Category: Global Britain

The Home Office was in chaste mood today as it released a list of activities that are now banned on patriotic grounds to help make a success of Brexit.

“Number one, french kissing is over,” Amber Rudd, Home Office Secretary, told LCD Views’ Dating Advice columnist, “french breadsticks are going too, as  one often leads to the other.  Sourdough will do well enough for honest British snoggers hereafter.”

But the addition of french letters to the list of proscribed activities and items caused criticism that the Home Office had not thought things through.

“Of course we have,” Ms Rudd replied primly, “we going to need a baby boom to replace all those foreign workers that are going home and taking their newly illegal activities with them.

French letters are almost certainly a French plot to undermine the great British birth rate. It’s much simpler just to ban them instead of having inspectors going around the country piercing each one individually with a pin. Even though that adds an element of surprise to unexpecting parents.”

But how does the Home Office expect to police the banning of french kissing?

“Easy. We’re going to surveil you. After Brexit you will have to apply for an “intimacy permit”. If you are successful you will be supervised during the times supervised for close contact. Some have called this a needless job creation scheme, but I refute that. We’ve already made enough civil service jobs just trying to find something sensible for David Davis to say.”

LCD Views welcomes all measures taken to encourage a greater sense of national identity for proper Brits, but we think banning french kissing is perhaps a step too far. It would have been more sensible to just retitle it as British kissing and be done with it.

“You know someone once suggested to me if we just asked the EU27 to rename the ECJ as the BCJ we could have saved ourselves a hell of a lot of expense and effort. But it’s too late now. The people had a vote.”

A new slogan is expected to accompany the campaign to raise public awareness of the ban on french kissing and letters.

“No tongues please, we’re British,” Ms Rudd nodded soberly, “that ought to do it. And if it doesn’t we’re going to have G4S detain you.”

The new blue passports, which have been treacherously produced in the EU, will not be reaching these shores any time soon. Dover customs jobsworths have refused the first consignments because they are the wrong size.

It transpires that the new blue passports measure precisely 8cm by 12 cm. The specification stipulates that they should measure roughly 3 inches by 4 inches. Predictably, the tabloid press have seized upon this gaffe with great delight.

“Who wants a blEU passport?” squeals the Daily Mail. “We MUST take control of our passports NOW!” proclaims the Daily Express. Many items of calamitous bad news have been cheerfully buried in small print on page 73 as a result.

Cursory digging reveals that many of the now-useless decimal passports lack pages entirely. This is not a problem, as they are unlikely ever to be used, but they fail to communicate the vital illusion of global travel.

The ‘executive’ version of the passport does indeed contain pages. These pages are not made of the usual vellum, as this is too expensive. Instead, a parchment made from the skins of grateful unicorns has been used.

Including pages does increase costs, though. So corners have been cut to save costs. The passports will come without corners to get all dog-eared.

“This is a national scandal!” hooted passport expert Bergen Dee. “The incompetent EU cannot even get basic units of measurement correct. It is vital that we leave the EU as soon as possible, if not before that!”

Bergen Dee riffed about the use of Imperial measures being the first step towards reclaiming the Empire, before turning his ire on the EU again. “If you can’t even use a ruler properly, how on earth can you be taken seriously?” he shouted. “Britannia rules the waves!”

Don’t mention the fact that it would be much cheaper and simpler to retain EU passports. But that’s not Brexit. Britannia waives the rules.

Calls for increased tariffs on French Brie and Dutch clogs today as reports state the first shipment of potatriotic, British blue passports are stuck in a ten mile truck tail back at Dover.

The hold up occurred after the firm responsible, Franco-Dutch printers, Gelato, refused to pay the 500% tariff imposed on imported paper products by Brexminster.

”The driver of the lorry carrying the passports said he was under orders not to use the ‘express’ customs lane and its smart tariff payment system, as the processing fee added to smart payments by the British based sub-contractor responsible for processing was more than the tariff imposed,” passport specialist Paper Mashe told LCD Views, “which is a shame as the tail back in the express lane is usually only nine miles and not ten.”

