As seen in the New Statesman

‘Right, how about…’ The Prime Minister’s face is a mask of sweat. ‘How about… 1p off the price of every Freddo… if you… ehhh… if you do… do at least ten hours of community work a month?’ 

Preparations for the Budget are down to the wire. The PM’s people had called me for a comms debrief with Andy and the Chancellor ahead of the statement to the House. But when I arrive at No. 11, it quickly becomes apparent that I would be getting much more than I’d bargained for. Sitting on a bottle-green Chesterfield sofa covered in briefing papers, Andy rummages through a Co-op plastic bag he has cradled under his arm and produces a pack of chocolate Hobnobs. ‘These used to be a quid, now you’d be lucky to get two for a fiver.’

Frustrated, I challenge the Prime Minister directly: ‘Andy…’ ‘Andeh,’ he corrects me

‘Fiver…’ says Healey, blinking.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That’s great retail politics, Prime Minister, and I think we can definitely sell this “normie populism”, but let’s face it – we’ve got a fiscally significant event to prepare for, one with deep political, even geopolitical, consequences. And the bond markets are watching.’

Andy regards me blankly, then turns to his Chancellor. ‘John, d’ya remember these?’ His hand fishes back into his plastic bag and out comes a plastic tub of Quality Street. ‘John, d’ya remember when these used to come in those big metal tins? Me mam used to keep her sewing things in one.’

‘Tins…’

‘Prime Minister,’ I say, ‘we need to be thinking about mass unemployment from AI, and threats to critical national infrastructure from cyberhacking. About household resilience in the face of Black Swan events. Confront the blackout risk posed by our overhasty pivot to net zero. Reckon with our failure to provide the capital depth to fund tech, the threat of Russian submarines to undersea cables, the need to de-risk our supply chains from hostile non-state actors in this new age of uncertainty. How are we going to incentivise the production of advanced drones to prepare Britain for future warfare?’

The PM doesn’t deign to look at me this time. ‘John, d’ya remember it used to be that ten quid would get you four pints, a pack of ciggies, a kebab, and a cab home? That was your evening sorted. Was class, weren’t it lad?’

‘Home…’ Healey whispers.

I feel frustration welling up within me, so, straining to control the tone of my voice, I challenge the Prime Minister directly. ‘Andy –’

‘Andeh,’ he corrects me.

‘Andeh. Look, this cost-of-living stuff is important to voters, but it is only one part of a much wider puzzle. We are navigating a fraught global environment in the middle of a second great industrial revolution. We need to think bigger than saving a few pounds from the weekly shop.’

The Prime Minister and the Chancellor stare at me. I see Andy’s hands clench into two fists, straining white from the tension. It is then that the PM throws his plastic Co-op bag at me. The marshmallow Flumps and loose Liquorice Allsorts flail in the air but the more solid objects, the cans of Barr lemonade and Tunnocks teacakes, find their target and I yelp in pain.

‘What would you know about the weekly shop, Mr Pinot Grigio?’

‘Pinot,’ growls Healey, rising from the sofa. I begin to stammer, picking a Polo mint out of my hair. ‘L-look, I went to a bog-standard comp… except for sixth form.’ Healey is now advancing towards me. ‘I’m no stranger to a supermarket! The price of a chomp these days does my bloody head in!’

I might have said more, but Healey is upon me. With freakish strength he picks me up and carries me to an open window. And I am, in the parlance of us hacks, ‘defenestrated’.

‘Budget!’ Healey roars, as I lie on the street below, blood beginning to warm the concrete where my head has made a pillow.