Traingate

Sniffer took yesterday off, as the house was infested with the Snifferettes and their followers, claiming the noise levels to be beyond that which permitted concentration.  This then allowed him to weasel out of doing anything round the house and instead he spent the afternoon digesting an enormous pub lunch, like some corpulent python, blinking through the haze of Suffolk ale and catching up on weekend stories from Westminster while waiting for the first one of the evening (or late afternoon, to be more precise).

Turns out about one hundred and eighty MP's have been accused of fare-avoidance.  Sniffer feels that in the interest of balance he should point out that it's not fare-evasion, which is where you seek not to pay a fare, and is of course illegal.  No, fare-avoidance is where you charge the taxpayer through the nose for a first-class ticket you booked in advance on the grounds that it was cheaper than a standard-class ticket purchased at the last minute.  The thought occurs that a standard-class ticket purchased equally in advance might be even cheaper yet, but it seems that neither maths, nor honesty, is a strong point for approximately 28% of the Hon. Members.

However, not to be outdone, our beloved Chancellor of the Exchequer has managed to go one better, by upgrading himself and his entourage to first-class while on the train itself, making their tickets as expensive as it is possible for them to be.  There are allegations that one of his cronies even argued with the ticket-inspector about them paying the extra fare.  Rumours of the word 'pleb' being bandied about are unfounded.

True to form, Sniffer sees things differently, and claims as an exclusive that by this act Mr. Mundane is clearly giving the first sign of the long-awaited relaxation of fiscal austerity for which we've all been waiting.  By using public money to pay an inflated price to a large corporation for something that with a little bit of forethought could have been bought much more cheaply, or even, not at all, Georgie-porgie has clearly demonstrated that it's back to business as usual.  Expect more troughing in the pork-barrel of government spending.  You read it here first.

However, one thing that bothered Sniffer more than his morning lumbago was why the Chancellor went to the bother of buying a standard class ticket to start with, and then an upgrade afterwards?  After all, wouldn't it have been easier simply to buy a first-class one in the (sic) first place?

After a few phone calls, secret sources revealed to Sniffer that the alleged source of the problem was that George wanted to go straight into first-class (after all, he is a prefect now) but simply couldn't count high enough for the cost of the relevant ticket.  Apparently, he and his entourage were spotted at Wilmslow station, they with their hands raised as if taking some weird pledge, while Mr. Mundane counted along them.  Even with shoes and socks removed, several little piggies may have gone to market, but gorgeous George was still no closer as the whistle went, leaving him and his minions to make an undignified dash to the rapidly closing doors.  It seems that one of them didn't make it and was found in the early hours of Saturday morning wandering along a Cheshire country lane, bleating plaintively for its master.

Later that evening the Cameroonies were woken up by a now worse-for-wear Mr Mundane chanting under their window 'Freya stuffed Larry, Freya stuffed Larry' until dismal Dave shouted back 'Geroffoutof it, yer fare-dodging bastard.'  'Leave him, Dave, he's not worth it,' pleaded Saucy Sammie apparently, 'now go and put the Clegg out.'

Mine's a large one.

'Sniffer'