The Legend of Boristannia

Once upon a time
in a land far, far away
from you
the EU
or any notion of accountability
lay a fabled land of limited respectability
led by the warrior Boristannia
dressed in a suit he’d pulled from his pannier
with a nest of golden hair that didst
his mortal minions keep transfixed
because he knew well how to artfully shock it
to make it seem shaggier the more you clock it
and have you reach for the comb in your pocket
because he’s obviously too brilliant to worry about looks
like an Einstein, maybe, or a Michael Foot

just a guess

but I digress

And verily
most merrily
and hail-fellow-well-met pseudo-militarily
in his right hand he didst clasp a trident submarine
that handily doubled as a pegging machine
and a shield cast from the purest pig Latin
that in
times of embattled TV debate
when the questions weren’t falling all that great
and his collar didst feel a weeny bit hot
he couldst wave the shield about his person a lot
until the questioner quite forgot
what it was she’d come to ask
and the moment wouldst pass
and the whole thing feel like a Whitehall farce

and lo! Boristannia’s statue on the plinth
that I’m sad to say these many years sinth
hath been pushed in the harbour
didst formally boast in addition to said armour
one monstrous & mighty
and really extremely quite bitey
I’m surmising
the huge amount of lion
he didst did

Anyway – that’s Boristannia, god forbid
My rent’s due Thursday. Lend us a quid.

from The Book of Johnson

and the government shall make promises it cannot keep
and the public pockets shall be dark and deep
and gentlemen contracts shall be plentiful and cheap
and wealth without end shall be ours to reap
and the opposition shall mither and murmur in its sleep
and media barons shall shepherd the sheep
and industrial waste shall burgeon and seep
and excess populations shall be brushed in a heap
and riot police shall kettle and sweep
but if the people should waken and weep
we shall charter a jet to our castle keep
with security walls that are spiky and steep
and highly trained guards to patrol in a jeep

and in case you were thinking of legal action
your lawyers will find they have limited traction

here endeth the first lesson

the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse on a zoom call

Everybody here?
No? Just waiting for Death to appear?
Okay. Fine.
The rest of you stay online
Famine? Honey? Try not to snack
your crunching gives me a heart attack
you know you can mute your mic
every now and again if you like
Okay? That’s great.
Did anyone know Death would be late?
Conquest? Sweetie? Adjust your chair
All we can see is a tuft of hair
That’s better!
Hey! Love the sweater!
Did you knit it?
Too shy to admit it?
But that’s your horse, right?
Your DOG? O-kay. Clever!
Stretching it a bit, but – whatever
Hi War! Glad you could make it
If you jump on your chair like that you’ll break it
I know you think this meeting’s a joke
but can you kindly adjust your cloak
I’ll find it hard to marshall my thoughts
staring at your boxer shorts
Finally! Here’s Death!
You look a little out of breath
you rattling old fruit
it’s not exactly a long commute
from grave to laptop
and by the way – blur your backdrop?
I don’t think I’m entirely alone
freaked by the sight of a mountain of bones
that’s better! So – thank you for coming
Famine? Did you want to say something?
Yep. We’ll break at ten
so you can nip out for a bite to eat then
Okay. Point Number One of the meeting
Climate change and global heating
Now as I’m sure you’re all aware
humans have fucked up the atmosphere
along with everything else
so the ice cap melts
the ocean rises
yaddah yaddah no surprises
populations under a lot more stress
and as you’ve probably already guessed
I’m going to have to increase your hours
I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ve got limited powers
I’m feeling just as tired and frustrated
this Apocalypse game’s getting complicated
Thank you. So. Point Number Two
I would like to propose another member to you
Yes! Yes! I know it’s always been Four
and Four is the number on the rec room door
and it’ll take a lot of costly work
to change all the Four Horsemen merch
but let me just tell you what I propose
and then we can count the yesses and nos
The fifth horseman of the Apocalypse is…..Johnson
Conquest? You’ve got a question?
He can ride a bike but can he ride a horse?
We’ll give that some serious thought, of course
It’s just – c’mon! – he’s so damned effective
promoting our global Apocalypse objective
we thought he warranted special status
a cloak and the usual apparatus
so whaddya think – can he join the club?
Death? You look annoyed. What’s up?
That’s true. Maybe his name does need finessing
Johnson might have the punters guessing
What about Waffle? Would that be okay?
Not exactly terrifying but what the hay
Waffle could be the thing that works
confusion dressed in crazy hair and quirks
so it’s Death, Famine, War, Conquest and Waffle
C’mon! I don’t think that’s completely awffle.
So all agreed then? Five it is!
Who’ll ride to meet him? Volunteers?

