|Stop whining and get back to that photocopier, Santa|
“It’s never-ending,” complained the sweating Tory peer, slaving over an ailing photocopier in a dusty room in Westminster. “To add insult to injury, I actually have to work overtime to churn out reams and reams of this guff that nobody is ever going to read. I’m a skilled management consultant, for God’s sake - if I’d known this non-job was going to be so mind-numbingly dull, I’d have held out for something more suitable.”
A Cabinet Office spokesman pointed out, however, that Lord Wei had been given a valuable opportunity to make a difference.
“Lord Wei should remember that we paid for some lovely new robes for him,” he explained crossly. “They’ve improved his employment prospects considerably. He’ll certainly stand out from the shabby hordes in his natty ermine threads, when the chain stores start recruiting Santas again next October. Until then, he should bloody well be thanking us for giving him the chance to hold his head up with pride and say at least he’s making some sort of contribution to society.”
“Even if it is a bit pointless,” he conceded.