ARE you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.

Once upon a time in the far off Land of Cold Commerce there lived some elves. Lots and lots of elves.

Some of the elves wore overalls. Some wore white collars and some wore blue collars. Some sat in call centres and others in shops. Some made widgets. Some did photocopying. Some worked hard and were underpaid. Some did barely any work but had so much money they bought yachts.

Some of the elves were weak and ill-equipped to defend themselves against the icy winds that swept across the barren landscape of their homeland. Some of the elves dressed in finery. They wore pin-striped suits, double-cuff shirts and woven silk ties — except on Fridays when they donned chinos and Timberland boots.

There were blue elves and grey elves, red elves and orange elves. There were pink elves and there were also some green elves. Grey elves worried about financial security. Blue elves made money selling trinkets and food. Orange elves made electricity. Green elves with big hearts gave grim-nosed warnings. Pink elves wore leather.

Some of the elves had had big heads full of big ideas. Some of the elves knew about algorithmic reversions and deviated standardisations. And some knew the square root of diddly-squat. Many were hard of hearing and while some were quiet as mice there were plenty with big mouths that shouted a lot.

Some elves were tall and had their heads in the clouds. Others were short and had no option but keep their noses to the grindstone of life.

Sometimes the elves charged like the lemmings of their nightmares towards golden, figmented horizons of their over-excited imaginations. Sometimes they stood, whining at how unfair everything was. One breed of elves told all other elves how to behave, making regulations that turned into laws of unintended consequences.

Often they wandered, oblivious as sheep, unaware of other elves milling around. Some were fat, and looked like cats, but they did not know happiness in spite of the fact that they had feather-bed bowers to lie in. Some elves were thin, and looking like rakes, they turned over muck just for kicks.

Some of the elves thought they held power. And they had titles given to them by other elves that had titles.

The Elf Lord of Nodnol thought much of himself. He thought he presided over the finest City in all the Land of Cold Commerce. But little did he know how the Elf Lords of SU and the Elf Lords of Eporue were circling around them, creating an impenetrable ring of frustration and fear.

The Elf Lord of Nevele thought he could change things. Long, long ago he’d granted the elves of Knab independence and robbed the Elves of Snoisnep of tax relief. He’d given the working-class elves credits, but not enough credit for being able to look after themselves as elves.

Grumblings and rumblings were heard on the land as Lord Elf of Nevele — whose nickname was Nori — said time and again he should have the biggest and best all titles.

The best title of all was Lord High Elfship of Net. But the Lord High Elf of Net — whose nickname was Ynot — was too busy spinning himself to the spot to take any notice of Nori, the grumbling, rumbling, stumbling, mumbling elf.

These elves were the silliest. They led the decidedly unmerry band round and round in circles. The route up and down the Land of Cold Commerce was more or less random. It occasionally led the entire population of disaffected and disconnected elves back to where they started. But only by accident. And since they were blind they had no true idea of where on earth they were.

Oh, the Land of Cold Commerce was a horrible place. It was full of backbiting, boasting, ignorance, disadvantage and nastiness. And it was tedious.

Some of the elves had lots of cash and some had no more than a couple of brass farthings to rub together. Yet since all the elves were as blind as the bats that hung from the ceilings of their grottos, cash was often lost. And as years passed the cash was first covered in snow and then became frozen into permafrost tundra.

But then one day things changed. With a crack of lightning the Spirit of Business — a cousin of the Spirit of Christmas, a half-brother to the three Ghosts of Christmas and a nephew of Father Christmas — — awoke from a thousand years of slumber. Light shone all around, scales dropped from the eyes of the elves and they began to hear with a clarity never before known.

Bells began ringing and pennies began dropping left, right and centre. And instead of being frozen in permafrost tundra they were put to very good use.

Things that were previously cast back to front unknotted themselves in a trice. The blue elves and green elves, the pink and the grey — not forgetting the red and the orange — started seeing things in different terms.

They saw themselves as taxpayers and beneficiaries of the tax collected. They saw themselves as employees and employers, customers and suppliers. They saw themselves as governors and governed, regulators and regulated, advisers and advised. They saw themselves as shareholders and stakeholders.

But most of all they saw themselves as all of these types of people simultaneously. They realised that it was only by behaving with mutual consideration, and by having respect for the fragility of the interwined relationships that supported them all, that they could thrive.

The Land of Cold Commerce became a Warm Weald of Wealth. Things began to make sense. And everyone lived happily ever after.

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