“Another one for you Master Brand,” said the kind-faced elf, stroking his white Santa-like beard. He was peering into a crystal ball.

“’Ere, ‘ave a look.”

The popular entertainer peered into the crystal ball. Within the orb could clearly be seen a street urchin in rags, miserable. There was a sudden puff of purple smoke which, when it cleared, revealed the same young chap, but this time decked out in a tailored suit and top hat. Gold coins were spilling out of his pockets.

After a moment’s confusion, dropping his new monocle, he looked up, waving cheerily. “Thanks Mr. Brand,” he chirped. “Wherever you are. Viva the revolution.”

“Welcome son,” he said, turning to the elf. “Now that’s what I call massive redistribution of wealth. These European elections are turning out well for us. All these spoilt ballot papers are really paying off. We are sticking it to the man. ‘Ow are the evil corporations, elf? Capitalism?”

“Crumbling thanks to you, Master Brand,” replied the elf with a friendly wink.

Only moments earlier a spoilt paper, which had originated in the Bristol area, had started the whole process. It had been decorated with a comedy cock for good measure, and was one of many in the ‘spoilt papers/no vote’ pile being counted by a retired headteacher who wore a confused expression.

A little unicorn, flying on magical UV-coloured wings, lent forward and spiked a few of the spoilt papers on her multi-coloured horn and sped, above jubilant crowds lining the street, to the Brand Grotto. ‘Voting is a pointless spectacle’ was written on the walls, in beautiful lettering adorned with flowers and anarchist signs instead of a’s.

The unicorn leant forward and the spoilt papers slipped off her horn and onto a pile. The elf picked up the spoilt paper and popped it onto the tray marked ‘no votes for change’. Each paper vanished in a puff of purple redistribution smoke, with a corresponding change in the world.

It had been happening all day, a little act of wealth redistribution, environmental improvement appearing or change in the status quo in the crystal ball for each non vote. On a second crystal ball a TV screen showed share prices plummeting, yet footage showed a grinning banker with a tie round his head who was dancing happily with a similarly-attired colleague.

A fairy Paxman hovered around, delightedly. “I put it to you, Mr Brand, that this no voting is turning out to be a huge success. It’s a simple question. Yes, or no?”

Brand smiled. “You know Jeremy, you and me we’ve ‘ad our differences but we can see eye to eye on this one thing. This not voting lark don’t ‘alf make a positive contribution vis-à-vis the status quo, and the reduction in the power of the economic elites. Disenchanted no more, eh?”

A third crystal ball, which had hitherto been ignored, showed a solitary Nigel Farage who was smoking outside a tavern, next door to a polling station. He extinguished the fag, and walked into the polling station.

“Remind me how many no votes we need to get before we overthrow the system?” said Brand, concern creeping into his voice.

“Do you mean to tell me that you are unaware of the need for all voters to abstain?” said Fairy Paxman, flapping his little fairy wings. “That the system will not be overthrown if there are even a handful of votes, and that changes brought about by spoilt papers so far will become nullified?”

“Did you just threaten to over-rule me?” said Brand, his eyes blazing. “With respect, it’s a simple question. Did you threaten to over-rule me?”

The elf stepped in. “Begging your pardon, but e’s right. You need all of ‘em. All the votes. Or there’s no revolution, Master Brand. And whoever can be arsed to vote gets to decide who gets in.”

There was a loud scream.

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The room was spinning, but it had changed; it was no longer a grotto, but an ordinary room set out as if for an regular dinner party. Concerned voices.

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?

“One minute I was explaining proportional representation, the next minute your head was in the soup. I think you must have nodded off.”

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