our great leader speaks

We’re Boris the Builder building back better! / beaver, batter, bother, whatever / a wink to the rich, a nod to the camera / the Eton dodge of sounding clever / while the King is in the All Together, and all together / we read the room and ride the weather / and everything goes to the highest bidder

We’re duped, doped, king of the dump / Donald Duck meets Donald Trump / goofily gazumped / the polar opposite of pumped / run-out and stumped / the quick brown fox was pushed before he jumped

We’re gaslit and witless / on this sceptered isle of deceptiveness / awash with Priti pettishness / Margaret Thatcher fetishists / thumbs in the air, cuffs on the wrists / hapless, hopeless / wide-eyed and faithless

We’re headfirst in the soup / out of luck, out of the loop / led by an anagram of King Cnut / who shoots the Channel a two-fingered salute / then fucks off back to his wallpapered roost / to dish his dodgy donors the loot

We’re Poundland pounders, ounces standard / empty headed, empty handed / empty forecourt, empty tankers / Britannia strangled with a Tory lanyard / Kuenssberg swigging from a Boris Toby tankard / whilst Willy Wonka gets fully willy wankered / with his cabinet of cheerleading chancers and chancres

I don’t know – it gets so waring / all this social media scaring & sharing
nothing seems to make a difference / so anyway – what d’you want for Christmas?

A Right Ol’ Blighty Brexit Playlist

Why be blue when you can be Red, White & Blue?
C’mon me ol’ Muckers! SingalongaBoris to all yer old favourites!

There’ll be fuel queues over
The shite cliffs of Dover

Pack up your business and your flame clad flat
And smile, smile, smile,

It’s a long wait to buy a turkey
It’s a long wait I know
It’s a long wait to buy a turkey
And the Christmases I know!
Goodbye Piccalilli
Farewell Leicester Cheese!
It’s a long long wait to buy a turkey
with bare shelves on show

Boiled Beef and Carrots
Boiled beef and carrots
That’s the stuff for your Priti Patel
Good for her mates in the Met as well

We’ll vote again, don’t know where, don’t know wheeeeeeeen

He’s a Boogie Woogie Tory Boy
of Company House

Keep the home debt burning

The Boris I love is up in the gallery,
The Boris I love is smirking now at me,
There he is, can’t you see, waving his pedigree
As merry as an idiot that sings on a tree

Download now!*
*(Electricimity permittin’)

Free cardboard crown with every purchase!*
*(delivery pending)

The Just Useless League

Let the people cheer and the villains tremble!
It’s time for the Just Useless League to assemble!
Borisman! Pritiwoman! Raaborg! The Sunak!
No sooner on holiday than flying back
to pull on their costumes and go on Sky
to tell us they’re putting the army on standby
and explain the current state of affairs
is anyone else’s fault but theirs
and throw headfirst through the nearest exit
any reporter who mentions Brexit


Aargh! Another monster Tory Kaiju!
Hopelessly trashing the joint to spite you
Rampaging round a bad model of the country
Knocking over all and sundry
With their rubbishy rubber tails and claws
Cliche stamping, wretched roars
Swatting away the Remain-voting wankers
Chewing flaming petrol tankers
Taking a nuclear dump on the city
(And back for a sequel, more’s the pity)

a child’s miscellany of old nursery riots

A pocket full of stories
A crisis! A crisis!
We all fall down.

Sing a song of Brexit
A pocket full of lies
Four and twenty tories
What a surprise!
When the pie was opened
The shit began to stink
Wasn’t that a dainty dish
To serve us d’you think?

Baa, baa black car
Have you any fuel?
No, sir, no sir
A quarter full
Some for the drive to work
Some for coming back
And some for the supermarket’s
Empty racks

Incy Wincy Boris, climbing up the spout
Down came a shower of rain and washed poor Boris out
The Sun hit the shops next day and dried up all the rain
So Incy Wincy Boris climbed up the spout again!