It appears the driver turned off his engine and said he would have to wait for clearance from head office.

”But this only increases the cost as G4S, since winning the contract to manage the seamless border, have been actively clamping any vehicle moving slowly enough for their parking enforcement sub-contractors, Balls-Up, to get a clamp on.

It’s understood the clamp won’t be removed until the fine has been paid to Balls-Up’s sub-contractor for collections, Big Harry.

But as Big Harry was last seen drinking with his old flame Krystal late last night at the Fudge n Duck, no one expects him to surface until tomorrow, when they’ve run out of gear and he surfaces to score.

Unfortunately that’s nornally when Krystal slinks away and Harry returns to find the hotel room empty, damaged. This will trigger a five day bender ending in arrest after violent disorder in an off license in Enfield, where he first met Krystal all those years ago.”

So not much hope of getting those passports through Dover in time for the patriotic Brits who have booked for a holiday abroad this month?

”Not unless Scotland relaxes the hard border it recently imposed with England after Boris Johnson wouldn’t shut up about Culloden. They also cancelled all visas issued to English citizens, excepting the Cornish who are in open revolt.”

Will Boris apologise? Will Cornwall lay down their arms?

“Boris never has yet. He’s unsackable, even as the petition calling for his firing now has the signatures of over two billion people world wide. And the Cornish situation has only worsened recently as Jacob Rees-mogg, since seceding with Somerset, has arranged his militia on the border, it’s said with the tacit support of Westminster.”

So you’d advise people to plan on a staycation this year?

”Yes. Just like every year since we regained our independence from what, no one is quite sure anymore.”

The United Kingdom was in mourning today as the last known Brexit promise was reported to have died in captivity.

Brexit poacher turned gamekeeper while still poaching, Jacob Rees-mogg, is to bury the dead promise in a tearful ceremony in the Thames.

”We’ve had to hire professional mourners,” the MP for Emerging Markets told LCD Views, “as it was difficult to find anyone still credulous enough to get onto a boat with myself and Nigel now.”

Still, the ceremony is to mimic the one in which Nigel Fartage (never has been and never will be an MP) and everyone’s favourite fairy tale stepmother, Kate Goey (needs sacking Vauxhall, wake up now) paraded the promise on its capture in 2016.

”I wouldn’t say mimic, so much as mock,” Rees-mogg clarifies, “I hope it doesn’t take too long as I’m itching for another vote in the Commons to push Britain closer to Dickensian England.”

The death of ‘take back control of fishing’ is the last, following in a sad parade of extinction that began the moment the ink had dried on the EUref ballot papers in June 2016.

”We’ve killed them off one by one in as humane a manner as possible,” Jacob said, adjusting his specs and smirking, “the lower orders are so touchingly gullible, I’m amazed this farce is still going on.”

But what will you and other leading Brexiters do now the Brexit safari park is empty?

”Oh, we will start blaming the EU and the remoaners. Talk about fifth columnists and attempts to subvert the will of the British people, while attempting to avoid public inquiries resulting from the revelations of just how rigged things have become now that the Cambridge Analytica story has broken.”

This seems sensible. Sovereignty died with the Brexit White Paper, as we never lost it. The NHS funding promise died the moment the bus was parked. Control our borders was shot and butchered by the reality of physical space required, and the necessity of JIT manufacturing methods and how trade works in general in the 21st Century. Global Britain has been shown to be the imperial clothing set we knew it was. Strike new trade deals by losing all the ones we have? Who the hell ever believed that?

”Many did dear fellow,” Jacob smirked again, “It’s nice to have an electorate with so many pockets of desperation to take advantage of. And the irony, when you consider you helped create the sorry conditions to begin with. I do laugh with my chums at the club.”

I bet it’s rauccous with disdain. Strange how the last known Brexit promise was unable to keep its species alive. Lies normally beget more lies.

