Shapps and the beanstalk

19 December 2011 | By Robert Thickett

It was Christmas Eve and housing minister Grant Shapps was tidying up his desk as he finished for the day. Mortgage indemnity guarantees, long-term fixed rates, short-term loans for renovations - nothing was getting the housing market going.

He was in a rut - he was willing to try anything but nothing was working. And worse, nobody seemed to pay any attention to him. There was talk in the press that he was a leader in waiting, but he needed something else to bring himself to the public’s attention. With a sigh he switched off his computer and started to pack up his lunchbox that Mrs Shapps had filled for him.

He mournfully looked out across the river Thames.

“What’s wrong man?” barked Prime Minister David Cameron, holding open Shapps’ office door.

He’d taken off the suit he was usually pictured in and was in navy velvet breeches, long socks, a wide felt hat and a long lace collar - he looked like something from an 18th century period drama.

“What are you wearing Prime Minister?” asked an incredulous Shapps.

“Oh, this is what I prefer to wear when I’m away from the media’s glare - far better for someone of my background,” explained Cameron, slapping his thigh and putting his foot on Shapps’ seat, stopping him from getting up.

“Come on, you’re a Tory man, I don’t need to give you the ’we’re all in this together’ shtick that I have to wheel out for the Lib Dems. I’m separate from the rest and when I’m on my own, well, I like to dress in the old family rags. These damn soft Liberals aren’t rubbing off on you are they? You’re not going soft?”

“No, no, of c-course not!” stuttered Shapps.

“Well good. So go on then, what’s wrong?” asked Cameron.

“It’s this housing market, it’s just not fair - it’s not going anywhere and I’ve really reached the end of my tether,” wailed Shapps.

“Fair? Was it fair that I had to sit through 24 hours of discussions in Europe just to say no?” said Cameron with a snarl.

“Um, no?” Shapps answered hesitantly.

“No of course it wasn’t fair, so don’t bother me with your bleating,” barked Cameron.

“But if only something would go my way - if only you could give me some clout to make things actually happen!” Shapps shouted, pushing Cameron off his chair and thrusting his fist in the air.

“Clout eh? It’s always got to come down to money,” responded Cameron. “OK, I’ll give you a budget of £250m - you have one night, let’s see what you can do with that.”

“One night?” Shapps shrieked. “How am I going to find something in that time?”

“That’s not my problem,” Cameron muttered, fixing a monocle to his right eye. “I’ll see you tomorrow - you’d better come up with something good or it’s back to getting the stains out of communities and local government secretary Eric Pickles’ shirts for you.”

And with that he marched out of Shapps’ office.

London was deserted as Shapps walked home through Green Park. “What am I going to do?” he kept muttering to himself. “I don’t know anything about the housing market, really.” He sat down on a bench, put his head in his hands and started to sob.

“What’s wrong young fella?” asked an old man smoking a cob pipe. He was wearing a green top hat, green shorts, a white shirt and had carrot ginger hair and a thick Irish accent.

“Did I hear you mention something about the housing market?” he asked Shapps.

“Why yes, as a matter of fact I did - I’ve got until tomorrow to come up with a solution or it’s curtains for me,” wailed Shapps. “The Prime Minister’s given me some money to sort out the UK housing market but it’s got to work - what am I going to do?”

The old man stroked his ginger beard and puffed deeply on his pipe as he thought about what Shapps had just said.

“Hmmmm, well I might have a solution to your problem,” the old man said grandly. “But it won’t be cheap - how much have you got?”

“About £250m,” answered Shapps. “Will that cover it?”

The old man’s eyes flared for a second and he choked slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, that should just about cover it,” he answered, barely able to hide his delight.

“That’s absolutely great, you could really save my bacon,” shouted Shapps, grinning from ear to ear. “So what’s the big idea?”

The man placed his hand into his inside right breast pocket and brought out a small pile of brightly coloured beans.

“This is the answer to your prayers, young fella,” the old man smiled. “These are no ordinary beans - they’re magic ones. Plant them in the ground in this here park and a giant beanstalk will appear that will take you to a magical realm where you’ll find riches aplenty - 20 times what you’ve been given by the Prime Minister. There’s also land ready and waiting for you to build on as far as the eye can see, planning permission is not a problem. There’s also a large castle that could house 1% of the UK’s population.”

Shapps’ face crumpled. “You must think I was born yesterday,” he cried, barely able to conceal his anger.

“Magic beans - I’d need a thorough demonstration before I give you the money. These days MPs can’t blow money on whatever they like - the Office for Budget Responsibility will tear me to threads.”

“Fair enough,” grinned the old man. And with that he placed the beans in the ground and stepped back.

Shapps peered down at the spot where the beans had been inserted and then looked at his watch.

“Will this take long?” he asked.

“Patience,” the old man whispered. “Patience…do you hear that rumble? Look!”

He pointed to the ground and with a large bang a huge beanstalk erupted into the air.

“It works!” cried a delighted Shapps. “OK, here’s the money.”

“Thank you, thank you,” coughed the old man as he poked the Bank of England cheque into his pocket.

“A word of warning,” said the man as he grasped Shapps’ shoulder. “The treasure up above is guarded by a giant monster.”

“Monster?” said Shapps. “I’ve dealt with the British public - no monster scares me!” And with that he started scrambling up the beanstalk.

An hour later he finally arrived at the top where he found a bridge that led to the door of a castle.

“Ah ha,” said Shapps to himself. “Maybe the loot’s in here?”

