Johnson and the Farragonauts

Johnson is sent away as a child to be educated by the wise centaur Eton (a centaur is a fabulous creature, half horse, half complete arse) who hides him away and raises him on the Mountains of Spondulix.

When Johnson turns fifty-five he journeys to The Tory Lands to claim his throne. At a nearby river, Margaret, the Queen of the Tories, approaches Johnson disguised as an old woman not for turning. While carrying her across the river, Johnson loses his comb and arrives at Number 10 with his hair a mess. The Tories are nervous when they see Johnson in this state, for an oracle had prophesied that a shag-haired clown shall usurp the throne.

Johnson demands his rightful place. The Tories reply that Johnson should first accomplish a difficult task to prove his worth. The task is to retrieve the Blatant Fleece, kept beyond the edge of the logical world on the Isle of Brexis.

The story of the Blatant Fleece is an interesting tale in itself. Murdoch, King of the Gods, had given a golden promise to Johnson’s ancestor Camoron. Camoron later flew on the golden promise to the Isle of Brexis, whose king was called Hateful, son of Poison and Media. Hateful sacrificed the promise and hung its Blatant Fleece in a sacred grove guarded by a dreadful, racist dragon called Enoch, as an oracle had foretold that Hateful would lose his kingdom if anyone got close enough to see the Blatant Fleece was actually not all that.

Determined to reclaim his throne, Johnson agrees to retrieve the Blatant Fleece. Johnson assembles a team of absolutely useless heroes for his crew, and they sail aboard the Farrago for Brexis.

The journey takes forever (feels like). The heroes have many opportunities and basically fuck them all up, including The Clashing Rocks of The Bleeding Obvious (each rock emblazoned with a made-up statistic); Barnier Bear Island; The Land of Europe, where bananas are straight and the rulers are not; Nigel and the Harpies; The Invisible Covid Parties; The Sirens (who try to lure Johnson onto the rocks by waving bundles of cash), and a terrifying robot called Starmus, who they eventually defeat by unscrewing a bolt in his ankle and letting out all his charisma.

Finally, Johnson parks the Farrago at the Isle of Brexis and asks Hateful for the Blatant Fleece as it belonged to his ancestor, Camoron.

Hateful knows that as soon as Johnson touches the Fleece all the paint will come off. So he comes up with another challenge. Johnson must first plough his cabinet, then sow it with the teeth of the Enoch. However, Media has taken a liking to Johnson. She gives him magical powers, and with her help he manages to slay Enoch, pull out his teeth and sow them in the vacant cabinet seats. Soon there grows a dreadful army of racist politicians, any one of which might rat on Johnson and bring him down. But Media had already briefed Johnson, who cast stones in news interviews that led them to turn on each other in confusion.

Johnson takes the Blatant Fleece, marries Media and together they go back to The Tory Lands to claim Camoron’s throne. But the people have finally realised the wool is being pulled over their eyes. So Johnson and Media are driven out of The Tory Lands – now renamed The People’s Lands – and they retire to the Mountains of Spondulix, where Johnson marries someone else, Media is slain by poor sales figures, and Johnson tries to make money by touring a jukebox musical called Fleece a Jolly Good Fellow! – but gets flattened by the reviews.



A Tragedy in Neverending Acts

Scene 1

The Terraces in front of The Houses of Parliament.

King SUNAK slides on dressed in a golden cloak and, erm… sliders – hesitates, looks right and left – then moves stage centre, wringing his hands

Suddenly the CHORUS appears, all in blue and white robes & wearing cheap Britannia masks. SUNAK turns round with a start

Think before you speak O King!
Freight thy words with lead!
Cursed be he who says a thing
about Brexit being dead

No. Absolutely. And what I think
if you give me half a chance
is that Britain is on the brink
of a major economic advance

The CHORUS start hopping around in a clumsy revelry – quite embarrassing – very uncoordinated and unprofessional – masks falling off revealing them to be Russian plutocrats, Oil & Gas executives, International Hedge Fund managers etc.

Jesus Christ this gig is tough
It’s horrible being PM
it wouldn’t be so bad n’stuff
if I didn’t have to deal with them

The Chorus stop dancing, gather themselves, try to look dignified

Your reign is mortal! Easily nixed!
Prime Ministers cheap and then some
Never forget how our fate was fixed
in a binding referendum

Suddenly there is a clap of thunder, lightning and other cheap effects. TRUTH descends in a wobbly chariot, squashing the CHORUS.

Your referendum was built on lies!
Remember the Golden Bus?
Why is it really such a surprise
The UK is quite bust!
You took our place in Europe
Destroyed it on a whim!
Tore it all down from the floor up
And threw it in the bin!
Supply chain costs rising higher and higher
Poor environmental protection!
All for a right wing dream of Empire
sold on fake news and deception!

