It’s The Man’s Christmas party, and Uncle Testosterone is dad-dancing to Abba’s ‘Money Money Money’ while carolling ‘It’s a rich man’s world!’ between quaffs of Château Margaux and puffing on a Montecristo Esplendido.
Well, he’s not wrong, muses Diogenes, as he lounges in a black leather Eames chair, his Gucci-clad feet resting on a richly embroidered ottoman. There’ve been a few tough years, he thinks, but we’re getting there!
He taps the ash from his own cigar while holding his glass up to the light, admiring the wine’s deep ruby-red complexion. The colour of wealth, power, and influence, he reflects as he observes the gathering.
In a corner behind the piano, The Man is finger-jabbing the banker buddy, but Diogenes has no idea what it’s about. There may be trouble ahead, he fears, although for what or for whom…
Across the room, a legation of legal eagles dissect the latest revelations about skullduggery in high places, and place bets on who might or might not go to jail.
On the terrace, a muster of fellow MPs, part of The Man’s small but notable parliamentary inner circle, sagely nod their agreement that peacock politics is undermining the governing discourse.
By the poolside bar, a clique of boozy bankers and businessmen pontificate about the state of the nation’s finances, and how to profit from adversity.
In the shelter of the gazebo, a huddle of wives sit and gossip about this and that while keeping their eyes on the children and their ears to the ground.
And amongst them all, a phalanx of waiters smoothly circulate, topping up glasses and offering seasonal cake and canapés.
We’ve come a long way, thinks Diogenes, from discreet tuk-tuk deliveries to CatAstrophe’s illicit asset relocation to under-the-counter crypto to a semblance of mainstream respectability. But where do we go from here..?
Fast forward to New Year’s Eve morning, same location, but different vibe. The man is holding court from the comfort of the Eames chair while Diogenes and the banker buddy pay attention.
I’ve been thinking about the future, he says, what lies in store, and I can’t help but be inspired by the words of Winston Churchill: “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: It is the courage to continue that counts.”
With that in mind, he asks, what are your New Year’s resolutions? And please spare me all that bol- locks about serving your country and trying to be a better person, because I know you both too well!
Diogenes steeples his fingers and looks serious. I guess staying out of trouble is the obvious choice, he says, and the banker buddy nods agreement. How about you?
Well, says The Man, I’m glad you asked because I can’t make up my mind. I’ve got a shortlist of three: become a government minister, get properly rich, or take holy orders. He pauses. Only joking about that last! So what are your thoughts?
Diogenes glances at the banker buddy, who is pointedly studying the ornate crystal chandelier hanging above his head. Well, he says, while I can’t fault the ambition, and I know this would be out of character, but wouldn’t it be better to just follow our examples and stay out of trouble?
Happy New Year!