Tory Tory quite extraordinary
How does your portfolio grow?
With secret deals to grease the wheels
And riot police all in a row
And riot police all in a row

Hey diddle diddle
Fat cats on the fiddle
Cash cows jumped over tycoons
All the tabloids laughed to see such fun
And the dish ended up in ITU

the cad with the hair

(with apologies to Dr Seuss…)

The sun did not shine
We had nothing to say
We held a referendum
and it went the wrong way

I sat there with Sally
we sat there we two
and I said how I wish
we were in the EU

And then something went fart!
How that fart made us start!
We looked!
And we saw a big red bus park!
With words on the side
that were big, white and wide
promising the millions we’d earn outside
but no exclamation mark

And we saw him step off it!
And his hat he did doff it!
And he walked in right there!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The cad with the hair!

And he said to us
Why are you two sitting there?
Face it – you lost
to me and Lord Frost
Lord Frost is so funny
the kind of grim funny
that rhymes with no money
so try to be sunny
I’ve got lots of tricks
this thing I will fix
it’s all oven ready
like quick cook spaghetti

Then Sally and I
had nothing to say
Truth had deserted the house
for the day

But our fish said, ‘No! No!
Make that cad go away!
Tell that cad with the hair
you do NOT want to play!
He should NOT be here!
He should NOT be about.
He’s a cheat and a chump
and his brain is a lump
He talks about sovereignty
Take back control constantly
But he deals with facts wantonly
He cares nothing about fishes!
He just does as he wishes!

‘Now! Now! Have no fear.
Have no fear!’ said the cad.
‘My tricks are not bad
Why, what fun we can have!
Lots of good fun, if you wish,
when we lose all our fish
and our exports all squish
and we play a good game
I call fuck business

‘Have no fear!’ said the cad
‘I will not let this fail!
It’s not so bad!
Britannia will prevail!
Hoorah for grand gestures!
Bah sucks to the Truth!
Let’s hunker down proudly
under one leaky roof
The EU was migrants
and bananas and rot
Let’s hold our heads high
and build a big yacht
Let’s cut foreign aid
and hold big parades!
Let’s zip this thing up!
Let’s fill the back pockets
of our friends from the club
Down with Dither & Delay!
You can play right away!
You can play without pay!
Down with dull detail!
We signed the agreement!
which, all things considered,
was quite an achievement

I will hold this country high
as I stand on this ball
Protocols in one hand!
and in my head – why – nothing at all!

‘Look at me!
Look at me now!’ said the cad
‘with a protocol and a cake
and I will eat it
and I will keep it!
I know how to cheat it!
I can hold up TWO notions!
I can hold up the fish!
Sign deals where I wish!
And look!
I can hop up and down on integrity!
because incredibly
you voted for this!’

That is what the cad said
Then he fell on his head!
He came down with a crash
haemorrhaging cash
And the bus with the promise
that was dumb and dishonest
mysteriously vanished
like a big red whale
and Sally and I
saw the whole thing fail

And Sally and I did not know
what to say.
Should we tell our children
what went on here that day?

Should we tell them about it?
Now, what SHOULD we do?
what would YOU do
if your children asked YOU?

running up the onion jack

Come all ye fine fellows that follows the government
With a way hey yah and a slap on the back
Please stand to attention and sign our poor covenant
As we run up the Onion Jack

Hark to your Chief, Ol’ Blo-Jo Johnson
Like someone stuck hair on a walking condom
He’s a windy ol’ fake with the devil’s delight
In any decision that makes us look shite

I prithee mates swerve Cap’n Priti Patel
She’s listing to starboard and furious as hell
You’re certain to worsen her cursin’ belligerence
If you talk of humanity, fair play and immigrants

There’s Raab on the beach with a pina colada
Wanking o’er the Spanish Armada
He’s way too busy to make the call
To help with the imminent fall of Kabul

There’s a cry from the bosun! Young Master Williamson
Swinging from the rigging in a muddle and then some
We leave him awhile ‘cos his wailin’s delicious
Draw lots about cutting him loose for the fishes

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier and Gove
He really is an extraordinary cove
He’ll smile like a sloth as he diddles yer udders
Then drop overboard to snag up the rudders

Come all ye fine fellows that follows the government
With a way hey yah and a slap on the back
Please stand to attention and sign our poor covenant
As we run up the Onion Jack