Chapter 72 In which we hear how one MP made up his own rules over expenses

Down in Toadness, which is about 10 miles from Westphalia-on-Sea, nothing much happens most of the time. The locals wear sandals and multicoloured jumpers, and spend their time knitting their own yoghurt and generally being nice to one another. The overall tranquility of the place, however, had been shattered by the revelation in the Daily Torygraph that their local MP, Tarquin Pompous-Duffer had been making some rather large claims on his expenses. It appeared that he claimed that his enormous country mansion was, in fact, his second home, and that his main home was his rented flat in London. Because his enormous country mansion was clearly, obviously and irrefutably his second home, he claimed for its upkeep. And, of course, all the land that went with his enormous country mansion needed upkeeping as well, as did all the trees on that land. Now Tarquin Pompous-Duffer was a well-educated former barrister, so he had a keen legal mind. However, despite this obvious intelligence he often had great problems distinguishing between right and wrong, particularly when it was time to submit his expenses. This struck some people as rather odd, but apparently it's quite common among (a) members of the legal profession and (b) the wealthy. When a local journalist asked him if he expected to have to pay back any expenses under a strict new regime imposed by his party leader David Cameron in a crackdown on 'inappropriate' claims he said: "No I don't." Five days later he said he "got it wrong" and was prepared to pay back to the taxpayer around 10 per cent of the £87,729 he claimed for the upkeep of the house, which the Daily Torygraph estimated was now worth around £1.5 million. "Until the Torygraph began printing details of the claims made by MPs, none of us knew what the rules were", he said. "I set my own rules and my rules were the maintenance of the property. If there was a rule saying you cannot claim for anything to do with trees or gardening, I would not have put it in. I can't be expected to work out what's right and what's wrong all the time," he added, "I'm a busy man. People should thank me for making up some rules of my own."
It appears that Mr Pompous-Duffer was incorrect about the absence of rules. In fact the rule book quite clearly states that 'It is your responsibility to satisfy yourself when you submit a claim ...that any expenditure claimed from the allowances has been wholly, exclusively and necessarily incurred for the purpose of performing your Parliamentary duties'.
Asked if his ability to do his job depended on having the trees, Mr Pompous-Duffer replied: "Of course it does. Trees take in carbon dioxide and give off oxygen, and that's what I breathe. If those trees weren't there I'd be dead, and so would many of my constituents, so I'm doing everyone a service." He added: "The travel allowance I have is appalling. I am only entitled 15 return journeys to see my wife. The rest comes out of my pocket. The rate of divorce is high in the House of Commons because of this. Members don't see their wives and husbands. Being an MP isn't an attractive prospect. I personally spend a four-figure sum each year in order to see my wife and family. I shouldn't be put in that position, I feel. Being an MP has its benefits and sacrifices."
Up until this point the residents of Toadness were quite heartily sick of the old twerp, but once he had pointed out the hardships he went through to represent them in Parliament their icy hearts began to thaw a little. 'My God, what suffering he has endured', they thought. 'This poor man has had to pay for his train fare or petrol to get from his tiny little first home to his enormous country mansion of a second home. We have been too quick to judge him.' And with that there was an eerie moment where the whole population of Toadness were mentally connected by the power of their crystals, and collectively ran out into the street wailing and begging for forgiveness from the ancient woodland gods for the way they had judged this man. 'How can we make amends?' they cried.
And then one among them suggested they should have a whip round, which would pay for his next few train journeys in first class. They all agreed this was a marvellous idea. They took a bucket with them down the High Street, and local people began throwing money at them to alleviate their guilt. Pensioners vowed to turn off their heating and wear an extra cardigan so they could donate the saving on gas and electric to their hard-up MP. Working people promised to walk to work and send him their petrol money, and the unemployed said they would rather have their house repossessed and live in a cardboard box than see their MP suffer in this way. Parents encouraged their children to donate their pocket money to this worthy cause, and very soon the bucket was brimming over with cash. The locals took turns to carry and drag the rather heavy bucket of cash the several miles to his second home (lucky they didn't have to take it all the way to London to his first home!). They went up the impressive driveway and marvelled at the well kept trees and shrubbery, safe in the knowledge that they had done a good deed and that Mr Pompous-Duffer would be pleased to see them. However, when he came to the door he was anything but happy. "I'll probably lose my seat over this!" he thundered, then he added: "You lot should be round at the tradesmen's entrance - get off my doorstep, you look like you haven't had a wash for a week!" His anger was still rising, and he finally snapped, and told them all to get off his land. As they turned and dejectedly started dragging the bucket back down the path, he shouted: "Well, leave the bloody bucket! There's no point dragging it all the way back again, is there?"