LCD Views

The governing Conservative Party were found to be celebrating this morning after they successfully sucked many UKIP voters back to the home of the hostile environment in the local elections, to balance out the ones lost in terror of Brexit.

“It’s giving me a funduggle wuggle wiggle in the pants! The Windrush scandal probably helped us win the kippers back!” Boris Johnson told us this morning, bleary eyed and holding a broken champagne flute, “to see our support firm and steady as she goes with the xenophobes leads me to thinking about a proper bish bosh bash at the leadership.”

But surely the result serves to firm up the ground under Theresa May?

“Ah, that’s where your monocle is fogocle,” the big, bouncy, playful blonde told us, “it shows that we can probably finally push her deep into the quick sand she’s always sinking into and win a general election again.

A bright burst of new life. That’s what I will offer. Fresh ideas. Classical references in your ears. I can trounce the old gardener on the campaign trail. I’ve got a bus! He can’t even get a train seat.”

Do you wish to take control of the Brexit process, even though it looks certain to failure, surely not?

“It’s the only bloody way I’ll survive it,” he boshed back, “if I stay in the passenger seat than I’ll just go through the bally windscreen with the old bird, but if I’m driving, now that’s a different story. You’ve never seen me twist and turn with a rugger ball?”

I’ve seen you barrel through a child.

“See! Nothing stands in my way.”

Is that why you engineered the fall of Rudd? To isolate May in the cabinet?

“She’s in a hostile environment no doubt. And it’s of my making. To see our support steady as she goes leads me to think where I may go.”

An couple of voters, who actually work together towards a shared aim professionally, have spoken to LCD Views this afternoon to explain they are determined to vote for Brexit supporting parties in the local elections tomorrow, in spite of what’s now known about Brexit. 

“We’re a bit stuck in our ways,” the old man said, “I personally have been backing Brexit since the 1970’s, in spite of all the rights now enshrined in EU treaties because you know.

Well. My friend John has a little red book. And Nigel fronted a racist billboard campaign to get votes. I’m a little confused by it all. I just do what I’m told these days.

But I do know we’ll not get the sort of change I desire to the bin collections on my street unless everyone is eating out of them first.”

His female friend was also happy to explain her reasoning.

“Sound bite means sound bite,” she said, looking straight at us, “and I am determined to deliver the best sound bite Farage vote possible for the United Kingdom by delivering sound bite UKIP agenda. That’s why tomorrow I will be voting for sound bite. Sound bite is meant to distract from”

She paused at that point, clearly recognising what she was saying was nonsense and stared fixedly ahead, a rainbow wheel spinning where her irises had previously been.

“It’s okay,” her friend said, “just reach over to the socket will you and pull her plug out of the wall. Count to ten. Put the plug back in. Once she powers back up she’ll be fine.”

Suspicions that neither have been paying much attention to developments, and just how much damage their parties UKIP agenda is doing to the United Kingdom, in terms of jobs, investment, community relations, encouragement of racism by backing Nigel Farage’s vision of the country, the deep anxiety felt by millions of people who stand to become second class citizens if Brexit happens in spite of coming here legally under the current arrangements and then finding themselves bargaining chips for nationalists to our deep shame, the predominate desire of the young to not find themselves suddenly with a blue passport that won’t do sweet f*ck all compared to the burgundy ones that could have been blue all along anyway, and the risk to the peace agreement in Northern Ireland, that the sound bites of Labour and the blithe nostalgic imperialism of the Tories risks, were met with shrugs.

“I made up my mind based on what I perceive to be best for my own self-interest,” they chorused together, “doesn’t everyone? Anyway local elections are just about who will collect the bins. It’s not like the major parties will interpret the results to be related to their national policies. UKIP taking over government by winning council seats and rising vote share was a one off.”

The old man then offered to make us some jam.

“People say I’m not up to speed with how fast things develop nowadays,” he smiled softly, “but you don’t make jam in a rush. You stir it slowly. You build a movement. Sometimes for so long it seems it’ll never be finished.”

We looked to his colleague for a final comment, but she was just staring out the window with small sparks coming off the bolts keeping her head on her shoulders.

Britain’s Nero, aka Theresa May MP and PM (for a little bit longer) has been told to fiddle her neocon fiddle more loudly so the people can hear her fiddling over the roar of the flames.

“It’s a magic fiddle,” says Jacob Rees-mogg (MP for your favourite historical period), “it spurts flammable liquids onto the flames each time the bow is drawn across the strings. It’s a pre-glorious revolutionary instrument for political music. I’m one of the conductors. There are others. Anyone who photoshops well with a toothbrush moustache can dictate the tune Mayhem plays. Oh, and Arlene Foster.”

