SPIN BLOCK MAX FACTOR : Foreign Secretary Dominic Raab is said to be “stressed to the max” and in danger of overdosing on protein shakes today due to current events getting in the way of his study of The Ladybird Book of Geography.
“He hadn’t even got to the countries that start with A,” a FCO insider tells LCD Views. “He was just about finished marvelling at the front cover of the book. It’s a shame he likes pictures so much. He stood a chance of discovering Afghanistan before it all kicked off this week while he was on holiday.”
But kick off this week it did and sadly for Dom, and the thousands of endangered Afghanis who risked their lives to work with British forces over the last 20 years, Dom was MIA. On a beach in Crete enjoying what some have unsympathetically called an unearned holiday.
Happily though the luminaries of the Tory intellectual elite are rallying to his cause. No less an intellectual giant than David Davis even taking to Twitter to express his disgust at people criticising Raab for failing to foresee an event two decades in the making. Davis is well placed to provide sympathy. No one who saw his outstanding preparations as Brexit Secretary can forget his achievements. Before it all got too hard and he buggered off.
Random back benchers are also coming to Raab’s aide. With one even commenting that “Dominic Raab’s only crime was to care too much about his holiday”. A defence with which anyone who has achieved one of the great offices of state, and then couldn’t be bothered to actually do it, can have sympathy.
Of course the unsung victim in all this is perhaps Matt Hancock. He must be wondering right now what someone has to do to get fired from Johnson’s cabinet these days? It wasn’t like this in his day.
YOU WON’T BELIEVE YOUR EYES : THE UK’S NEWEST HEALTH SECRETARY, Sajid Javid, has already proven he has what it takes to not only carry on the outstanding work of his predecessor Doctor D’eath, but improve on it.
Not content to just adopt some half arsed, misunderstood Darwinian approach to pandemic management, he’s now moving into a kind of interpretive dance magic show with health policy.
The new direction was revealed today at a cosy conference where the megabrain of healthcare showed the public his latest trick.
“It was amaze balls,” one star struck spectator told LCD Views. “He came out onto the stage with a woman in a bunny costume. Old school. She set up a little side table with an NHS waiting list on it and then she handed him a hat and a magic cane. That’s when the magic started.”
While many in the audience expected Mr Javid to make his nubile assistant vanish into thin air, or pull an actual rabbit out of a hat, the maestro of healing had a novel trick up his sleeve.
“The assistant stood by his side turning her hips this way and that and motioning with her hands to the master,” the spectator continued, “Smiling all the way and Mr Javid, the Wizard of National Health, he stood calmly smiling at the audience before slowly waving his wand over the hat.”
What happened next caused all to gasp in shock and surprise.
“He pulled a fully functioning NHS hospital out of the hat! Ten stories tall, complete with staff and machines that go bing! People had to move back from the stage to fit it into the room. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
But of course that is the most accurate statement about the event.
Our keen eyed reporter lingered behind, after Mr Javid had bowed and left the stage, to take a closer look for wires and false doors.
“It’s just a sticking plaster,” they reported back. “It’s soaked in LSD. That will explain the audience reaction.”
Today was just the start of the magic show though. It’s rumoured tomorrow Mr Javid is going to sell more swathes of the NHS off to US health care interests and hope you’re so busy saving up for that hip replacement you don’t notice the National Health Service is vanishing before your eyes.
“It will look like it’s still there, as it will have NHS plastered all over it still. But it’ll be an illusion. Just like NHS Test and Trace.”
But what happened on the side table to the waiting list?
“Oh! It doubled in size! But no one noticed as they were high.”
CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK : Wooden intellects doing wooden things is the focus in the United Kingdom this week, and the real world consequences of promoting dead wood to power.
The revelations that the current British political leadership is thick as two short planks has come as a surprise to people who’ve been in a coma for several years. To many though, it is not a revelation.
“It’s hard to imagine another administration would respond to a rapidly developing foreign policy calamity by going off on holiday,” a 10 Downing Street source told LCD Views. “But we did. Our only job was to Get Brexit Done. The country can be governed from here on in by so called Serco, think thanks, tabloids and contrarians on social media. Our work is over. It’s time to kick up the heels and sip those pool side cocktails.”
And while a void for an Executive will please many, especially the shadowy figures who bankrolled Brexit, the British myth of itself seems to have been sorely challenged on a national level this week by failure in Afghanistan. Answers are being demanded.
Luckily Boris Johnson is still acting Prime Minister and has already responded to queries about how Dominic Raab came to be Foreign Secretary?
