Bridge over Troubled Water
Never in the field of human intellect have so many been offended by so few.
Captain Mainwareing, Corporal Jones et alamein, have been out on the beach at Warmington, filling up the sand bags. Under the tungsten glow of the lamps on the M25, they are slowly, but surely building a wall against us. Our lives will be forever Harvest Festival…
Just remember, once we have gone there will be no money from the EU to replace the missing sand! Just an eternity of Long Shore Drift.
Their cries of MAYday, MAYday, MAYday, inaudible above the noise of Ferraris, Lamborghinis and Bentleys roaring round our giant ring road. We’ll fill the moat with champagne, and turn the House of Commons into a prison, filling it with those bereft of morals…
Bolt the door, lock the gate and throw away the key…
The City State of London is declared. We don’t care what your passport says, if you are willing to work, you are all welcome to stay, our passport will remain resolutely red, paint yours Frenchie Blue if you want.
But wait, Private Walker has worked out how to smuggle a little ‘How’s yer father’ across the Irish Border… Warmington will be awash with hooch, packets of smokes, French nylons, a mouth organ and playing cards with semi-clad (gender of preference) on the back! As he knows only too well, there is short cut round everything, and what the Revenue can’t scan, they won’t know about.
Arthur Daley’s invisible man will be back, and everyone will be only to communicate with each other via shorthand on the back of a saucy postcard. Scrumpy laced Snakebite will return as the nation’s favourite tipple. Lucky heather for every buttonhole.
‘Much ado about nothing’ will run and run… Theresa will be Beatrice, Jean-Claude as Benedick (how does that translate from Latin?), with Donald as Claudio and Michel as Hero.
If we can only get the Heinz 27 to agree that Hero wasn’t unfaithful to Claudio, we could live happily ever after. But you mock me, this is politics and our Hammer House Mother of all Parliaments has spawned the David Cameron’s Incubus.
As you all know there are only five ways to overcome the attacks of an Incubus, Exorcism, Sacramental confession, the Sign of the Cross, moving the afflicted to another location, and by excommunication of the attacking entity… It looks like three of the five are being worked on.
I was in Wome, seeing what Womans do! My life as Bwian and resurrection awaits, I have suddenly understood what Benedick translates to in Latin. You’ll get it if you’ve seen the film, but don’t watch on my account. No, I mean don’t watch on my account, it’s my Netflix and I’ll chill when I want to… Two newsletters in a row, I take a bow!
I was working on next Winters collection and stayed in Trastevere, if any travel recommendations are needed, those living within the M25 can send me an email, others, the back of a postcard. Like Vlad the lad, we now have our own internet… and our own Great Firewall.
Anyway, those of you who have bothered to read the previous email, will already know there is some new stock…
I will finish with a flourish; my very good friend Tim has a letting agency par excellence. A phrase I will no longer be able to utter only mutter after the 29th.
Incubus
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