Ghost of Christmas past delivers our leader to a fate worse than debt

The Taoiseach wasn’t sure if he was screaming, but as the ground rushed towards him, he found himself thinking that this was just what the opinion polls were like. He woke with a start

Nobody else has to work at Christmas, the Taoiseach reflected. But I do. And all to bail out the bloody banks. Here I am, late on Christmas Eve, still in my office. No matter how hard I try, the bloody economic parameters are still lousy going forward. (Yes, the Taoiseach didn’t just talk like that — he thought like that, too.)

The Taoiseach knew the car was outside, the Mercedes engine humming quietly, ready to take him down the quiet roads to Tullamore. He’d go in a minute, he thought. Just one more cup of tea.

Who was that? Jaysus, there’s still someone left. It must be that regulator fella, after spending the whole day whingeing and moaning about how everyone was out to get him.

But no. The Taoiseach knew this man. Why is he here, the Taoiseach thought, just staring at me?

“How are ya?” the Taoiseach said. “I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”

“Course you weren’t,” his guest replied, that distinctive accent still the same. “I s’pose you thought you’d got rid of me for ever. But I’m back.”

“And what are you doing here?” the Taoiseach demanded. “This is my gaff now, after all.”

“Well I’m the ghost of Christmas past,” snarled his visitor suddenly. “And I’m here to show you what a pig’s ear you’re after making of my economy.”

Suddenly, the Taoiseach was floating over the capital city, held aloft by the ghost of Christmas past. Of course he knew Dublin well, but not nearly as well as the ghost. Especially as they swooped over the area the ghost referred to as “de nort side”, the Taoiseach could see that the ghost seemed to know everyone.

They flew over busy factories, building sites that each had a dozen cranes in full flow, car parks full to overflowing with BMWs.

They saw bookie shops and pubs with queues out the door of men with wads of money in their hands. The Taoiseach thought he felt the ghost tremble a little at the sight of all that loose cash. But perhaps it was his imagination.

“You see!”, said the ghost, “look at all that money, the economy floating in it. We could do anything then and get away with it. I did all that — and I left it to you. But you’re after screwing it up big time. You’re nothing but a waffler!”

And then the ghost dropped him, and the Taoiseach was plummeting towards earth, down, down.

The Taoiseach wasn’t sure if he was screaming, but as the ground rushed towards him, he found himself thinking that this was just what the opinion polls were like. He woke with a start. It was only a dream. Someone from his past had come back to haunt him — someone he’d been loyal to maybe too long — but the dream was over now. He could go home and forget about it.

Except he still wasn’t alone.

“Who the hell are you?” he shouted at the grim figure near the window.

“Think of me as your bank manager, Taoiseach,” replied his latest visitor. “Think of me as all the bank managers you’ve ever had to deal with. I’m the ghost of Christmas present, and I’m one of the reasons you’re in this mess.”

“Shag off,” said the Taoiseach. “I’m well able to handle you lot.”

“That’s what you think, Taoiseach,” said the ghost. “Come with me, and let me show you what we’re creating together.”

And suddenly they were in flight again. This time the Taoiseach really felt the cold. Through watery eyes he could see the dole queues forming, the factories shutting down.

Worst of all maybe was all those building sites where only a few minutes ago there had been cranes everywhere. Now they were dark, silent, eerie.

The ghost was talking to him.

“That’s what you’ve created,” he said. “You took all the plenty of the last 15 years and you turned it into this. And you did it in the wink of an eye.”

“It’s all his fault,” the Taoiseach muttered. “That ghost of Christmas past, the one I met before you — he knew this was going to happen after he shagged off. And now he’s swanning around the place pretending everything would be all right if he was still in charge. I’d like to seem him dealing with the credit crunch, so I would.”

“No point in blaming anyone else,” the ghost of Christmas present said. “They’re your people now, and they’re crying out for leadership. But all you can do is try to keep us going in the banks, while the rest of the country is falling down around your ears.”

As they got closer to the city centre, there were other things to be seen. Women struggling with hungry children, overcrowded hospitals, tatty schools.

“You might want to avert your gaze, Taoiseach,” said the ghost. “Anyway, those things were always there. It was easier to ignore them when there was lots of flash around. You’re going to have to pretend they’re not there at all now because there’s nothing you can do about them. We’re your only priority now.”

Suddenly the Taoiseach was back in his office, still shivering from the cold of the night. Or maybe it was because of some of the awful things he had seen. He was just putting on his coat to leave when the door of the sitting room opened and there stood a truly frightening figure. Covered from head to toe in a long grey cloak, this was a tall man, thin and gaunt. The Taoiseach couldn’t see his face, but he knew immediately that his long night wasn’t over yet.

“I am the ghost of Christmas future” the new ghost said, “I’m going to show you a few things you need to know.”

“Don’t tell me,” the Taoiseach said. “You’re not going to fly me all around Dublin too.”

“Oh no,” said the ghost. “We’re just going to walk over to Leinster House.”

AND then they were walking down what seemed like a rather dark and lonely corridor in the Dáil.

This wasn’t the hectically busy fifth floor where all those party offices had been in the days before the Taoiseach had moved over to Government Buildings. There were only a few offices now, and the people working in them seemed miserable and lonely.

And there at the end, behind a door marked “Party Leader” — not even “Leader of the Opposition”, the Taoiseach noticed — he saw himself, sitting glumly at an empty desk.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “What am I doing here?”

“You were lucky there were so few of you left after the election they haven’t even had the heart to find a new leader” the ghost said. “But there’s your future now…”

“Taoiseach? Are you all right?”

It was his private secretary, shaking him by the shoulder. It had all been a dream! There were no ghosts after all. He had just fallen asleep.

The Taoiseach shook himself, and shivered.

“Are you all right, Taoiseach?” the private secretary asked.

“I’m all right,” he said. “Just one of those things — a bit of a premonition about what the future might bring.”