”Yes, quite, now do you mind, Ive got to go and waste fish in the Thames to better honour the uplifting presence of food banks.”

UKIP are reportedly on the brink of party collapse as all the racists are happy to vote Conservative again.

”It’s appalling. The British people have betrayed us,” temporary leader, Mr Someone Disgusting, told LCD Views.

”We expected to collapse in line with the United Kingdom as a whole, not in a great steaming bankrupt heap first.”

How does Mr Disgusting explain the loss of support for his party?

”It’s sabotage by the main parties. Most notably those grasping bastards the Tories, but Labour playing the race card on immigration and wages, is a stab in the back also.

They’re nicking our scripts out of convenience. We would sue for IP theft, if we could afford to. Which we can’t.”

What about Nigel Farage? Can’t he be persuaded to help out the fetid steed that has carried him so far?

”He won’t return our calls! Or if we phone him from a phone box and he picks up expecting someone from, well, overseas, calling on a burner or whatever, he pretends to be going into a tunnel and shouts “Woo! Woo!” like a steam train, then hangs up.”

What about increasing membership fees? Call it a patriotic levy?

”Most of our remaining members are potless. It’s how we convinced them to back us in the first place. That and positioning ourselves as more racist outwardly than the Tories, but not quite as bad as the BNP. You know, the respectable middle ground for British racists.”

Is there anyway we can help?

”Can you get Nigel back?”

We wouldn’t piss on Nigel if he was on fire.

”Well, claim the Tories are betraying Brexit!”

But that is Brexit. Brexit means betrayal.

”You’re trying to wind me up. I’m not biting. I left my teeth in the glass beside my bed. What do you suggest we do?”

”Maybe just ape the BNP now?”

”Show our true colours? Not just yellow and purple.”

”That’s right. Show people what you’re really like. No one is coming to help you. You’ve served your purpose mate.”

David Davis strode to the centre of the big tent in Brussels today in big floppy shoes and oversized trousers to announce a breakthrough for British and international business.

”We have fudge, fudge, fudge to give away!” he exalted the assembled crowd, twirling and holding up a tray just loaded with fudge.

He then tripped, back flipped and landed with his face in the fudge.

As he staggered and stumbled, playing the part of someone with fudge in their eyes, ringmaster Barnier circled energetically with a tiger on a leash.

The tiger was wearing a two tone tiger jacket with single market written on one flank and customs union on the other.

”I can see! Don’t worry about me!” Davis pretended to be calm, “It’s making me rather thirsty though. All this pretending I know where I am going!”

He stumbled about with his hands outstretched, as if feeling for a wall or feeling for a door.

”What are you looking for sir? Maybe I can help?” Ringmaster Barnier asked slowly and loudly.

”I’m looking for a deep and enduring, special and meaningful relationship,” Davis replied, but Barnier cut him off.

”I can be your guide.”

”You didn’t let me finish,” Davis barked, “I’m looking for a deep and enduring, special and meaningful relationship with an all expenses paid bar!”

Ha! Ha!

”Well I can help you with that too.”

Calmly Barnier lifted the tiger’s tail and placed it across one of Mr Davis’ open hands.

”Ah! A guide dog! I am saved!” David cried.

”This animal will lead you down the path, but don’t hold on for too long, or it will turn around and eat you.”

”I am not afraid! Even without the use of my eyes I can deal with a dog!”

The ringmaster doffed his top hat to the audience, who ooooed as Davis cheered his rescue.

”Take me to the nearest pub guide dog for am I parched! All this talking has me rather dizzy!”

Children in the audience, just little small and medium sized things, shouted warnings that Davis refused to hear as he followed the tiger from the rear.

Barnier circled by their side and kicked a can labelled “Irish Border” ahead of the path of Davis and the tiger.

The can spun from the kicking, beginning to fizz and smoke.

”What’s that smell?” Davis demanded of the crowd, “did someone throw a stink bomb at a blind man? You’re so very very cruel!”

