The Gospel According To George (Satire)

And lo, it was decreed in the year of our lady 31AM that Dave did become leader of the Great British ship of state. And Dave did decree that it was in the wishes of our Lord to trim this ship, throwing aside valuable planks and sails to his friends on other, private ships. Around this time did Dave say unto his assembled disciples, all men who were his oldest and dearest chums. We have brought upon this land a big society, a society in which all who lived in leafy southern villages should help one another and thus charity would logically flow to those poor and needy.

But Dave, said Eric, his trusted advisor, does this mean that we should be in the practice of all donating our wealth, as in the book of charity. No, spake Dave, for it is no compulsory practice but a voluntary one that should be encouraged to be all in this together. It is not born of greed, but a good, honest compassion for our fellow man in the village. Surely, piped up the squeaky voice, of Ed, who had not been invited and was heard by none, this is just a policy designed to get the government to do less and less. Wouldn't it be good, drawled Mike, Dave's former confidante, if we could take this giving and apply it across all of the land, collectively organised and then distributed to all. Don't be ridiculous, get back to thine bench, spaketh Dave.

With his grand plan to do nothing in place, thus Dave entered the temple and overturned the tables of the money lenders. Hence, they all guffawed about it, for it was as it had been in the misty eyed days in the club of Bullingdon. They all slapped some money down and decided that they should take their money and store it in heaven, where the rates of tax were far less, although they would continue reside here in Dave's Kingdom. Thus Dave continued to cut the wind to the sails and the sails themself on his ship of state and turn abroad. In good christian fashion he saw the suffering of those across the world and boldly elected to do nothing, as it is decreed that thou shalt love thy neighbour, so long as he has money and influence.

And then, Dave spaketh, I shall tell ye all the story of the good illegal immigrant. 'A man was travelling on the road from Basingstoke to Guildford when he was robbed, beaten and his fine watch taken from his wrist. First rode by a noble man in his Bentley, but he was polluting and so did not have time to help. Then rode by a lowly brick layer, but he had been the product of new labour and was already in a mess. Finally rode by a poor illegal immigrant from the lands east of Germania but west of Russia.' What, exclaimed Nick, Dave's faithful lapdog, did the immigrant then help the man, thus showing the common good of the lowest.

No, replied Dave, for the immigrant was promptly reported through the dying man's last breath, as any honest citizen would do, and thus the noble lady Theresa did escort the immigrant away. And so the small, racist contingent of the assembled crowd guffawed loudly before moving on to Espania for their retirement.  Thus did Dave continue to mediate the land, feeding the 5,000 with his banks of food, so long as they had correct documentation, healing the sick and disabled by getting them to stand on their own two feet and all the while his 17 chums yelled loudly in the house.

But it was foretold that Dave would be hung up and crucified in the year 36AM and three days later would rise again in the form of a flaxen headed leader, who would be called Boris. His gospel is not yet written.