The musical mischief making, which has been going on for almost two years now, made a change for Britain’s Nero, as previously her role was more junior and confined to lurking about the shadows, stacking the streets of the cities with crisp tinder that would readily take the flames. The so called, hostile environment concerto which has been played all throughout the United Kingdom (using United loosely) and to energetic reviews across the channel.

“I fancy a go at the fiddle myself,” Jacob continued, “I’m a bit frustrated just conducting from the background. If the winds fanning the flames drop in intensity there may actually be something left to rebuild with.

Whereas my preference is to fulfil the destiny my idea of God whispers in my ears at night when he delivers the next day’s sheet music. A borderless destiny tax wise which fulfils the dreams of crushing and controlling worker’s rights without freedom of movement. A greater song than even fathering endless children to give latin names to.”

We asked our music correspondent for a quick comment on the performance.

“It’s a rebirth of discordant, atonal music so popular in the first half of the 20th century,” they said, “great for marching in time with a high leg lift to. Mind you, I’m not so sure how long Nero can keep fiddling as the country burns, one by one the strings are breaking. It’s just a matter of time now until the Mayhem performance closes. No doubt to rapturous applause.”

LCD Views has learned that the captain of the Titanic, Theresa May, was disturbed late last night by frantic calls from the deck after a deck chair threw itself off the deck and into the turbulent seas.

“Amber Rudd,” the captain told LCD Views, “I name all my deck chairs. That was the one that threw itself off. It’s just as well. It was really squeaky now in the hinges. Both crew and the unwilling passengers were starting to complain. But I found it quite useful to hide behind when passengers wanted to complain about the industrial scale gastro afflicting the voyage.”

Why didn’t you just apologise and take responsibility for the gastro and then get rid of the deck chair yourself?

“Oh, I’m a complete environmentalist. I can’t throw anything away. I prefer to make do and mend. The only problem being whenever I try to mend something I usually just break it more. All thumbs me.”

The deck chair in question is not the only one to have thrown itself overboard. Other chairs have too. Justine Greening being a noteworthy one.

“She’s not overboard though. She’s down below decks. I suspect she’s waiting for us to hit the iceberg I’m steering the ship into. She’ll jump into a life boat or bop back up to the surface of the churning water and float along just fine. Just like some of the other chairs.”

But you must have a full deck of deck chairs or people will think you aren’t in control of the vessel. It’s bad enough you’re full speed ahead towards an iceberg!

“I know. I’m going to shuffle the chairs on the deck about and replace the ruddy deck chair with the Javid one. It’s great at housing. The Javid one I’ll replace with the Brokenshire one, as he’s finished breaking shires in Northern Ireland.”

So deck chair replaces deck chair in a Titanic shuffle?

“It’s not a Titanic shuffle. More a terrified split of the pack and jam it back together and hope nothing falls out in the process before we hit the iceberg and sink.”

“Amber’s mistake was writing her lies down on paper and not on the side of a big, red bus,” professional truth talker Boris Johnson MP (for Ruin) told us this morning over croissants and flat whites so trendy they were served on plates to make them really flat.

“How is one supposed to drink these bally coffees?” Boris wanted to know, “they should serve them with a straw.”

Your mate Gove has banned straws.

“Fracking hell, that’s right. Little sod. He should ban knives. I’d sleep better.”

So tell us about Amber Rudd’s mistakes?

“Rookie errors really,” Boris says, lifting his plate of coffee up and slurping at the edge, “It’s a question of perspective really. As regards the people you’re lying to. Make it big and bold as brass. And make it vague! Don’t write it down clearly on paper with official letterheads. I’ve no sympathy for her. Pieces of paper are so easily leaked…if you’ve the right person at a big newspaper. A big bus is watertight.”

But your big bus lie was filmed. It’s there forever. Paper can be shredded.

“Written down words are really small. Like ants. You never get them all. But a suggestion, that’s wriggle room, emblazoned on the side of a moving target that will be interpreted as a promise? That’s the magic touch. Class act.”

Amber stuck it out a long time though.

“Wouldn’t you? One step away from the throne? A career of ruined businesses behind her? What’s she going to do? Go back into private enterprise? With her CV?!

Now, must dash, I have to go and prep a close family member to start leaking stuff about Javid to the papers. Got to keep the instability going. This is how I survive. This is how I prosper. One headline after another. Just think of the success he’s made of housing. Record rough sleeping. He’s primed already.”

And the country? What about the country?

“Party before country. We know it. Labour knows it. But me before party. And I am the country now. I am its face to the world.”

That doesn’t help me sleep well at night.

What are you doing about getting Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe out of jail in Iran? That would be a good headline for you.

But he was already gone.