Death of a Sales Mouse

We found him under the floorboards, without a head.

At the time we were decorating the rooms above our shop. Alfie was laying new floor and I was painting walls.

He might have been there since the 30’s when there were still trams running through Tower Bridge Road.

He wouldn’t say. He was a vain mouse and he didn’t want to admit his age.

He looked at me, with his tail, and sighed.

“Don’t look at me like I’m the odd one. You’re entire world has lost its head.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Money,” he said. “You’ve lost it all. The banks are empty and they want it back.”

Alfie didn’t have time for a talking mouse skeleton and put him back under the floorboards.

But perhaps the mouse knew something.

Yesterday the prime minister came close to telling us we should all pay off our credit card debts.

At the last moment he was warned that such absurd advice was a threat to the country’s economy and he must reword his speech at once.

The economy depends on growth and to grow we must spend money, even if we don’t have it.

It doesn’t want us to fear debt.

The economy would like us to hunger for possessions so that we’ll use our credit cards and pay five times the value of the item in interest.

The advice Cameron was supposed to give was: Be greedy, go out and buy like you’ve never bought before.

If you worry, if you can’t sleep at night because of nightmares full of machete wielding credit cards, then you should be happy that at least you’re helping the economy.

“Beware! It is a trap.” From beneath the floorboards I heard the Sales Mouse whisper. “Who is benefitting from this system? If you don’t ask questions you could lose your head!”

“What?” I cried, as my paintbrush dribbled duck egg blue onto my jeans. “Tell me the answer!”

But he did not reply. He was quite dead.

It was up to me to seek it out.