T’was the week before Christmas,
when all through the land
Not a creature was safe from austerity’s hand.
The P45s were placed in the OUT-tray with care,
While Chairman and MD made sure they weren’t there.
At home, children nestled all snug in their beds,
While downstairs mum and dad raged off their heads.
And mamma in tears, I fearing the worst,
Had just sorted the debts to see who got paid first,
When out on the street there came such a roar
That I sprang up to see what the ‘Hooray’ was for.
Away to the window I turned, feeling ill,
Tore open the curtains, looked over the sill.
The moon shone down on the distinct lack of snow,
Giving light to a scene that I noticed below
For what to my wondering eyes should be there
But a smiling old banker with well coiffured hair.
This be-suited man was so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Old Nick.
More rapid than eagles his Bentley it came,
And he whistled and hooted, and called us by name!
‘Now Savings! Now ISA! Now Pensions and Credit!
On, Mortgage! On, Debtor! On Hedge Funds and Debit!
To get me my yacht you can go to the wall!
Now stash away! Stash away! Stash away all!”
In sad homage to Twas the night before Christmas (“A Visit from St. Nicholas”) by Clement Clarke Moore (1779 – 1863).