uKunst issue 13:Journal of a Plague Year Feat. The Saint George's Day Massacre

A Festival Of Blight At the end of another plague year in the sleepy backwater of Snorewood the last of the colour is slowing draining from the land. The humble villagers, gazing wistfully northwards as they munch hungrily on the leaf litter, (the last scrap of food in the local supermarket, a shrivelled mangle wurzel, having been finished days ago) can only dream of the yuletide celebrations at the home of their porky overlord; A. B. De Pfeffer Johnson.

At his grease and favour dwelling, No. 10 Nose-Browning Street, the pink, sweaty little porker has the caterers running back and forth, filling the troughs for his donor guests to snout through, little gifts of PPE contracts scattered in each one.

Overseeing the decorations, Jasper Cheese-Log is stretched out like a patient etherised on a table, shouting orders at his nanny. He looks like a scarecrow image of Lord Snooty; a straw man, but without enough stuffing.

Errant member Sir Jabberwocky Crocks reads the order of the day, (moonlighting from his second job at £50 a word, charged to his constituents, if he can remember where they are). First come the games. They start with Pass The Parcel, each wrapper removed has written on it a scruple that must be dropped. At the centre is the prize of next year’s policies, but when the final wrapper is undone there’s nothing inside.

Next is the De Pfeffer version of Musical Chairs, which works in reverse, as chairs are added one at a time, each one for a seat in the Lords. Needless to say, guests pay handsomely to play this game.