Thread by @FinalSayForAll

Merry Christmas one and all!! 🎄

FINAL SAY FOR ALL THEATRE PRESENTS:

A Brexmas Carol - Act 1

Cameron was gone, to begin with.

There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his flounce was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it.

Old Cameron was dead as a doornail.

There was one sleep left until Brexmas. A bitter cold wind blew outside the Houses of Common Connivers, as Gammon spilled out of the bars and clapped each other on the back. Brexmas was as good as here, and it would taste of Sovrin Tea and soggy biscuits.

Old Treeza Scrooge sat busy in her scheming room. The city clocks had only just struck three, but it was quite dark already. A stack of papers simply named “The Deal” sat on her desk, and she occasionally broke off from writing to stroke it and make fawning noises.

External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill her. No wind was bitterer than she, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty.

No oil could feed this stiff and unyielding bot.

She heard a rasping against the window - she eyed it with suspicion.

“Windows should be outlawed” she thought. “They let too much light in and give peasants ideas above their station”

Into the room trotted a frail but kindly man. This was Scrooge’s clerk, one of the Common Folk. With an ill will Treeza lurched from her chair, her mouth puckered like a cat’s arse. “You’ll want all day tomorrow, I suppose?”

The clerk smiled faintly. “It’s a tight one for food this year, not much turkey or pudding on our table, but I guess with Brexmas comes lots of chang eh?” He coughed and held back a tear. “It’s only for tomorrow. I’ll say hi to Tiny Tim for you!”

“Be here all the earlier next morning, we have the christening of the Brexitannia Yacht and some Budget Slashes to attend to”.

The clerk promised that he would, and Treeza Scrooge left the office with a growl, almost tripping on the carpet in her leopard shoes.

Treeza Scrooge returned to Downing Street to mull over her plans for rat burgers to be handed out to the poor and to instruct the hospitals to cut down on medicine use and replace it with more Faith. She reached for the number 10 knocker.

But it was not a knocker. It was Bloke Marley’s face!

As Scrooge stared fixedly at the face, it became a knocker again. To say that she had not been startled would be untrue. Entering, she paused before she shut the door, and looked cautiously behind it. Satisfied, she said “pooh pooh” and closed it with a bang.

Treeza nestled in a chair with a cup of Sovrin Tea. As she leaned back in the chair, her glance happened upon a bell, a disused cowbell, that hung in the room. It was with great astonishment that she saw the cowbell begin to clang.

First softly, and then it rang out loudly.

“It’s humbug! I won’t believe it!” she screeched. Her colour changed though when, without a pause, a ghost passed into the room before her very eyes. Golden hair floated behind it, and it looked sternly at Scrooge through thick rimmed, stylish glasses.

“Bloke’s ghost! The ghost of Bloke Marley!”

She snorted and flailed in her chair, spilling scalding hot Sovrin Tea over herself but too overcome to feel a thing. Bloke’s ghost took the cowbell, placing it with the chain that held her car keys and a slice of cake.

“How now!” sneered Scrooge, caustic as ever. “What do you want from me?”

“In life I was an anti-Brexmas campaigner. I wear the chain I forged in life, journey by journey, cake by cake. Of my free will I wore it, my legacy to give a voice to the millions who will be cursed by yours. A Remainer, Treeza!”

"But you were always a good man of business, Bloke." faltered Scrooge, a drip of snot dangling from her crooked nose. “You understand the riches to be found outside the iron grip of the European Union. The Sunlit Uplands lie in The Deal!”

"Business! Man!” cried the ghost. "Europe was my business. The Common Folk were my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were all my business. The dealings of my trade were Freedom of Movement and love over borders!"

Treeza threw her cup to the side and stood, her legs shaking. Her voice was a high-pitched cackle. “It is the Willodepeepel, BREXMAS MEANS BREXMAS!!”

Bloke Marley let out a bellowing cry and rattled her chains and car keys, custard cream crumbs flying everywhere.

“Hear me! My time is nearly gone. I am here tonight to warn you that there is an escape from this Brexity fate. You will be haunted by three spirits. Without their visits you cannot hope to shun the death of the United Kingdom. Expect the first when the cowbell tolls.”

End of Act 1 🎄

Merry Christmas one and all!! 🎄

FINAL SAY FOR ALL THEATRE PRESENTS:

A Brexmas Carol - Act 2

Treeza Scrooge awoke with a start. Her bedroom was filled with a heavy silence. She breathed a sigh of relief. It must have been a dream.

Suddenly a blinding light burst forth and a sense of Victorian doom with the faint whiff of workhouses filled the air.