A plant in the audience, not a cactus, but a middle aged woman with leather trousers and a big neck chain  (put where she sits to better orchestrate the show), shouted out,

”Just kick that can man! Kick it as far as you can!”

Davis with his big shoes flailed around.

”What can? I can’t find it?”

He carried on.

The tiger looked tenser and tenser, as one by one the audience began to give up on the show and drift for the door.

Nissan. Airbus. Fisheries. Soft fruit producers. Regulatory agencies for all manner of things. Service sector jobs. The list was rather long.

And as they exited they walked passed an old man on a tricycle pedalling slowly around the perimeter of the big tent, holding a sign saying Jobs First Brexit, and looking for a way to get in.

”Don’t leave yet!” he pleaded, “me and my crew are up next.”

“I’m sorry old chap,” they all told him the same, “this Global Britain circus has already gone on for far too long.”

Gavin Williamson MP, Defence Secretary for an unidentified country, has launched a scathing attack on some Russian guy who likes sending Russian woman to dine and play sports with important British men.

The men maybe weak through lust and avarice, or they may just be idiots.

“Who allegedly sends a bag man without a bag?” Gav fumed, struggling with an armful of silver pieces, “I can’t hide all this if I can’t keep hold of it. Allegedly.”

Allegedly.

It’s not entirely, allegedly, clear what the thirty pieces of alleged silver were for, although reports suggest it was delivered as a result of a hot lunch date with one of the aforementioned Russian women with close links to the Kremlin.

But a minister of state, a parliamentarian would never be so dumb as to get caught out with his pants down.

“It’s tacky,” Williamson said, “just because I had a little fling with a junior female employee some years back, that doesn’t mean I’m susceptible to female charms oodling my ferocious mind now I’m in control of a nuclear arsenal borrowed from America, along with the planes we need for leaky Elizabeth.”

While the full story of the £30,000 (30 pieces adjusted for inflation) pounds donated to Williamson is yet to come out, it does fit into a curious pattern for MPs of the unidentified country.

Boris Johnson and David Cameron were paid £180,000 to play tennis FFS.

A Ms Patel resigned in disgrace after being caught attempting to funnel British taxpayers money to the defence force of a foreign power. Seriously, how is she still an MP? How are any of them?

It’s makes you wonder how many more little payments for entirely innocent causes there are waiting to be revealed, as the rotten ulcer which threatens to infect the entire body politic of the U.K. with septicaemia is day by day revealed.

“I’ve got a spider on my desk,” Williamson snarled, “I’m bloody tough. I’m a mean machine. I frighten toast racks for a living.”

Good luck Gavin. You’re going to need it now you’ve lost your bottle in public.

Emboldened by Brexit like a steroidal chihuahua going at a bemused Rottweiler, Theresa May has decided to come all British Empire with Russia.

The attack on a former Russian double agent and his daughter with Novichok has drawn a red line for May. With thoughts of Thatcher and Falklands in mind, and the spirit of a WWWF wrestler called Brexit Basher, the challenge to the Russian federation must seem a welcome distraction from EU negotiations.

Something exciting like a brush with nuclear war, Cold War tensions and a good old-fashioned stand off.

And with a possible GE looming following a stalemate with Brussels, there’s nothing like a tough stand against a foreign foe to put a firework up the poll ratings.

Unfortunately this has just drawn sarcasm and derision from Moscow and not a little amusement behind the scenes.

Putin has joked bombing London would be like playing Tetris.

“We have many different shaped bombs in our arsenal. We have our blocks of empty luxury high rise flats my friends have investments in.

If we can drop them into the gaps we can leave our investments intact. This shouldn’t be a problem with our laser guidance systems.”

Theresa, however, has decided the UK won’t be playing along. The British long game will be a poker face and a bluffed hand.

* Looks down to see she holds three dog eared Uno cards *

Now, to mix things up a little, the U.K. government has called for all its pals to join in for a game of Twister, with Putin not allowed to play.

