Somewhere on the other side of the Political Divide, which Eeyore said was a chasm that lay between Pooh's end of the wood and Gordon's, Polly Clinic was sleeping too.

The clock chimed 12. Suddenly there was a rattling sound and a voice said 'Pooooh.'

Pooh sighed loudly. 'I suppose,' he said, 'you can't manage something more original?'

The ghost skulked rather shamefacedly out of the trees. 'Sorry,' it said, 'got to take you on a journey. Won't take long.'

'I suppose we're going back to my childhood,' said Pooh, who spent most of his life in one allegory or another. At which, they were spirited to a strangely familiar scene, in which an overworked doctor that Pooh recognised as Eeyore sat in his surgery late at night with a Demanding Patient.

'Look,' said the ghost wistfully, 'the good old days when doctors worked all night for nothing.' As they watched Eeyore fell asleep and the patient poked him with his foot.

'I can't see us going back to that,' said Pooh. 'Where's Christmas Present?'

The ghost shrugged. 'We had to make savings, so there is no Christmas Present, just me. Come on, time for scene two.'

Oddly he now looked rather like Gordon, and they were on the other side of the Political Divide where Polly was snoring on a pile of gold. Pooh was agog. 'Is that all hers?'

'Don't be silly,' said the ghost. 'That's the Profit for the Private Provider.' Polly sighed and the scent of patient satisfaction surveys that asked only about access filled the air.

'I wonder,' said Pooh, 'where this is going.'

'What ho,' said the ghost, turning blue and sporting a "Boris for Prime Minister" T-shirt. 'I was going to ask you that old chap.'

'But you're the ghost of Christmas Yet to Come,' said Pooh. 'Don't you know?'

'Look,' said the ghost, 'I'm very busy, what with rescuing Damsels from Oiks and bus timetables. I was rather hoping you might sort it out.' Pooh thought this was the most sensible thing he'd heard all night, and so Christmas came.

 

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