“I made him myself,” the PM shrugged, “and I can unmake him. With a hammer and a crowbar. Although I won’t if I don’t have to as I’m afraid of splinters. I had a few empty wine crates laying about after a bus making session and so I made a Raab. Then I painted a perpetually surprised expression on his face and put him in post.”
While the revelation that the Foreign Secretary is an inanimate object will solve the puzzle for many, some are not sure that’s the total story?
“How did he get that throbbing temple vein?” one commentator wanted to know.
“Woodworm,” the PM replied. “I wouldn’t worry though, there’s just a cavity inside his head. Once the worm burrows inside it’ll be free falling down through his hollow chest.”
ARE THE CHICKENS STILL ROOSTING CLARICE : An entity claiming to be God has been doing the media rounds this morning to defend itself against accusations from Downing Street that it is taking the piss out of Britain.
The cosmic being, who has been described as a “bit scruffy with a whiff of watery wine about him” surprised the UK’s commentariat when he interrupted their standard spin and BS sessions this morning to give his statement.
“I’m not laughing at Brexit,” it asserted, barely managing to get the words out through fits of giggles. “The decision to make the first Brexit chicken coming home to roost a lack of actual chicken was just luck of the draw. I mean, why would I take time out of my busy schedule to do something like that? I’ve earthquakes to cause. Famines to oversee. Novel viruses to create. The prayers of small children to ignore. I’m a busy guy. And I’ve got a holiday booked in Crete.”
In spite of the being’s denials it is just messing with us many appear to believe it’s not being entirely truthful.
“Wouldn’t you make the first actual story that the UK press has to admit is a consequence of Brexit something more serious?” one God watcher wondered. “Like a lack of gold wallpaper? Something that would strike at the heart of power in the United Kingdom. Chicken supply chain issues are just a weird choice. The entity claiming to be God is teasing us.”
When pressed for solutions to the crisis the entity claiming to be God just shrugged and said, “I maybe stuck firmly in BCE but you can always rejoin the 21st century and realign your trade and immigration laws with half a billion people a few miles away. Or you can carry on like twats and wait for my next joke. I mean, consequence.”
Downing Street is expected to respond to the appearance of the deity later, after it has disappeared and it’s too late to engage meaningfully.
BETRAYED BY BMW : Where were the GERMAN CARMAKERS when we needed them? Where are they now when ACTION is needed? These are the questions that ring in the great offices of state today as an internal Downing Street inquiry gets to the bottom of who is to BLAME for the Nando store closures.
As the UK was rocked by the shuttering of dozens of the major franchises outlets, except in NI (and the Republic of Ireland), pressure was building on the Prime Minister to find out who was sabotaging the availability of piri-piri chicken.
“They’ve stabbed us in the front,” a 10 Downing Street HOT SAUCE told LCD Views. “Just walked right up and stuck the chiv in. It’s like living in a scene from a prison drama and the UK is Alcatraz. Or it will be if the Home Secretary has her way.”
The BETRAYAL is no more keenly felt than in the brain of David Davis who reassured his fellow Britons that there was nothing to fear from the Brexit project. It would all be alright on the night as the German carmakers had too much to lose. Those stubborn CONTINENTALS would BOW TO BRITAIN in the end. Only they didn’t.
“Neither did the French prosecco makers or the Italian cheesemakers,” the bubbling sauce steams. “The list of people attempting to UNDERMINE Brexit is SHOCKING.”
But even though Britain now knows who to BLAME that isn’t going to help Nando’s.
“Who is next? KFC? Cottage Chicken? Rooster Piri-Piri? The entire basis of the British food chain now stands at risk because the GERMAN CARMAKERS were too selfish to SAVE BREXIT.”
Although there is one bright light on the horizon. TRADE SUPERSTAR LIZ TRUSS has been alerted to a planet entirely made of chicken and will soon be dispatched in a UNION FLAG SPACESHIP to cut a deal that will see chickens flood back into Britain.
“She just has to wait for the EU to finish negotiating one first,” the source beams. “So she can copy it.”
I FEEL BETTER NOW I’VE GOT THAT OFF MY CHEST : Downing Street is said to be “coping” today after the exhaustive list of Tory MPs who resigned the party whip, after expressing complete disgust over the Johnson/Raab Afghanistan failure, was released.
The list is thought to be final and will draw a line under the calamity for the Johnson administration, which has otherwise governed supremely at home and abroad. If it hadn’t been doing such a sterling job the party of government, fiscal responsibility, family values and defence would have acted by now, wouldn’t they?
“We were actually relieved the list wasn’t longer,” a 10 Downing Street insider told LCD Views. “When you consider how angry they were in the Commons debate, it looked like curtains for Johnson and Raab. But now he may just limp on to create another completely foreseen and avoidable catastrophe. And Raab can go back to Crete in a day or two. It’s hilarious. The Mother of Parliaments, what are you like?”
