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

Brexilla!

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

Ring-a-ring-a-tories
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?
well…
what would YOU do
if your children asked YOU?

It’s Bojo the Clown!

He runs round the ring with a fireman’s bucket
acting like he’s going to chuck it
stops, goes, stops, goes
pulls out a line of flags and blows his nose
jumps in a fire truck, sneezes
the whole thing falls to pieces
jumps back out, kicks it
fetches a play school toolbox to fix it
a big rubber mallet and a tube of glue
gets his hands stuck fast to his shoe
hops around howling
one minute laughing the next minute scowling
the shoe comes off in his hands; it starts to ring
he scratches his wig and stares at the thing
laughs, gives a shrug
cautiously holds it up to his lug
Hello? This is Bojo the clown…
puts his thumb up, gurns at the crowd
who roar with applause and laugh out loud
but suddenly the lights cut out
and one fierce spotlight picks him out
something’s changed; the act seems different
he’s not so cute and insignificant
he stands there, watching with glittering eyes
Yes – they’re ready for their big surprise.

Captain Brexit

Boris Johnson steals a ship

for a crazy ocean-going trip!

Dancing and waving his wooden sword

while coastguards race along the shore

frantically firing off flares and rockets

and anything else they can find in their pockets

to warn him if he leaves the docks

he’ll sink the ship on the harbour rocks

but hey! he’s naughty not nautical

lacking sufficient frontal cortical

to rein in his mutinous fantasies

of piratical battles on the open seas

the (un)magnificent seven

Michael Gove as Yul Brynner
avec glasses, sans charisma
deadly as a TV dinner

Matt Hancock as Steve McQueen
looking lost when he tries to look mean
fucking up the scene

Pritti Patel as Eli Wallach
shifty and shambolic
pink & purely symbolic

Rishy Sunak as Robert Vaughan
slowly taking his time on the lawn
working on his draw

Dominic Raab as James Coburn
practicing with knife and gun
high noon in High Holborn

Gavin Williamson as Brad Dexter
smiling, says he’s here to protect ya
authentic as a debt collector

Boris Johnson as Charles Bronson
one fixed and fatal expression
total incomprehension

[SFX horses, gunshots &c / cue music: mariachi version of Rule Brexitannia]

glenda calls time

Glenda watches as I unpack my kit.
‘Why is everyone so obsessed with my blood?’ she says.
‘The doctors want another sample. I think they’re mostly interested in how your liver’s doing.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s not doing all that well, Jim. It’s ninety-five, like the rest of me.’
Glenda has a steady, sad demeanour, like an ancient donkey peering through a gate.
‘You know – it’s perfectly alright to say no to any of this stuff,’ I tell her. ‘So long as you understand what it is you’re refusing.’
‘I don’t mind if you take some more blood,’ she says. ‘I don’t want to be difficult. Anyway, it passes the time.’
‘I don’t think you’re difficult,’ I tell her, setting out my things. ‘In fact I think you’re a model patient.’
‘Now – you’re either very kind or a good liar. Which is it?’
‘Honest answer?’
‘Only a liar would say that.’
‘Well there you are, then.’
‘Yes. Here I am, then. More’s the pity.’
I fetch over a pillow for her arm.
‘Why are they so exercised about the state of my liver?’ she says.
‘It mentions a paracetamol overdose on the blood form.’
‘Ah,’ says Glenda. ‘That.’
‘So – was it accidental, or….’
‘Absolutely not! Accidental! I knew perfectly well I wanted to kill myself.’
‘Oh! I’m sorry.’
‘What? That I failed?’
‘No! That you felt so bad you wanted to kill yourself.’
She shakes her head and gestures to the room.
‘It’s not exactly the Ritz, is it?’
‘It’s not bad. You’ve got a view of the garden. Those trees are lovely.’
‘It’ll take more than a couple of Japanese maples to convince me life is worth living. I mean – come on! I’m ninety-five! Look at me! I’m worn out! I’ve had my time and very nice it was too. But longevity is no fun, let me tell you.’
‘I can see that.’
‘Stuck in the chair for hours on end until someone decides to put you back to bed.’
‘Have you spoken to anyone about how you feel?’
‘You mean a psychiatrist?’
‘We’ve got some mental health nurses on the team. They’re really nice.’
‘I would hope they are. But I’d be wasting their time. You see – this isn’t a mental health problem. I belong to something called Dignity in Dying. Have you heard of it?’
‘Vaguely. I think so.’
‘You wouldn’t be so vague if you were ninety-five, I can assure you.’
‘Maybe not.’
‘Definitely not.’
‘The thing is, Glenda. There’s so much going on in the world. Brexit. Climate Change. The rise of populism. Nationalism. Trump, for God’s sake! These are scary times. Interesting times. And we need you to stick around and tell us what you think. You’ve lived through a war. People forget. They start to feel invulnerable – you know? – like they can go on as they like forever, and nothing really matters.’
Glenda laughs.
‘Just get on and bleed me,’ she says, pushing up her sleeve. ‘You’re absolutely priceless! You want me to carry on living so I can see how Brexit turns out? My God – if the nurses hadn’t locked my tablets away I’d be throwing them back by the handful.’