Tuesday, June 18, 2024
HomeNewsIt was Christmas Day at the Sunaks’ . . . 

It was Christmas Day at the Sunaks’ . . . 


IT WAS Christmas Day at the Sunaks’  

Their Yorkshire mansion was full of good cheer 

They were California dreamin’ 

They’d be Stateside in less than a year. 

When the PM unwrapped his presents 

His delight could not be surpassed 

He got a wallet to keep his Green Card in 

And Bermuda shorts styled at half-mast. 

Akshata was gifted a riveting book  

A best-selling novel? Not quite.  

It was a guide to American tax law 

And getting non-dom status right. 

Said Sunak: ‘When we lose the election 

We’ll head to Heathrow straight away 

By the time Starmer’s droning outside No 10 

We’ll be flying first-class to LA. 

‘I’ll be rather sad to leave Yorkshire 

With its snow and its wind and its rain 

I know Santa Monica could never compare 

But we’ll just have to face up to the pain. 

‘I never quite mastered Tyke sayings  

But when locals uttered these phrases: 

‘Rishi, tha’s a reet wazzock’, 

I think they were singing my praises. 

‘Oh look, a Christmas card from Suella! 

A surprise, when you think that I sacked her. 

At this joyful season of peace and goodwill  

Could it be that regrets have now racked her? 

‘Her message is the words of a carol,  

But I’m afraid her tone is quite scorning 

It says: “I saw 300 migrant boats come sailing by  

On Christmas Day in the morning.” 

‘Akshata, darling, why look so glum 

When our plans are nearing perfection?’ 

Said Akshata: ‘A dread thought just crossed my mind:  

What if you win the election?’ 

Said Sunak: ‘That’s not going to happen 

The Conservatives are a force that’s long spent 

We’ll be like dinosaurs hit by an asteroid, 

A mass extinction event. 

‘From Covid to climate to migrants 

To war memorials with yobs on 

We’ve brought 13 years of disaster, 

An omnishambles with knobs on. 

‘So to our Pacific penthouse we’ll repair 

I’ll write my memoirs, you’ll go shopping 

While Starmer makes Britain even worse 

With no chance of any boats stopping.’ 


It was Christmas Day at the Starmers’ 

And Sir Keir was gripped by stark fear 

Because he knew that barring a bombshell 

He’d be Downing Street-bound the next year. 

Family and friends themed his presents  

On the prospect of him taking power 

But as he opened each of their gifts  

His response was a groan and a glower. 

On waking he found to his horror 

In a stocking at the end of his bed 

A cloth cap, muffler and whippet 

To help boost his working-class cred. 

He got a Jeremy Corbyn voodoo doll 

With a thousand pins to stick in 

And a Public Speaking for Dummies book

To improve his poor politickin’. 

There was a year’s supply of strong hairspray 

To keep his quiff looking twee 

And a handsome hassock, leather-bound  

For when he’d next be taking the knee. 

As he grumbled, Lady Starmer said: 

‘Why are you being a miserable git?’  

He told her: ‘I’m scared of becoming PM, 

To use old Thatcher’s word, I’m frit. 

‘I’m worried about leftie Rayner 

I know I’ll have to appease her 

But what if she stabs me in the back? 

I mean, it happened to Julius Caesar. 

‘What if I freeze at PMQs 

And look like a stupid poltroon 

What if the clever ripostes I’ve rehearsed 

Go down like a lead balloon?’ 

In desperation he phoned Tony Blair  

And told him of his plight 

‘Don’t worry, Keir,’ came the smooth reply 

‘It all will turn out right. 

‘It makes no difference who’s PM 

Or to what politics he clings 

You’ll be nothing but a puppet 

While others pull your strings.  

‘In Downing Street follow one rule  

And you’ll meet all the job’s demands: 

Just look like it’s you who’s running things 

And do as Klaus Schwab commands.’ 

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Weaver Sheridan
Weaver Sheridan
Weaver Sheridan is a wannabe best-selling novelist, one of his efforts being the Fifties Franny series, available on Amazon Kindle books.

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