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“George Osborne can bugger me bandy right now, if the fancy takes him,” enthused ecstatic petrolarse Jeremy Clarkson through tears of gratitude, speaking for the entire car-addict community as he unpeeled his stretch jeans for the first time in years. “And James May has volunteered to administer the Swarfega. Watch and learn, Richard Hammond.”
As millions of grinning car owners feverishly attempted to calculate how many throaty Bugatti penis substitutes they will be able to buy with all the pennies they will save, nobody was churlish enough to spoil the party by paying any attention to Mr Osborne’s encouragement of even more tax evasion from British companies exporting their cash to the numerous tax havens overseen – if that’s the word - by the Foreign Office, or his green light to the banks to carry on gambling as usual.
Meanwhile, the nation’s private jet owners quietly set about restructuring their operations as exclusive charter airlines which will sell nominal tickets to their corporate passengers to take advantage of the laxity of Mr Osborne’s fuel duty rules, thus neatly circumventing his meaningless threat to tax executive travel perks.