And limp on Johnson will, so long as he is still perceived as a vote winner by the party of landlords and power.
“Nazarin Zaghari-Ratcliffe, Brexit, Covid, Afghanistan, what will he achieve next? It’s a good thing no one talks about the Garden Bridge, the Arcuri affair and that holiday in the Italian villa. If this stuff became public knowledge he could be in some hot water. I mean, who would allow that sort of character to govern? You’d have to be totally self-interested empty vessels.”
But even though the list is now public knowledge, it’s unlikely to change the calculations in Downing Street over how to govern.
“Clearly the Tory MPs who spoke out against Johnson yesterday are now stuffed. They can look forward to being de-selected for the 2022 General Election. None of them have the foresight to see the payback coming down the line though. Which actually makes them Cabinet material.”
Mrs French and I had a quiet moment together before I left. I was dressed for war. We stood facing one another in our humble kitchen, my wife twisting the dish cloth in her hands tighter and tighter.
“I have never left for war before,” I told her directly, looking her in the eyes. “I’m sure what to do except to tell you I will be brave and I will fight to defend our home against Brussels.”
She gave the cloth another twist. Water was starting to pool at her feet.
“Do you want to kiss me goodbye?” she asked and we both blushed.
I thought she might cry so I tried to take the dish cloth but she held on for dear life.
“Give it to me,” I ordered, but she shook her head.
“I’m not going to do the dishes you silly old thing. That’s your job.”
She relented. I took the cloth and dabbed at a fat tear on her cheek.
“Don’t cry.”
“Oh Mark, I may not have much choice on that.”
I was not going to cry. I was convinced of it. But suddenly a giant blub exploded from me and I snorted a snot bubble out trying to hold it in.
“You’ve set me off!” I said. She took the cloth back and wiped my nose.
Our Churchill started up. It was a recording of a man singing “It’s A Long Way To Tipperary”.
We stood for a while, each sobbing away. Then we embraced as John McCormack was joined by the backing singers. How could we lose with songs like this to sing as we marched?
“You will send me back food? From the front? When you write to me,” my wife asked.
That sounded like treason. To even suggest the good women of patriotic English towns would not receive their rations? It must have been the anxiety of my leaving. I decided to let it slide.
“Victory will see us feast!” I said. I stepped back and stiffened my lip.
“I’ll starve myself so that you may eat!” she sobbed, which was much more like it.
“Now I must be off. The men will be waiting on the high road for me.”
“Take care of them. Most of them don’t even have bum fluff on their top lip yet.”
I had to leave. Anymore of this and I would not be able to walk without a second breakfast to regain my strength.
“Don’t forget your rifle,” she said, pointing to the stout stick resting by the back door.
I collected it and opened the door, pausing to look back one last time.
“Don’t cook a breakfast for another man while I’m away.”
She nodded. Shaking the dish cloth at me and shaking her head.
“Don’t prepare a lunch for another man while I’m at war.”
She shook her head in wonder. She looked a little cranky.
“Don’t even think about inviting a stray chap to dinner.”
She turned the dish cloth in her hands so tightly the final drops of water wrung out. Then she whipped me with it hard and fast across my butt cheeks.
“That’s more like it! Now come and wave goodbye.”
“It’s wave goodbye or wring your neck!”
I put my rifle on my shoulder and stepped outside. My devoted wife followed behind me.
It was a glorious day. Churchills were playing stirring anthems all up and down the street. A patriotic day. I marched out of our yard sure the plastic buttons on my uniform were gleaming.
“We will meet again,” I reassured my wife, as we followed me to the High Road. “I don’t know where. I don’t know when. But we’ll meet again some sunny day. And when we do I will be covered in medals!”
“Get War Done,” she shouted.
“Control British Fish!”
“British fish are sovereign fish!”
That’s the spirit!
“Don’t beg me to stay. I have to fight.”
“I won’t,” she replied, her voice cracking. “You have to face the enemies of the people.”
“It’s my duty.”
“Go faster,” she urged suddenly. “Please go faster. You don’t want to be left behind.”
We walked along a row of houses with large hedges lining the pavement and just at that moment a dark shape burst from the hedges and ran at me.
I was not alarmed. I immediately lay down and covered my head with my hands.
“Private French! Private French!”
I remained motionless. Perfectly demonstrating the art of battlefield camouflage.
“Mark French!”
“What do you want to be bothering my Mark for now Cyclops?” my wife demanded. “You can see he’s off to war.”
“I can see he’s still got a stick and no rifle,” Cyclops said, and giggled. Little traitor.
He grabbed my elbow and shook it.
