced himself to the Speaker and the House. “Labour Minister for Ulster”. He turned
towards Iain Duncan Smith and Esther McVey, then to those gathered in the House
of Commons and in a rich Northern Irish accent, asked wryly “And is that the Right Honourable Lady’s
modest proposal*”.
* In 1729 the Satirist, Jonathan Swift, author of Gulliver's Travels anonymously published A Modest Proposal a pamphlet detailing the solution to the problem of poverty in Ireland by suggesting that the Irish sell their children as comodities, namely as food for the rich. ..for Christmas.
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