Father Andrew was staring out of the window of the Brexit Island parochial house. He played idly with some toy animals on the sill.
“These sacred cows are small,” said Father Rupert patiently. He pointed out of the window. “But those are far away.” Father Andrew looked from one to the other, uncomprehendingly.
The phone rang. “Brexit Island parochial house!” said Father Rupert brightly. “Yes, yes, of course you can… No, of course it won’t be like last time… I told you, that money was just resting in my account… Yes, Father, we’ll see you soon!”
He replaced the receiver. “That was Father Michel from the mainland,” he announced. *Coming to pay us a little visit. Wants us to work with those eejits over there. But we don’t want them butting in, do we Fathers? Now, Father Andrew, you know what we want. And whatever you do, make sure Father Boris doesn’t wake up!”
“Drink! Girls! Feck! Business!” shouted Father Boris.
“Now I’m off to write ‘Down with this sort of thing’ on the front page of all my newspapers,” concluded Father Rupert. “Don’t agree to anything Father Michel says! Oh, hello Father Michel! Do sit down!”
Mrs May tottered in, and curtseyed like an arthritic giraffe. “Will you have a nice fresh Brexit negotiation?” she asked Father Michel. “Go on, go on, go on, go on, go on…”
“No, thank you,” he replied.
“Go on, go on, go on, go on, go on!”
“Maybe just a little one…”
“No! It’s clear you don’t want one!” said Mrs May, turning away. “If you want to be intransigent, that’s ok with me.”
She returned to the kitchen, only to come back immediately.
“Will you have a nice cup of tea instead, then, Father?” asked Mrs May. “It’s Backstop Blend. Go on, go on, go on, go on, go on…”
“It looks a bit muddy…”
“It was ground yesterday!” exclaimed Mrs May, wounded. “I’m going to have to go to the kitchen and shoot myself now! Look what you’ve made me do!”
She left, and the sound of gunshot rang through the house.
Next week: Dominic Grieve and Yvette Cooper star in Kicking Bishop Brexit Up The Arse.