Once upon a time, in a far-off kingdom known as Brewed-tea-lot (a satirical name for the U.K.), there was a mythical beast. This beast, a dragon that responded to the name Statista-Dragon, had the special ability to blow the icy breath of inflation that made prices go up rather inexplicably. But in the month of After-May (read June), the neighborhood noticed something peculiar. The tree branches didn’t seem to be laden with the usual heavy chill, nor the villagers wrapped up in their umpteen layers of clothing.
The fiery breath of the Statista-Dragon, which had been known to send shivers down the spines of Knight of the Treasury and Peasants of the Land alike, was suspiciously underweather. It was reported to have cooled off extensively, plummeting from the red-hot skies like a fallen angel, landing shockingly at an annual of 7.9%. Indeed, this was much below the foretelling of the all-knowing Oracle of Analysts-and-Economists, who had prophesied a higher degree of chill too frightful to even fathom.
The denizens of Brewed-tea-lot were at once puzzled and pleasantly surprised. Among the whispers of the townsfolk, word on the cobbled lanes was that this was no ordinary act of divine intervention. Some dared speculate, could it be the dreaded IMF-Witch’s potion finally starting to take effect? Fingers were being crossed, even as speculative glances were cast at the coming months.
Lurking in the shadows, the all-knowing Oracle of Analysts-and-Economists merely chuckled. Their crystal ball had been mistaken this once, yes. But, they knew, the Statista-Dragon was a crafty beast. Its icy breath could return at any time, turning bountiful crops into overpriced apples once again. But for now, the village breathed a sigh of relief, content with the knowledge that the Statista-Dragon had been tamed into sub-par icicle performances, if only for an interim.
As the sun set over Brewed-tea-lot, and the villagers returned to their homes, squinting suspiciously at their unseasonably affordable produce, they held onto hope. They gathered around the fire, casting wary glances at the seemingly pacified Statista-Dragon snoring against the mountainside, and dared to dream of a future where this mythical creature was permanently put on ice–quite literally.