The light subsided and returned the room to its former dinginess. “Who’s there?!” shrieked Treeza. Silence. After what seemed like an age a modest cough broke the silence. A tall towering man stepped out of the shadows.

“Good Evening,” the voice muttered with an air of hubris mixed with fascism.

Treeza stared into the gaunt, haunted face of the mysterious figure. “Wh-who are you?!” she said, in a hoarse whisper.

“I’m the Ghost of Brexmas past,” said the figure, examining his nails nonchalantly.

“Wh-what do you want?!” stuttered Treeza.

The figure yawned lazily, “I’m here to show you the spirit of Brexmas past.”

The figure grabbed hold of Treeza and off they flew in a whirlwind of ash.

“Where are we going?” Teeza screamed over the sound of the wind.

”You’ll see” the figure smirked. They landed with a thump on a foggy London street.

“Where are we?!” said Treeza in a small voice.

“This is the glorious Brexmas past” the figure said with a broad smile.

Treeza looked around. There was human excrement on the pavement, rats scurried in the gutter, a gaggle of homeless people lay in a pile at her feet.

Treeza looked up and saw it had started to rain, and thunder and lightning soon followed. In a flash she saw the sign light up on the building they stood below-

“Charitable home for peasants, plebs and proles” it said.

“Isn’t it glorious?” beamed the shady figure.

“Errm it’s a bit smelly. What’s so great about it?” asked Treeza.

“The people know their place,” he replied. Everything is in order here. Praise be!”. Treeza wrinkled her nose in confusion.

Suddenly the shady figure grabbed Treeza by the shoulders: “Can’t you see?! This is what we could have again - the true balance of nature could be restored”.

Treeza stared at his rabid face with the spittle flicking out of his mouth.

A man stumbled past them, coughing and spluttering, and fell down whereby his life force seemed to expire. An emaciated mongrel wandered by, sniffed the corpse and began idly chewing at his fingers.

“I think I’ve seen enough” said Treeza with a rictus grin.

With a whoosh Treeza found herself back in her room. She was shaking and deeply disturbed by what she had seen. Surely people couldn’t just lie in the street like that?! They should be fined and removed by the peelers.

And if they came back, they should swing from the gallows. Perhaps this spirit had a point? Things just needed more organisation. More bureaucracy - more red lines. Yes… This could work. It would certainly fix some of the problems. And she was difficult enough to do it.

Soon Treeza fell asleep again, dreaming of correctional facilities. In her dreams she heard the cowbell chime again and awoke with a start.

“Oh no,” she thought, “would this nightmare ever end?”

A brilliant flash of rainbow light flooded her retinas. She rubbed at them, temporary blinded. A strange voice, oddly reminiscent of giggling children, called her name.

“OH TREEEEEZAAAA!!”

Scrooge’s room underwent a surprising transformation and she shielded her eyes against the bright lights dancing around her. The walls and ceilings shone with rainbows and candy canes. Glitter balls glistened and there was a smell of cookies.

“I am the Ghost of Brexmas Present, or is that Presents?” The voice penetrated through the glare, and before Scrooge stood a brilliant winged unicorn, with a shimmering rainbow mane and tail and a long silver horn.

“LOOK BEFORE ME!!” it giggled.

Treeza scowled and did so, a look of utter disgust on her face. The creature was pure joy, laughter and absolutely alien for it. Such a contrast to her last host. It almost made her want to vomit how jovial and colourful this winged and horned steed was. The voice was pure sugar.

“I hope whatever it is you bring benefits me somehow. Not impressed so far,” growled Treeza. Her head was beginning to ache with the bright lights and the sweet smell of baked goods.

“I lay before you three Gifts, Scrooge.” replied the unicorn with a smile.

Now this was more like it. Treeza rubbed her hands together. “All of them?”

“Yes indeedy!! Each one is a Deal. You already have your Deal that you so covet, but these deals are here for your consideration. My gift to you, food for thought perhaps?” The unicorn giggled again.

Balking at the idea of other Deals than her own but unable to control her curiosity, she gazed at the three present boxes. Each one was wrapped in shiny paper and satin ribbon. And they were completely for free after all. Who doesn’t like free stuff?

The beast trotted on the spot and shook its head, sparks flying from the long silver horn. Treeza slunk over to the box on the left. The paper was snowy white and the ribbon was a vivid, bright red. She slid the ribbon off and opened the box. Her scream filled the air.

Inside was a small plastic doll, with white beard and hair, wearing an anorak. His blue eyes slid from side to side. He began to shriek and splutter.

