Oh to be a fly on the wall of the pre-Budget meeting. Let us picture the scene: Around a beeswaxed mahogany table are seated our imaginary leaders, Jeffrey “Call me Jeff” Man-Of-The-People, Sir Henry Trust-Fund, and Lord Farquar Let-Them-Eat-Cake.

“The thing is, Henry,” says Jeff, “we always get battered because our Budget always seems to be aimed at making the lives of the middle-classes better.”

Henry takes a swig of his brandy. “Well, we do our best. The poor middle-classes... I don’t know how they cope. Some of them only have two cars.”

Lord Farquar is roused from his post-venison torpor and mutters: “I think he’s talking about the other lot.”

Jeff nods. “Yes. The... what were they called again?”

“The working class,” says Lord Farquar, belching and falling into a small coma.

“That’s it, the working class,” nods Jeff enthusiastically. “They’re actually below the middle class, Henry.”

“Anyway, what do you think about doing something for them in this Budget?” asks Jeff.

Henry rubs his chin – or he would if he had one. He says: “I’m not quite sure what they do, though, Jeff. What sort of thing would help them?”

“Fags!” announces Lord Farquar, rousing himself again. “Smoke like bloomin’ chimneys, the working classes. Well, like the chimneys used to smoke before we shut down all the heavy industry.”

“And beer!” says Jeff. “They drink like fish. Beer for breakfast, beer for lunch, beer for afternoon tea, beer for dinner...”

Henry is taking notes on the back of a £50 note. “I like it. So, a penny off, would you say? That’ll sort them out, won’t it? One of these working class families probably lives off a penny for a week or something.”

“I’ll tell you what else they do, when they’re not smoking, drinking and making more working class children,” says Lord Farquar. “They like to gamble what few pennies they have left away.”

“Gamble,” says Henry, writing it down. “What sort of gambling?”

Jeff leans forward. “They have this thing, awfully funny. Balls with numbers on.”

“That game like billiards which those awful Americans play?” asks Henry.

“No, not pool. Bingo! They love bingo! Spend all their time there.”

“Presumably we tax this ‘bingo’? If we were to cut that, the working classes would like it?”

“Probably even vote for us on the back of it,” winks Jeff. “They’re a bit stupid like that. I mean, we could improve schools or the NHS or try to create more jobs, but frankly it’d just be wasted on them.”

Henry nods thoughtfully. “So, the working classes like to smoke Havana cigars, drink champagne and play the roulette wheels at Monte Carlo...”

Jeff sighs. “Let’s go through this one more time...”