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| Freewheelin' Phil decides to go down with a fight – and a laugh | Freewheelin' Phil decides to go down with a fight – and a laugh |
| (1 day later) | |
| Freewheelin’ Phil had always enjoyed his morning ritual. After straightening his tie and smoothing down his hair, he’d head to the mirror to blow kisses to himself and whisper: “Looking good, Big Boy.” Only on this day of all days his reflection hadn’t bothered to show up. Freewheelin’ Phil had never felt more alone. | Freewheelin’ Phil had always enjoyed his morning ritual. After straightening his tie and smoothing down his hair, he’d head to the mirror to blow kisses to himself and whisper: “Looking good, Big Boy.” Only on this day of all days his reflection hadn’t bothered to show up. Freewheelin’ Phil had never felt more alone. |
| It wasn’t meant to be this way. For a while after the election there had been a sense of release. He’d expected to be out of a job but the prime minister’s failure had given him a reprieve. But now, as he prepared to deliver his budget, the walls were closing in again. The Brexiters were willing him to fail and the remainers no longer much cared whether he stayed or went. The Tories were in meltdown and he was the designated fall guy. It wouldn’t matter if he did or didn’t spend the money he didn’t have. He was screwed either way. | It wasn’t meant to be this way. For a while after the election there had been a sense of release. He’d expected to be out of a job but the prime minister’s failure had given him a reprieve. But now, as he prepared to deliver his budget, the walls were closing in again. The Brexiters were willing him to fail and the remainers no longer much cared whether he stayed or went. The Tories were in meltdown and he was the designated fall guy. It wouldn’t matter if he did or didn’t spend the money he didn’t have. He was screwed either way. |
| As he sat morosely in the Commons waiting for prime minister’s questions to end, the chancellor came to a decision. If this was to be his last budget, he might as well go down with a fight. And a laugh. First in his sights were the Brexit mob. They’d demanded more money, he’d give it to them. He had no idea where the £3bn to pay for them making such a mess of leaving the EU was going to come from, but that was no longer his problem. Give them enough rope. | As he sat morosely in the Commons waiting for prime minister’s questions to end, the chancellor came to a decision. If this was to be his last budget, he might as well go down with a fight. And a laugh. First in his sights were the Brexit mob. They’d demanded more money, he’d give it to them. He had no idea where the £3bn to pay for them making such a mess of leaving the EU was going to come from, but that was no longer his problem. Give them enough rope. |
| Next in line was Theresa May. “I’m going to stick to water,” he said, “but I believe the prime minister has some cough pastilles in her pocket.” Great. Remind everyone of her conference speech nightmare. Theresa fumbled inside her pocket and passed him a packet. Fentanyl. Why not? An accidental overdose wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. Though better not take them all. The Maybot would be needing some herself sooner or later. The £500m he was planning to spend on artificial intelligence wouldn’t come close to making her appear either competent or human. The four pot plants displayed more signs of sentient life than her. | |
| “Now we come to the bit with the long economicky words,” he said. Take that, Govey. The opportunist little shit had been eyeing up his job for weeks now. No matter that anyone who had ever met him knew he was so hopeless with numbers he couldn’t be trusted to buy a pint of milk and come back with the right change. Freewheelin’ Phil allowed himself a few moments to savour the thought of Mikey delivering his first budget this time next year before getting on to the real black comedy. | “Now we come to the bit with the long economicky words,” he said. Take that, Govey. The opportunist little shit had been eyeing up his job for weeks now. No matter that anyone who had ever met him knew he was so hopeless with numbers he couldn’t be trusted to buy a pint of milk and come back with the right change. Freewheelin’ Phil allowed himself a few moments to savour the thought of Mikey delivering his first budget this time next year before getting on to the real black comedy. |
