Wednesday, 1 August 2018


Well, it’s official. British gravity, so-called, is under threat. Since it was our very own Isaac Newton who invented the stuff, just after he saved the country from the Spanish Armada at the Battle of Britain, you would think that this uniquely British commodity would be free from Brexit woes, but no. It turns out that under EC Directive 1066 citizens of the UK have only been held down to terra firma by licence since Tony Blair’s government effectively outsourced our boots-firmly-on-the-ground resource to the EU.

The planned Scottish space centre will also be under threat as vacuums, including the vacuum of space, are strictly controlled by EU directives. We would only have access to outer space via the inner space of the Earth’s atmosphere, continued supplies of which are also threatened by a no-deal Brexit if PF, the department in charge of putting the fear of god up us, is to be believed. The level of anti-Brexit hysteria out there is such that it would be just a small step to imagining that even oxygen may need to be stockpiled and rationed unless some ill-defined ‘deal’ is put in place.

But fear not, sanity is at hand. Forget the outlandish prognostications of doom and disaster, for there is a concern far more parochial and immediate at hand. It turns out that sandwiches and snacks are under threat and people are deeply concerned about a  potential avocado drought. What, we can’t even rustle up a sandwich now? Apparently all sandwiches – in a country which actually has a town called SANDWICH for fuck’s sake – must be made by cheap foreign workers, so that lazy British workers can afford them, with all ingredients sourced abroad. Worse than that is the realisation that our world is so screwed that we’ve allowed a British Sandwich Association to exist; can we do nothing now without a committee? 

The BSA is of course only the latest in a long line of inconsequential and unknown assemblies of nonentities who have been pressed into the Remain cause. It feels like this whole association was concocted purely to add to PF’s litany of impossible things you never knew existed which you only just realised you couldn’t do without. What next? It would hardly raise an eyebrow to learn that even the weather has only been on loan from Spain – I expect they’ll want Gibraltar back in exchange and reckon that after a prolonged period of downpours we’ll be so depressed we will agree to anything.

Well let me tell you, Johnny Foreigner, the British can handle depression. Hell, we were bred to disappointment. We are phlegmatic because that is the only way you can survive been reviled by all and winning nothing. You think we are in a froth over maybe not getting Brexit? Have you learned nothing? We never expected to be allowed to leave; that we’ve strung it out this far is a major triumph. But don’t think that we have lost our good solid British pessimism and if we end up remaining it’s only what we expected in the first place. We only did it for a bet. Here, hold my beer.

This is no more than we expected...

But we’re also bloody minded and if we’d realised how seriously you lot were going to take it we’d have played you harder from the beginning. If we’d known just how nasty you were going to get we’d have been nicer about it all, just to piss you off. When our backs are really against the wall Brits have a long history of fighting back. You think Brexit is a shit storm? Bring it on – our shit is smellier than your shit. Merde, the French call it; well ours is merder.

No comments:

Post a Comment