| Non-motoring > A word (or several) for the much misunderstood... | Miscellaneous |
| Thread Author: Mike Hannon | Replies: 0 |
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New Sat 24 Dec 16 14:46
A word (or several) for the much misunderstood... - Mike Hannon
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I may have posted this before, but the Guardian got a bit sniffy about it so I've decided to put in on here, in a desperate bid to draw attention to the plight of the poor old devil... It’s that time of year again, and once more my favourite Christmas character is being vilified, as he has been for the past 150 years. So, just in case anybody missed it last time around, I thought I’d just take time to say a word in favour of a man who gets a bad press all year and suffers even more on Christmas Eve. I am, of course, referring to Mr Ebenezer Scrooge, upright and hard-working CEO of Scrooge & Marley, General Dealers, of Whitechapel, London. Thanks to the disgraceful misrepresentation in ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Charles Dickens - a hopeless romantic and deluded do-gooder if ever there was one - and the rise of mass media, poor old Mr Scrooge has been misunderstood for more than a century and it’s time to put the record straight with an accurate account of the events that befell him that fateful Yuletide. Dickens’ famous seasonal tale opens with Mr S toiling away, as ever, in his office, doing his best to earn an honest crust while keeping an eye on his feckless clerk, Bob Cratchit, whose only wish is to do as little work as possible and then skive off early to start his festivities, no doubt funded by the then equivalent of child tax credit (I know, I know...). Onto this tranquil scene bursts Scrooge’s nephew, full of superficial seasonal bonhomie and putting his unfortunate uncle on the spot by demanding a totally unjustified donation towards entertaining the local undeserving. When Mr S asks a perfectly reasonable question about the continued existence of penal facilities designed to make the aforementioned scroungers learn to fend for themselves he is treated to an un-asked for diatribe, criticising his chosen humble lifestyle and social mores. Then, after being generous enough to let Cratchit off slightly early, Scrooge, minding his own business as ever, leaves the office and makes his way home to his simple evening meal, his house lit by a single candle that seems to me an excellent way of conserving the earth’s scarce natural resources as well as striking a chord with we of an economical frame of mind. After his deliberately frugal repast and with no thought of hedonistic celebration or further consumption in mind, he goes to bed and is immediately scared half out of his wits by a series of lurid nightmares, probably influenced by the mousetrap cheese supper that followed his unfortunate treatment at the hands of the family member earlier that afternoon. Even the least disturbing disturbing of these dreams, a return to his younger days, involves uncaring treatment and exploitation of his youthful gaucheness by his then employer, the unashamed capitalist hyena Cheeryble and his unnecessarily pert - even promiscuous - daughters. On waking next morning in a state of some trepidation, Scrooge behaves admirably by denying his true feelings and making his way round to the Cratchits’ home, where - even though he is surprised by the extent of their jollification - he attempts to make a temporary improvement to their deservedly humble lot, even though he is surprised to find a remarkable amount of eating and drinking already under way - no doubt financed by the head of the household’s fiddling of the then equivalent of Tax Credit or, worse, Mrs Cratchit’s secret evening activities in nearby streets. He maintains his graceful benevolence, in spite of witnessing the family’s apparent exploitation of the fledgling social security system by way of unnecessary emphasis on the plight of their youngest offspring, the egregious Tiny Tim. After stifling his natural instincts all day, Mr S goes home and sleeps soundly, looking forward to returning next morning to his honest toil. But what do we find? When he arrives at the office, reluctantly ready to consider a new, more liberal working relationship with his employee, he finds the feckless Cratchit can’t even be bothered to turn up on time! What a way to treat the man who might now be seen as a man who behaved in an exemplary fashion - and who was shamelessly lampooned by Britain’s favourite Christmas author! I rest my case. |
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