In a bewildering display of parliamentary pecuniary perversity, Sir Keir Starmer, Prime Minister and erstwhile guardian of public probity, found himself frantically shovelling six thousand pounds back into the coffers of propriety after accepting an embarrassment of gratis goodies. The refund included six Taylor Swift concert tickets, a revelation that caused several backbenchers to develop facial tics and spontaneous nose bleeds.
“ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY!” thundered Sir Keir regarding his acceptance of Arsenal Football Club’s corporate hospitality. The Prime Minister, a man whose expression suggested he was perpetually sucking a particularly acidic lemon, explained that sitting among the unwashed masses would have required security measures costing the taxpayer approximately eighteen billion pounds and the deployment of the Territorial Army.
Meanwhile, Chancellor Reeves, when interrogated by the terrifyingly persistent Kuenssberg about her failure to pay for tickets to some unspecified event of astronomical importance, responded with the financial logic of a concussed badger.
“There wasn’t a price to those tickets,” she explained, her face adopting the expression of someone who had just discovered their underpants were on backwards during a state dinner.
This statement caused several Treasury officials to spontaneously combust and raised questions about the Chancellor’s understanding of the basic principles of commerce.
The absurdity reached Himalayan proportions when it emerged that Reeves had previously accepted clothing donations while in opposition—presumably to avoid appearing in Parliament dressed in nothing but a barrel held up by braces. Upon ascending to ministerial glory, however, she declared that such sartorial charity would cease, despite her combined ministerial and MP salary of approximately £158,851—a sum most citizens would consider adequate for purchasing at least three pairs of serviceable trousers.
Not to be outdone in the gifts-grabbing gymkhana, Shadow Business Secretary Andrew Griffith had managed to snuffle up BAFTA tickets worth £4,000 and discounted ski passes in Switzerland worth £973, presumably essential tools for constructing Conservative economic policy.
When Shadow Chancellor Mel Stride was questioned about these freebies, he adopted the facial expression of a constipated owl and declared, “I think it’s for them to justify what they do,” thus demonstrating the solidarity and mutual support for which the Conservative Party is so justly renowned.
Griffith, in a statement seemingly dictated while being pursued by rabid ferrets, insisted his “diligent” registration of hospitality proved his integrity. “It might be more of a story had the shadow business and trade secretary NOT attended,” he added, employing the logic of a man who believes bank robbery is acceptable provided you fill out the appropriate paperwork.
As Parliament reconvenes next week, observers anticipate MPs will arrive bearing detailed inventories of their underpants and sandwich fillings, lest they be accused of accepting illicit gifts of Marks & Spencer briefs or contraband ham and cheese.