We pick up, dear reader, where we left off: Ebetheresa Scrooge was mid-visitation from the ghost of Margaret Thatcher: in chains of credit cards, privatisation contracts and sold-off council houses…
“MIIILK!” howled the terrifying spectre, “CHILDREN’S MIIILLLK!”
“Oh, I know, dearest Maggie”, replied Scrooge. “That was your finest hour!”
“I’m not here to debate policy, Ebetheresa” replied Thatcher’s ghost, perturbed.
“Then why are you fettered thus?” asked a trembling Scrooge.
“I wear the chain I forged in life,” replied Thatcher. “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will (with some help from the free markets), and of my own free will I wear it. I must now wander the Earth in death forever shackled by the burden of sin I meted out in life!”
“But… But…! Right to Buy? NHS reform? Your policies were revolutionary!” proclaimed a bemused Scrooge.
Read on...Support us and go ad-free
“I only cared about business. But not about the people around me,” mused Thatcher. “Now, I am here to warn you, Scrooge! You will be visited by three spirits!”
“I told Ken Clarke my only tipple is Laphroaig…”
“NO!” bellowed Thatcher. “Three ghosts! Without their visits, you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one.”
“Can’t I roll all the visits into one Maggie? A bit like Universal Credit?” whinged Scrooge.
“No! Don’t be ridiculous. That wouldn’t work at all. Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!”
With that, Thatcher vanished in a cloud of £50 notes. Confused but wary, Scrooge retired straight to bed and fell asleep upon the instant.
When she woke again, it was still foggy and bitterly cold. Remembering what Thatcher had warned her of, Scrooge lay awake, gazing at the ticking clock… Until, after what seemed like an age, it struck upon one.
Suddenly, the curtains, stained rusty gold by Scrooge’s JPS Superking smoke, flung back unaided and an apparition appeared. Scrooge yelped in terror, for it was a strange figure. Like a child; yet not so like a child as like an old woman. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age; yet the face had not a wrinkle in it and the tenderest bloom was on the skin.
“Joan…?” proclaimed Scrooge. “Joan…Rivers…?”
Part Three of ‘A Brexmas Carol’ is out on Thursday 21 December. You can read Part One here.
Get Involved!Support us and go ad-free
We know everyone is suffering under the Tories - but the Canary is a vital weapon in our fight back, and we need your support
The Canary Workers’ Co-op knows life is hard. The Tories are waging a class war against us we’re all having to fight. But like trade unions and community organising, truly independent working-class media is a vital weapon in our armoury.
The Canary doesn’t have the budget of the corporate media. In fact, our income is over 1,000 times less than the Guardian’s. What we do have is a radical agenda that disrupts power and amplifies marginalised communities. But we can only do this with our readers’ support.
So please, help us continue to spread messages of resistance and hope. Even the smallest donation would mean the world to us.