Ho, Ho, Ho, and a happy recession to all
Stockings had been hung on the gates with great care by the old, the cold and those thrown on the dole — in hope that a national recovery plan would soon be put there.
The ministers were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of index-linked sugar-plums danced in their heads.
Mary Harney with her health axe and Brian Lenihan his threadbare thinking cap, had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, they sprang from their beds to see what was the matter.
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, Biffo and eight tiny reindeer.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
“Now Lisbon, now Downturn, now Banker now Vixen, On, Emergency! On U-turn! on Blunder! and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away any hope at all!”
So up to Leinster House-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of cutbacks, broken promises and Santa Biffo too.
And then, in a twinkling, they heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As the startled cabinet was turning around, down the chimney Biffo came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, but his clothes were all tarnished with pork ashes and soot.
A tattered bundle of policies he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just holding together his horsehair sack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his battered administration’s head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly, that shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
A wink of his eye and a bow of his head, he soon gave the toxic bankers to know they had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and plundered the taxpayers’ stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
Nothing much new in the recovery plan, no sprinkle of hope, the cabinet giggled, putting it together at Farmleigh had been one big joke — intended to hide their lavish Christmas dinner like a cloak.
The gathering was a strange type, that produced little result and could have been done elsewhere without all the hype.
The ministers met at the mansion in the park, and twisted and turned to keep prying eyes out in the dark.
They whispered the whole affair was a sham — a heartless cover for them to tuck into turkey and ham.
And as Santa Biffo exploded into the sky, they heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, Happy Recession to all, and to all a goodnight.
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