Did he inhale? Michael Gove, the Chancellor of the Dutchie of Lancaster, is planning to go out of the EU on a high. He is planning a huge bong at 11pm on the 31st of January.
But not of Big Ben. That honour falls to porky, pint-sized popinjay Mark Francois. Francois is planning to climb up the Elizabeth Tower himself, personally in person, and ring the bell himself. Gove, a man who knows a thing or two about getting high, poured scorn on his rival’s ambition.
“Mark Francois, bless his soul, he couldn’t manage more than a couple of flights of stairs without refreshment,” he said, the cultured Edinburgh accent veering into Glaswegian Trainspotting territory at times. “Even if the wee laddie started climbing today, he would struggle to get to the top by Christmas, quite frankly.”
It does seem unlikely that the massive bell and the massive bellend will meet in the near future. But what of Gove? Is he going to ring the changes? Is he going to ding dong merrily on high?
“It will be a celebration!” he claimed, struggling to make his bloodshot eyes focus. “Like Burns NIght and Hogmanay rolled into one,” he continued, rolling another one. “As a loyal Scotsman, Englishman, whatever, I will be having a wee dram or two, Jimmy, och aye the noo, and quite possibly something stronger. I have a nose for such things. Whisht!”
Acquaintances of Gove claim that once the bongs start, they never stop. “We always have a jolly spliffing time,” said sometime party girl Lita O’Whiskey. “Mikey always has the best stuff. He may be a bit of a dope, but you are what you smoke, as they say.”
After all, sweet oblivion is the way to go, once the UK has finally decided upon sweet oblivion for itself. The sun has finally set on the British Empire.