Ann Widdecombe, the face that launched a thousand shrieks, has vowed to make a difference in the EU. Her first ambition is to sit on the fisheries committee.
Nigel Farage, the face that launched a thousand shakes, is backing her bid. “It’s an excellent career move,” he coughs. “It brought me fame and fortune and a fish supper for doing fuck all!”
Widdecombe herself was eloquent on the subject. “I have a duty to make the unelected bureaucrats see that Brexit means Brexit,” she screeched, in that familiar banshee with elocution lessons voice. “I will shout it in their faces until they get it. That’s the only way to deal with Johnny Foreigner!”
That is, if she attends any more often than Nigel. “Of course I will,” confirms Widdecombe. “I’m not going to Brussels though. I can’t stand sprouts, they give me frightful wind!”
Widdecombe confirms that she will actually be working from home a lot. “I will make a full contribution,” she promises. “I must get on to the council to organise me a postal vote!”
Essentially that means she will be sitting at home, writing letters about fish. “And being paid for it!” Widdecombe points out. “Otherwise it’s the same as what I was doing anyway. It’s win win!”
The fisheries committee meets on a Tuesday. “That’s unfortunate,” Widdecombe comments. “My dancing classes are on Tuesday. It’s a question of priorities.”
So, attendance as frequent as Nigel, then? “As an elected member of the unelected bureaucracy, it is my duty to remind women everywhere that they need to be dragged around by the hair,” she argued. “Only then can Britain return to its glory days!”
Widdecombe has already drafted her maiden aunt speech. “One of my nephews is sorting out this Skype thingy for me,” she explained. “Since my nice new blue passport doesn’t let me travel to the EU, it’s only advisory.”
It’s all rather fishy.