Sometimes when you get into a mess it can be good to sit down and write a list.
This is my advice to the PM, sit down and write a list. Do this because the world is divided into plate spinners and list writers and you are not a very good plate spinner.
I know this because whenever I wake up and switch on the news I hear about another plate crashing down and shattering as though you were running a Greek restaurant.
David Cameron appears to be in hiding having wished this Brexit business on the electorate, George Osborne is probably still parking in disabled parking spaces whilst editing the Evening Standard, and meanwhile the calm, sensible, phlegmatic British public is witnessing the nonsense of our negotiations being performed as though it was a Brian Rix farce, the only difference being that David Davis (whilst exiting stage left) has managed to keep his trousers on, although whether his dignity is intact is a moot point.
Meanwhile the Foreign Secretary (exiting stage right) had very little dignity to keep intact despite being seen recently in Kabul lying down in front of a bulldozer.
As we descend from bad to worse into the maelstrom of confusion, short measures, counter measures that Brexit has brought in its wake along with Michael Gove who is a living, talking, contradiction, being both for, against, alongside, with and without, as Mr Johnson discovered, little or no moral scruples whatsoever.
Irrespective of their various viewpoints with regard to Brexit, the Tories telling stories in todays Torygraph resemble nothing more than vultures gathered round a dying corpse left out under the burning sun in an arid and waterless desert. Edwina Curried eggs announcing that: the last days of a prime minister are dreadful, she was referring to Mrs Thatcher but maybe, and it is only a maybe, she spared a thought for John Major too?
So time to write that list Mrs May.
First, I think that a playful run through a field of wheat might just shake one out of the doldrums. After all why not have some wild, irresponsible, frantic fun? And if you choreograph it properly you could perhaps create the illusion of mysterious crop circles appearing as if by magic, or extra terrestrial visitors or immigrants or Europeans with unlimited access, such as for example Mr Raab's Czech refugee father and his Brazilian wife.
Having created a diversion with the crop circle mystery let's move on.
Next, a walking holiday, what should it be Wales?, Scotland?, Dorset?, The Pennine Way?, The Coast to Coast?, Hadrian's Wall? My husband and I love a walking holiday.
Why not Hadrian's Wall?
What a reminder of failed European integration, a land without borders, defined at its northernmost extent by a Wall to keep the troublesome Picts at bay.
Of course the Roman's European Project failed just as Mrs Merkel's will and then chaos ensued of course, what with reivers reiving, until Francis Drake created a new global trading nation, painted half the world Red and hoisted a Union Jack instead of a skull and crossbones.
So yes, a pilgrimage from East to West, starting along the Solway with the Irish Border floating in the middle somewhere and heading to Wallsend which allows us to be nostalgic about ships whilst avoiding the pesky Nissan factory in Sunderland.
I think next on the list must be Church. I could go to one, after all I know the hymns and prayers almost by heart, my Dad taught me well.
But I'm sure I could learn something from Justin as well. After all the Church of England is, well 1662 and all that, Henry the Eighth and all that, they certainly gave Europe something too think about Monsieur Barnier. UDI, independence, go it alone and we did and we did alright didn't we? That's the whole point of it really just to press on without free movement and without immigration, forget the Huguenots, well forget everyone who came here, everyone who was persecuted and was welcomed here and forget especially Karl Marx and Ecumenism, we just don't need it.
Next on my list? Well that will be President Trump, he leans on me, especially after I helped him down the stairs. I know the Foreign Secretary, the one who resigned, goes on about the Donald, but I am sure once the european thing is sorted the good old special relationship will start to deliver and not just chlorinated chicken.
Well I am glad I took your advice. Now I've got a list I can relax. Think about the future, stop worrying about these B......'., is that what John Major called them?
I know there's still a few around but my Brexit will be the only true Brexit, it'll be, it'll be, oh I know, it'll be May's Way.
I did it May's Way.
This is my advice to the PM, sit down and write a list. Do this because the world is divided into plate spinners and list writers and you are not a very good plate spinner.
I know this because whenever I wake up and switch on the news I hear about another plate crashing down and shattering as though you were running a Greek restaurant.
David Cameron appears to be in hiding having wished this Brexit business on the electorate, George Osborne is probably still parking in disabled parking spaces whilst editing the Evening Standard, and meanwhile the calm, sensible, phlegmatic British public is witnessing the nonsense of our negotiations being performed as though it was a Brian Rix farce, the only difference being that David Davis (whilst exiting stage left) has managed to keep his trousers on, although whether his dignity is intact is a moot point.
Meanwhile the Foreign Secretary (exiting stage right) had very little dignity to keep intact despite being seen recently in Kabul lying down in front of a bulldozer.
As we descend from bad to worse into the maelstrom of confusion, short measures, counter measures that Brexit has brought in its wake along with Michael Gove who is a living, talking, contradiction, being both for, against, alongside, with and without, as Mr Johnson discovered, little or no moral scruples whatsoever.
Irrespective of their various viewpoints with regard to Brexit, the Tories telling stories in todays Torygraph resemble nothing more than vultures gathered round a dying corpse left out under the burning sun in an arid and waterless desert. Edwina Curried eggs announcing that: the last days of a prime minister are dreadful, she was referring to Mrs Thatcher but maybe, and it is only a maybe, she spared a thought for John Major too?
So time to write that list Mrs May.
First, I think that a playful run through a field of wheat might just shake one out of the doldrums. After all why not have some wild, irresponsible, frantic fun? And if you choreograph it properly you could perhaps create the illusion of mysterious crop circles appearing as if by magic, or extra terrestrial visitors or immigrants or Europeans with unlimited access, such as for example Mr Raab's Czech refugee father and his Brazilian wife.
Having created a diversion with the crop circle mystery let's move on.
Next, a walking holiday, what should it be Wales?, Scotland?, Dorset?, The Pennine Way?, The Coast to Coast?, Hadrian's Wall? My husband and I love a walking holiday.
Why not Hadrian's Wall?
What a reminder of failed European integration, a land without borders, defined at its northernmost extent by a Wall to keep the troublesome Picts at bay.
Of course the Roman's European Project failed just as Mrs Merkel's will and then chaos ensued of course, what with reivers reiving, until Francis Drake created a new global trading nation, painted half the world Red and hoisted a Union Jack instead of a skull and crossbones.
So yes, a pilgrimage from East to West, starting along the Solway with the Irish Border floating in the middle somewhere and heading to Wallsend which allows us to be nostalgic about ships whilst avoiding the pesky Nissan factory in Sunderland.
I think next on the list must be Church. I could go to one, after all I know the hymns and prayers almost by heart, my Dad taught me well.
But I'm sure I could learn something from Justin as well. After all the Church of England is, well 1662 and all that, Henry the Eighth and all that, they certainly gave Europe something too think about Monsieur Barnier. UDI, independence, go it alone and we did and we did alright didn't we? That's the whole point of it really just to press on without free movement and without immigration, forget the Huguenots, well forget everyone who came here, everyone who was persecuted and was welcomed here and forget especially Karl Marx and Ecumenism, we just don't need it.
Next on my list? Well that will be President Trump, he leans on me, especially after I helped him down the stairs. I know the Foreign Secretary, the one who resigned, goes on about the Donald, but I am sure once the european thing is sorted the good old special relationship will start to deliver and not just chlorinated chicken.
Well I am glad I took your advice. Now I've got a list I can relax. Think about the future, stop worrying about these B......'., is that what John Major called them?
I know there's still a few around but my Brexit will be the only true Brexit, it'll be, it'll be, oh I know, it'll be May's Way.
I did it May's Way.
No comments:
Post a Comment