“JOBS FIRST!! NOT ONE JOB LOST!! THE MAGIC GRANDPA WILL SAVE THE MANY BY ROBBING THE FEW!!”

“EUURGH!!” bellowed Scrooge and slammed the doll back in the box, shutting the lid tight.

She gingerly reached over to the middle box, pushing royal blue wrapping and a yellow ribbon to one side. This time she made no noise, just puzzled over the contents.

A handmade Poupee Chiffon, with brown woolen hair and a blue silk dress was inside. This one had a sweet but sneering voice, with an accent Treeza couldn’t place.

“Norway Deal, could be wonderful, but not for losers like you Scrooge. You’re not invited.”

Scrooge’s face turned puce with rage and she slammed this doll back in the same manner as the last.

“One more box, creature. None of these Deals matches up to my masterpiece,” she muttered under her breath.

The unicorn chuckled and shook its wings.

This box was wrapped in black with a green polka-dot ribbon. Inside was another plastic doll, this time wearing an expensive suit and a wily grin.

“Liam here, we’ll see if I don’t sell you my plus plus plus plus plus plus plus plus deal, it’ll knox your sox off how easy it is!”

“Fox! How did you get in there?” Scrooge rolled her eyes and shoved the Disgraced Former Dodger back in his box.

She turned on the unicorn with blazing eyes. “What is the meaning of this, creature? None of these deals even made sense!”

A bellowing laughter filled her room, and the lights and scents began to fade.

“Treeza Scrooge,” chortled the unicorn. “You never look beyond your own nose. But it could be a lot worse. My gifts were the knowledge you need to see this.”

All faded to grey.

End of Act 2 🎄

Merry Christmas one and all! 🎄

FINAL SAY FOR ALL THEATRE PRESENTS:

A Brexmas Carol- Act 3

The cowbell clanged again. Treeza’s eyes fluttered open and she was filled with a sense of dread. She found herself in bed with the curtains drawn. The room outside was silent again.

“Phew” she thought. Perhaps it was a dream.

Suddenly a face with a wide grin peered through the curtains: “BOO!” it shrieked and giggled. The straw-like hair looked like it had been backcombed with a rake. Treeza almost jumped out of her skin.

“PEEKABOO!” yelped a second voice and a face appeared on the other side.

The face was round and shiny like a creepy ventriloquist dummy with painted on features. Eye-glasses framed the wooden looking face and the shrill voice made Treeza’s ears ring.

“Ahoy-hoy” said a voice with a lazy drawl as the bottom half of a face pushed through the curtain underneath the first.

“Aw DAAAAVE you completely ruined the err…. The EFFECT… ermm of the er… PRESENTATION” said the first face in a posh annoying voice as he ruffled his hair

“Sorry” mumbled Dave.

Suddenly the bed curtains were thrown back and three little elf-like figures were revealed. Treeza stared, her mouth open in shock. The little figures skipped around. The one called Dave tried to do a roly-poly but failed and managed to get stuck.

The other two giggled and skipped around.

Treeza shouted “STOOOOOOP” at the top of her lungs, the elves turned to look at her and collided violently, collapsing and falling over each other in a pile on the floor.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS”, Treeza boomed.

The elves got to their feet and helped Dave off the floor.

“Hello” they said in unison. “We’re the ghosts of Brexmas Future”.

“I’m Dave”, said Dave.

“I’m Bojo-jojo” said the straw head.

“And I’m Govey-wovey” said the third.

“AND WE’RE PART OF THE BREXIPOP GUILD” they sang loudly, off key.

“Fine” sighed Treeza. “Let’s get this over and done with”.

The three jumped up on Treeza’s bed and Govey-wovey turned the knob on Treeza’s bed.

The bed started to shake. “Wh-what’s happening?!” shrieked Treeza.

“Keep your hands and arms and feet in at all times,” said Dave. Off they whooshed, crashing through Treeza’s ceiling.

“Whoops” said Bojo-jojo. "I forgot to cast the spell to get the bed through the keyhole."

“Fool!” sneered Govey-wovey. “That's why you're not the Ghost. They'll choose me for sure. I remember everything!!”

Bojo-jojo and Dave growled at him. “We'll see who earns it!” they chanted in unison.

Dave reached over and wiggled his stubby fingers, mumbling a spell. “You don't need to be an expert to cast a spell.”

The other two nodded. This they actually agreed on. A pox on experts of any fashion.

Scrooge had watched this in stunned silence. “W-well I'm not sure I'd hire you…” she murmured as the bed finally glided out of the hole in the ceiling and through a shining portal.