He pushed open the door and tip-toed slowly into the castle. It was filled with coins - euros in fact. And at the top of this heap of coins was a giant, splayed out on its front sleeping. It was a hideous monster, a veritable leviathan.

It had two aged heads - one was German chancellor Angela Merkel and the other was French President Nicholas Sarkozy. The faces of the current European heads of states were encased in its torso - the only exception was its groin, which had the face of a former Italian leader - Silvio Berlusconi.

“Good Lord, it’s hideous,” exclaimed Shapps, “A creature made up of so many different heads of state, it’s unbelievable.”

But with a shrug of his shoulders he quietly started to fill his pockets with euros. When he couldn’t fit in any more he crept out of the castle, and jumped for joy when he had climbed down to the bottom of the beanstalk.

“Hurrah, hurrah,” he shouted to himself.

“We can fit at least another 100,000 people in that castle, and that money will be an ample boost to the economy - things are looking up for Shapps!”

“So let me get this straight,” shouted an incredulous Cameron.“You paid £250m for some magic beans…from an Irish man who claimed he had an answer to the UK’s property problems - have you not seen the empty housing in Ireland? And then you climbed up to a magical world and found a hoard of euros? This sort of story takes me back to my school days at Eton.”

“I admit it’s a pretty fantastical story, but just look at my hoard,” Shapps smiled nervously pointing at the pile of coins.

“But euros?” screamed Cameron. “That currency is scotched - they’ll be worth nothing soon enough.”

“I wouldn’t quite say that,” said the chancellor George Osborne, as he bit on one coin. “These coins here are gold!”

“Gold? Well that’s a different kettle of fish entirely,” smiled Cameron. “OK Shapps, this is our opportunity to replace the gold that Brown sold in 1999 - go back up to your magical realm and get the rest of this gold. But if you fail, it’s back to being Pickles’ underpants cleaner and chatting to the Council of Mortgage Lenders and builders for you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Prime Minister - I won’t let you down,” he shrieked running out of the room as fast as he could.

He returned to the castle. A team of SAS commandos were guarding the base of the stalk and the Bank had stretched out a giant net to catch all the cash. All Shapps had to do was sweep the coins to the top of the stalk and push the gold down to Green Park.

He’d rolled his trouser legs up and taken off his shoes so that he could walk through the castle without making a noise.

He’d already pushed half of the coins through the cloud opening to the Bank team below. The monster he’d seen on his first trip was nowhere to be seen so he’d been able to make quick work of it.

But as he was piling up the second half of the coins he heard a rumble like a thunderclap. The castle door opened with a loud creak and in stormed the horrific monster. Shapps raced into a nearby cupboard to hide.

The monster’s hideous heads started to scream as they surveyed the scene - half the coins were gone and the rest of the coins piled up next to a large broom.
“WHO DID THIS?” screamed all of the heads of state that were encased in the monster’s body.

The monster’s two heads of Merkel and Sarkozy sniffed the air deeply and turned round to where Shapps was hiding.

“FE-FI-FO-FUM,” the heads screamed in unison, “I SMELL THE BLOOD OF AN ENGLISHMAN!”

Panicking, Shapps jumped out of his hiding place and tried to talk the monster round. “Guys, guys, I know this looks bad,” he said with his hands held high in a bid to placate the monster.

“But I’m sure we can talk about this - if you see something you don’t like there’s no point acting like the Financial Services Authority and just immediately getting rid of it without thinking things through properly. Think of me as an interest-only mortgage - you’d miss me if I was gone!”

“AN ENGLISHMAN?” screamed all the heads of state encased in the monster’s body. “THE UK TRIES TO RUIN EVERYTHING, AGAIN. WELL VETO THIS - KILL HIM!”

“Gadzooks!” screamed Shapps, “this monster won’t listen to reason.”

And with that, as the monster started to thunder towards him, he ran out of the castle and started to climb down the stalk. When he was halfway down he looked up only to see to his horror that the monster was following him.

“KILL THE ENGLISHMAN,” it screamed.

Shapps raced down the stalk to where the SAS and Bank of England people were waiting at the foot. Osborne was already counting the gold.

“What are you doing back already?” asked a cross Osborne. “There’s barely enough here to cover the £250m you blew on those magic beans.”

“Forget that!” screamed Shapps. “A European monster is chasing after me - give me an axe, I need to cut down that stalk!”

And with that he grabbed an axe from a member of the SAS and started to furiously chop down the stalk. The monster was getting close and kept screaming out “DIE ENGLISHMAN.”

“Blimey, hurry up Shapps,” screamed Osborne. “Chop faster man!”

Then there was an almighty crack as Shapps finally cut all the way through the stalk. The army and Bank staff all cheered and lifted Shapps up in celebration.

“Oh it was nothing,” said a beaming Shapps. But his face dropped as he saw the giant stalk start to teeter over and smash into London’s famous landmarks.

Both the monster and stalk fell to the earth with a loud bang, felling buildings, the London Eye and crushing everything south of Green Park.

There was screaming and anguished cries all around and thousands of car and building alarms could be heard in the distance. The army and Bank staff, Shapps and Osborne had been all covered with dust.

“Well, on the plus side the construction bill will be a major boost to growth,” said Osborne as he dusted himself down.

“But it’s back to Pickles for you Shapps - Merry Christmas!”

If you enjoyed this article, sign up here to receive daily email updates from Mortgage Strategy and Follow @mortgagestrat