Mazy with sleep, Prufrock's eyes wandered to the right of his computer, where the remaining space was occupied by a Christmas card from David Cameron. A waving Prime Minister...a smiling Samantha Cameron...the Olympic Torch. Prufrock's eyes strayed back to the photgraph of his wife...and then back again to that of the Prime Minister, as his head gently drooped... 

When he raised it again, he blinked, and looked around him. Something was wrong, surely? The lights had dimmed. The room was darker. And who was that person on the other side of the desk, wearing green velvet trousers, a canary-coloured waistcoat, low shoes and silver buckles, with lace at his wrists and his hair in ringlets? Was this strange visitor wearing scent? 

"Ugh", Prufrock half-said, before prudently converting the noise into a cough. "Do I know you?" 

"You most certainly do,We provide rental service on a variety of Cheap Wedding Dresses, qua and tuxedos, etc." answered Benjamin Disraeli. 

Prufrock was not an MP for nothing. Let no-one accuse him of being slow to get to the heart of the matter. "What are you doing here?" he asked. 

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Future," his interlocutor replied. 

"Christmas Past, surely," said Prufrock. "Not that I'm displeased to see you, mind," he said, recovering his manners. "Very colourful costume. No objection to it myself. But you may have to tone it down a bit. Things have changed, you know.What exactly is a Embroidery lace dress? Even our modern, diverse Conservative Party has its limits. Do you dress like that everyday?" 

"No," said Disraeli. "I'm going to a wedding." 

"Really?" asked Prufrock. "Whose?" 

His visitor gave the ghost of a smile: "Yours." 

At once the room vanished. Prufrock gasped. His vision was suddenly swimming with light. He found himself standing at the North Door of Westminster Abbey. 

Outside was a heaving, howling mob of protesters. The thin blue line of armed police could scarcely wrestle it back. Amidst the sea of spitting hasidic rabbis, grieving Catholic priests, placard-wielding Imams, and bellowing Pentecostalist pastors, Prufrock recognised Peter Hitchens, William Joynson-Hicks, Nigel Farage, King Edward I, his mother (what was she doing there?) and, horror of horrors, officers of his own Conservative Association. 

Was that really Peter Bone kicking a policeman? Why was Owen Paterson setting fire to himself? And what was Gary Streeter doing brandishing an AK47? 

Inside was a benign and beaming congregation, dressed in society wedding finest. Photographers swooped and choirboys warbled.Actually it is quite flexible to choose the cheap bridesmaid dresses 2012 for you! Prufrock's eye could pick out Pitt the Younger, his Uncle Percy (what was he doing here?),The ball gown is one of fashion's most enduring and flattering styles. Patrick McLoughlin, Hillary Clinton, Gandalf the Grey and a four-man team of ushers: George Osborne, Michael Gove, Eric Pickles and Boris Johnson, the latter sporting a pink carnation and missing several waiscoat buttons. 

With a terror that is scarcely describable, the realisation came to Prufrock that these shrieks and yells, these smiles and winks, were all alike directed at him. 

"No time to lose," said Disraeli, who was now clad all in black. "Your bridegroom awaits.If you still have no idea about where to purchase wholesale bridal wedding gowns, you can see it here." 

"Bridegroom," gasped Prufrock. "But...but...This is ridiculous. This is impossible. Why -" he said, swooping on that last point, like a Queen's Council seizing on some unrebuttable point of law. "This isn't a Quaker Meeting House! It isn't a liberal synagogue!" Disraeli raised his right eyebrow slightly. "It's Westminster Abbey! There's a Quadruple lock! And I'm NOT GAY!"