France has its virtues. It has an agreeable climate. There is an unlimited supply of delicious fresh food and fine wine. There is even the reputation of slightly loose morals, if you are that way inclined. Unfortunately, all the people speak French, so these undoubted pleasures pall after a while, and one is desperate to return to good old Blighty.
Ah, the rain, the chill wind, the endless grey tarmac, the soggy chips and the limp lettuce. Britain, land of heroes. Although far from representing oneself as a hero, one does crave home soil. However, this is impossible right now for me, as I have become trapped in a bureaucratic nightmare so characteristic of the EU.
For I am unable to return home. The French have closed their borders – presumably this is an illegal act, since only a truly independent sovereign nation is able to do this – because of the panic over the Covid-19 virus. This appalling state of affairs is set to continue for some while. This dreadful treatment of a proud British Citizen is an example of how the EU has regarded us all along. This is not intended to become a political diatribe, but my experience demonstrates just how right we were to Leave.
My advisors inform me that the UK is now a 3rd country. This is just ridiculous. The UK is the number one country. Third place belongs to some insignificant, tinpot nation. Ireland, maybe, or Greece, but not the UK.
There is light at the end of the tunnel. Once 90 days have passed France will be obliged to deport me. This indignity I will endure in order to return to Glorious Great Britain. In the interim I shall be obliged to endure la vie Françoise and merely dream of concrete, traffic jams, and oafs brawling outside Wetherspoons.
Keep the home fires burning!