But Putin doesn’t care, he knows the future lies in video games. He puts another Bitcoin in the slot and furiously fiddles and stabs at the buttons as those coloured squares, crosses, rods and funny z-shape drop neatly into the sky line of London.

Meanwhile Donald Trump is preparing for nuclear Armageddon by challenging Kim Jong-Un to a game of Space Invaders.

The Secretary of State for Planking, Chris Grayling, was inhaled as a welcome breath of composting air last night as he dampened the chair normally reserved for Nigel Farage on BBC’s Question Time.

“I had to get out of a dinner date with a gammon sandwich for it,” Grayling told LCD Views when we interviewed him this morning,

“but it’s okay, I hired someone to hire a driver and hire a car and hire a specialist team to go buy some clingfilm and drive to the location where I was meeting the gammon and wrap it up for me.

After that they hired a helicopter and a security detail and took it to a subterranean cold storage unit in Bristol we leased at great expense for safe keeping.

The guards are still on the clock.

But I’ll keep my date unless I decide, even with sensible safeguarding measures, the bread is now a bit stale and bin it.

The taxpayer pays for all my decisions. How nice is that?”

Very nice.

Now Mr Gammon, I mean, Mr Plank, I mean, Mr Graylimb, you spoke last night about solving the hard border issues caused by Brexit, could you expand on that please?

“I have to correct you.”

How so?

“It’s the hard border issues that are being caused by the EU and their over reliance on rules based systems for dealing with complex arrangements involving multiple actors. It’s so old hat.”

I see. Good of you to explain that to me. But even with the unnecessary obstacles thrown up by the European Union, can you explain to us how the government intends to solve the external border issues?

“We won’t have any external borders. It will all be seamless. We’ve been telling you this for donkey’s years.”

But I thought taking back control of our boarders, and anyone else renting a room long or short term, was a key reason for Brexit?

“There is no reason for Brexit. Well, no good one, unless you’re a disaster capitalist who likes dressing up as a fascist for fancy dress parties and revels in the knowledge that you’re every decision is encouraging racists to slowly destroy the moral and ethical fabric of our country.”

Now I’m just confused.

“We’ve looked to the past to solve the future problems. In the past you couldn’t really control your external border and you were surrounded by enemies. We aim to recreate that atmosphere and to feel it in our very streets and homes.”

Now I’m even more confused.

“You will be as soon as you try and get into any English town or city after Brexit and find a great big f*cking wall in your way. ”

Secretary of State for Planking, Chris Grayling, thank you for your time.

The United Kingdom was feeling warm, very warm and high temp cosy today secure in the knowledge that Theresa May is going to deal with Vladimir Putin and chemical attacks on British streets.

“She’s got Boris beside her,” Vicky Pollard, political obsessive, told LCD Views, “so what could possibly go wrong? I mean whenever I hear Boris mentioned I immediately think of killer whales and baby seals. Who is tossing who about here? Ask yourself that. Who is going to lose their nerve?”

Quite what Vladimir Putin will do faced with the collective force and intellectual might of the current piece of furniture Theresa May is in charge of is anyone’s guess.

“He must be well packing it,” Vicky opines, “he’s got elections coming up in Russia soon, so the last thing he needs is a country like the UK getting upset with him. That’s not how he governs. He tries awfully hard to convince Russians everyone is their friend, they are perfectly safe and they should feel more than happy to elect someone else, should they like to.”

Measures under consideration by Theresa May to slap Russia with, should Vladimir Putin not make a fulsome apology and promise never to mess us about again include,

“Wrist slapping. Pretending we don’t want Russian money in London anymore.

Maybe even pulling our football team out of the world cup over there. That’s the big stick. To think he maybe denied the pleasure of watching the English team stagger about and then crash out of the World Cup in his own back yard? You wouldn’t want to miss that!”

Theresa May has given Putin until midnight to make his apology. In the meantime she’s going to attempt once more to work out why her cabinet has so many screws loose.