Dread had given way to weariness. The portal shimmered red, white and blue, then gave way to darkness. They had landed in a sad little grove, gloomy with twisted trees and stale air. Scrooge shivered but was still unperturbed.

In the creepy grove, by the moonlight, were three filled trenches. The first had a mossy headstone, the middle was just a pit, and the third had a small black urn at its head.

It began to rain and there was a rumble of thunder in the distance.

As Scrooge was taking in this dreadful sight, the elves had started quarrelling again, this time over what “backstop” meant. Fists began to fly and Treeza grew impatient.

“STOP THIS INSTANT AND TELL ME WHAT I'M LOOKING AT!!”

They froze mid-fistfight, and then let go of each other and brushed themselves down.

“Hmm, yes, right,” began Bojo-jojo. He pulled a small script out of his bum-pocket. “We have brought you here, as the ‘collective’ Ghost of Brexmas Future, to present you with the following…

“These graves represent the choices you face.”

Treeza looked closer. One was a pauper’s pit, the urn with cremated ashes held a sign that said “RIP UK” and finally there was a gravestone that said “Here lies the UK. Taking back control. RIP.”

“Bu-but what’s THIS?!” shrieked Treeza. Thunder rumbled. “Is this IT?! Is there nothing else?!”

The deal the Ghost of Brexmas Past offered was looking better by the minute. ”Do you mean to say that whichever way we choose it ends up with... casualties?"

“Well… er... it’s all about the sweet Sovrin Tea, you see…” started Bojo-jojo.

“ENOUGH!” shouted Treeza. “IS THIS WHAT BREXMAS REALLY IS?” Her voice cracked and she slumped her shoulders. “The death of... Britannia?”

Behind her, she heard a discreet cough accompanied with a faint smell of custard creams. Treeza whizzed round. The form of Bloke Marley stood in front of her.

“You know…” said Bloke, “...we don’t have to do ANY of this. There is another way."

Bojo-jojo blew a loud raspberry at this. “Don’t listen to HER, this is the WILLODEPEEPLE this is. Powerful Magicks involved!”

“Yeah!” cried Dave, “PUTINMAGICKS”. He quickly covered his mouth, and the other elves looked aghast.

“That was a secret!!” hissed Govey-wovey.

“Oh shut it you three,” said Bloke and started to shoo them away.

Nobody noticed that Scrooge was gawping beyond the gravestones. She had spotted two shadows, one big and one small. She squinted through the darkness, and the shapes looked oddly familiar...

The bigger shadow lit an oil lamp, and Scrooge could now see his face. It was Cratchit, his usually jolly face sunken and bony. At his side clung Tiny Tim, looking close to death. They stared back in silence. Common Folk.

They seemed to be sad, tired, judging.

This sight filled her with the most dread she had ever known. “They will… hate me?” she stuttered. “I will no longer be their saviour. I will go down in history as… some kind of story villain? Is this really Willodepeeple? This dreadful sight?”

And with this realisation, Treeza Scrooge could feel herself fading from the scene, fainting into a deep sleep. The ghosts, Marley, Cratchit and Tiny Tim, and the dank graveyard they stood in just melted away…

End of Act 3 🎄

Merry Christmas to one and all!

FINAL SAY FOR ALL THEATRE PRESENTS:

A Brexmas Carol- Epilogue

She awoke what felt like years later. Dawn was reaching through the window. The Common Folk could be seen walking by as was normal, Cratchit carrying Tiny Tim on his shoulder.

They were always so close, so happy together come what may.

Yes! The bedpost was her own, back in number ten Downing Street. The bed was her own, the room was her own. Best and happiest of all?

There is time ahead for Treeza Scrooge to make amends. But will she?

Will she choose to do good, and all the more? Will she become as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a person, as Britain will know? Will her heart finally begin to laugh, and will Brexmas forever be delayed?

This, my friends, will be up to her. But may it also be up to you, for we must not forget the quality of the people surrounding our Scrooge, and the power they have over hearts and minds.

Dear Britannia, the story is not over. Take heed, and learn from the events of Today and Yesterday, that Tomorrow may be brighter and full of hope for your Land.

“God Bless Us, Everyone.”

Barnier closed the book and reached for a well-earned custard cream. “Gruesome story, wonder how it really will end?”

Bloke Marley smiled and handed him a cup of tea. “We can only hope for the best. Cratchit, Tim, all the Common Folk need it to end well.”

The two sighed and sat back in their chairs, true Sovrin cuppas in hands, warm fire crackling.

“Merry Christmas,” they murmured. “Maybe next year there will be a Final Say For All.”

End 🎄