| The economy wasn’t just struggling. It was a total disaster. The Office for Budget Responsibility was predicting the worst growth figures in living memory. He turned round to look at the prime minister and shrugged. Deal with that. What more proof did she need that Brexit had done for Britain? “I want good jobs,” he said. But failing that, rubbish ones would do. Come to think of it, almost anything would be better than the one he had. | The economy wasn’t just struggling. It was a total disaster. The Office for Budget Responsibility was predicting the worst growth figures in living memory. He turned round to look at the prime minister and shrugged. Deal with that. What more proof did she need that Brexit had done for Britain? “I want good jobs,” he said. But failing that, rubbish ones would do. Come to think of it, almost anything would be better than the one he had. |
| Time for an in-joke. More money for maths. Particularly on subtraction lessons. Schools and the NHS could do with a few more people capable of working out that the extra cash he was handing out to them wasn’t nearly enough and they would have to make yet more cuts. | Time for an in-joke. More money for maths. Particularly on subtraction lessons. Schools and the NHS could do with a few more people capable of working out that the extra cash he was handing out to them wasn’t nearly enough and they would have to make yet more cuts. |
| Which reminded him. “I’m giving the NHS an extra £350m to see it through the winter,” he said, directing his gaze at Boris Johnson. Not £300m. Not £400m. But £350m. The exact sum the fantasist had promised the NHS would be getting each week. People couldn’t fail to make the connection. Far from creating a cash bonanza, Brexit was bleeding the country dry. | Which reminded him. “I’m giving the NHS an extra £350m to see it through the winter,” he said, directing his gaze at Boris Johnson. Not £300m. Not £400m. But £350m. The exact sum the fantasist had promised the NHS would be getting each week. People couldn’t fail to make the connection. Far from creating a cash bonanza, Brexit was bleeding the country dry. |
| Now Freewheelin’ Phil was nearly home and dry. Just time for a few crowdpleasers. Cut stamp duty. Who cared if it put house prices up and benefited the seller rather than buyer? It was a good soundbite and would play well with all the Tory backbenchers who were too stupid to know the difference. Let them eat houses. The punters were crying out for more houses, so he’d give them more houses. Or at least he’d say he would. By the time everyone worked out he’d already promised to build most of the houses he’d just promised to build and that the £44bn didn’t really exist, he’d be long gone. | Now Freewheelin’ Phil was nearly home and dry. Just time for a few crowdpleasers. Cut stamp duty. Who cared if it put house prices up and benefited the seller rather than buyer? It was a good soundbite and would play well with all the Tory backbenchers who were too stupid to know the difference. Let them eat houses. The punters were crying out for more houses, so he’d give them more houses. Or at least he’d say he would. By the time everyone worked out he’d already promised to build most of the houses he’d just promised to build and that the £44bn didn’t really exist, he’d be long gone. |
| “We choose the future. We choose to run towards changes,” he concluded. That part at least was true. He had chosen the future. He had run towards changes. Towards a cabinet reshuffle. He’d had a crap hand and played it the best he could, but he knew it was only a matter of time before his budget unravelled. Freewheelin’ Phil would be lucky to survive till Christmas. | “We choose the future. We choose to run towards changes,” he concluded. That part at least was true. He had chosen the future. He had run towards changes. Towards a cabinet reshuffle. He’d had a crap hand and played it the best he could, but he knew it was only a matter of time before his budget unravelled. Freewheelin’ Phil would be lucky to survive till Christmas. |
| Choose life. Choose a career. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin can openers. Choose your future. Choose life. But why would he want to do a thing like that? | Choose life. Choose a career. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin can openers. Choose your future. Choose life. But why would he want to do a thing like that? |
| John Crace’s new book, I, Maybot, is published by Guardian Faber. To order a copy for £6.99, saving £3 on RRP, go to guardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £10, online orders only. Phone orders minimum p&p of £1.99. | John Crace’s new book, I, Maybot, is published by Guardian Faber. To order a copy for £6.99, saving £3 on RRP, go to guardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £10, online orders only. Phone orders minimum p&p of £1.99. |