The FURIES rush on – basically the Daily Mail, Sun, Express, Daily Telegraph, GB NEWS, Laurence Fox etc. Everything descends into chaos. SUNAK is thrown in the Thames. The Houses of Parliament catch fire…

CLIMATE CHANGE creeps on, stage left. Watches the fighting, then shrugs and turns to the audience:

This is peachy! What a breeze!
One day they’ll wake to discover
how I took the planet with absolute ease
while they were busy fighting each other…

status update XXIX

ding dong bell / truss is in the well / who put her in / where do I begin? / some southern white voters / hedgefund bloaters / who assemble in Henley in blazers and boaters / and who pulled her out? / someone who needs paying a considerable amount

then Lear staggers in saying howl howl howl / how’ll I pay these utility bills? / cordelia? regan? goneril? / trust me he’s lost it / he had a working kingdom but he tossed it / drew a red line and crossed it / and now all he’s got is a freezing heath / some Primark sacking with nothing underneath / a stack of debt and rack of bad teeth / if he rages on much longer we’ll call the police

even though it’s such a hassle / we organise to storm the castle / so we hire a knight / who seems alright / his lance is chancey but his steed’s got fight / and he snaps down his visor and salutes the crowd / then clanks through the arch to do us all proud / and finds the dragon / out in the garden / guarding its hoard / with a sulphurous grin and a bunch o’claws / and the knight says right! and straightaway charges / and the dragon amply demonstrates what large is / and it’s over before it began / the knight stamped flat as a baked bean can / he had no chance / as the dragon burps and picks its teeth with his lance / and pretty soon the whole sky is filled with wings / all manner of dreadful, predatory things / but that’s what you get when you vote for brexit / now form a queue and head for the exit

if anyone knows of any lawful impediment / why we shouldn’t dump the poor in some offshore sediment / let them speak now or forever hold their peace / and make a donation of a million at least

The Magic Albion Tree by Enid Britain

Do you want to see
The Magic Albion Tree
in the dark, enchanted wood?
But first we’ll have tea
of bread and honey
as all good children should

It’s the tallest thing
with leaves that sing
a trunk that grows without measure
There’s a doorbell to ring
to let you in
and a staircase that goes on forever

There’s a slippery-slide
that runs down inside
from the top of the tree to the bottom
but if you haven’t applied
for permission to ride
I’m afraid you’ll be largely forgotten

The people there
are magically fair
You’ll laugh at their curious antics!
But please don’t despair
at the state of repair
that’s really just silly semantics

Meet Monarchy Man
wearing pots and pans
he stole from the goblin kitchen
There’s Socialist Stan
and his pixie clan
endlessly bickerin’ and bitchin’

There’s Old Mister What
whose name I forgot
He stumbles around in the roots
There’s Copper A Lot
who lost the plot
and stomps around in his boots

There’s a bunch of sprites
who keep out of sight
syphoning off all the profits
Though folk unite
to make it right
Copper A Lot’s there to stop it

At the treetop it’s strange
how the clouds rearrange
into lands you could scarcely imagine!
But the queues never change
at the passport exchange
because travel they hate with a passion

So Tom, Rick and Sally-Ann!
Come with me to Albion!
Let’s live in that faraway tree!
The life there is champion
deluded and halcyon
A magical trip – you’ll see!

rue britannia

Liz? Rishi?
time for a quickie?
it’s your pay-per-view paparazzi
danke schon and mille grazie
try to look busy
we’ll be done in a jiffy
– LOVE what you’ve done to your cave in the city


corporate lawyers in power showers / soap themselves in the early hours / practising smiles and Bonnie Tyler ballads / dreaming of oligarchs and caesar salads

quick! johnson’s smiling so make your obeisance
he thanks you most affably for your patience
the money transferred without complications
so he’ll expedite your applications
actore non probante reus absolvitur
now DO fuck off and DON’T slam the door

holy shit n’guacamole!
where’s my cake so I can have it and eat it slowly?
in the favourite T I’ve had from new
the meek shall inherit the earth / if that’s alright with the rest of you

I’m new here
I just wanted to pass through here
I didn’t know you were supposed to queue here
isn’t this Dover?
the place where all the boats cross over?

whaddya mean, failure to launch?
more like a failure to lunch
sit the fuck down and blow the conch

But wait – here comes… MOGG
he’s written a frightfully elegant blog
the trick behind assets, bricks and mortar
is holding the stick and throwing the dog in the water

All rise:

Rue Britannia! Britannia rues the waves / Old Money never, never, never shall acknowledge the vast sums that were made from slavery / Hmm / almost there / the rhythm’s off but the meaning’s there / maybe the whole thing needs rewriting / it’s too downbeat, unexciting / we need something happy with a snappy refrain / we can sing together as we circle the drain

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?