“Private French? Get up. It’s me Cyclops. Why don’t you talk to me? Why are you shivering?”
“I’m not shivering Cyclops,” I said as I sat up. “I am perfectly mimicking the vibrations of hundreds of marching feet as I disguise myself as the pavement.”
My wife burst out laughing. The tears now banished. But I was too focused on Cyclops to see what it was that amused her.
“Gosh. Did you learn that in basic training?”
“He learned how to tremble like a leaf all on his own,” my wife declared. Was she losing her wits in the emotion of it all?
In the distance we heard a bugle sound. Or was it a cat howling? The bugler was new to the instrument.
“You’ve got to move it Mr French or you’ll miss the war,” Cyclops, the little idiot.
“Come on then. Let’s get a wriggle on,” my wife offered me a hand up and Cyclops handed me my rifle.
“You look smashing Mrs French,” Cyclops said to my wife. “Why so many Union Flags in one dress.”
She hid her face in her dish cloth and sobbed in heaves.
“Now you’ve set her off again Cyclops!” I chided him. Little rat. “I will prove myself dear. I will uphold the will of the people. I was born under a blazing star.”
“Oh Mark, you fool.”
“Shush now. Only speak in three word sentences while I am away,” I ordered her. I moved in close and went to hold her hands, but she retreated. She would crumble to dust at my touch. As it was her heel caught in the pavement and she would have fallen over backwards if Cyclops hadn’t grabbed her.
“I am going to fulfil the will of the people.” I saluted her.
“Don’t miss me,” she muttered, hugging Cyclops to her waist.
“I won’t! I will look after myself.”
I was following my destiny.
Destiny is all.
With courage and Union Flag branded munitions I could not fail.
It was the perfect moment to march away, just the right beat, but Cyclops buggered it up by snapping to attention and saluting me.
“Private Mark Aurelius French,” he said solemnly. “I want you to take my lucky potato with you to war. It was given me by my godmother on the day of my birth and we have kept it frozen all these years. But today it defrosts in your honour. May it bring you luck as it has done for me.”
He thrust the cold vegetable at me.
“But what will you do without it?” my wife asked. Who cared?
“I will wait for the new potatoes to arrive,” he replied. “I heard on the radio this morning that Field Marshall Wetherspoons has sent to Jersey for a convoy of potatoes. They will arrive any day now. No blockade can keep a potato from the chosen land. If we just believe hard enough. I we ignore the gloomsters. That’s what our Churchill said.”
I took the potato. The bugle sounded again, although I was certain it was a cat this time. I forgot myself and ruffled Cyclop’s hair. Tucked the potato inside my coat and marched onwards.
“Crush a fifth columnist, liberal elite, snowflake saboteur for me!” Cyclops shouted.
“What happened to your tooth?” I could hear my wife ask him as I joined the growing stream of men heading up the road.
“I lost it fighting the big boys for my chocolate.”
“Well, we’ll go directly to mine and get my rolling pin and then we’ll go see those big boys. Would you like that?”
“Are you going to thrash six types of shit out of them?”
“It will be my pleasure.”
It was clear they weren’t watching me anymore. For Heaven’s Sake! Anyone would think we had adopted the boy.
“Get War Done!” I bellowed, as a chap fell into step beside me. He was wearing a Scout’s uniform, badges and all and he carried what looked like an actual rifle. The big show off! The uniform was so tight I’d wager it was a child’s.
“Believe In Great British Potatoes!” he replied. I decided to ignore his attempt to upstage me. He could tell I had a full lucky potato in my pocket. I was certain. I wasn’t go mad in the emotion of the moment.
And we marched on together. Brothers in arms with a war to win.
GET AVOCADOES DONE : Prime Minister Boris Johnson is said to have been in a huddle with his advisers after taking a kicking in the Commons (over Afghanistan) and searching for a way to “regain the initiative from the woke”.
The plan is to focus on food and ban all the “bunny hugging guff” in a naked appeal to what he imagines is his base in what he imagines are the people who live in the Red Wall.
“For too long the avocado, sourdough, hummus eating metropolitan elite have sneered at the hard working classes of this great country,” the PM will tell a rented crowd in a dairy field. “This stops today! We will be introducing the Patriotic Food Bill into the Commons in coming days in a special session.”
While the plan is certain to appeal to the stereotypes imagined by the commentariat there are rumours that he will face stiff resistance from a parliamentary party that is already mightily upset over recent events.
“Look here,” one Tory MP told LCD Views anonymously. “I had to bally well pack up my bag and get back from the Costa del Sol to Westminster just to sit there mask-less breathing in viruses yesterday. I’ve only just got back to my holiday and now I have to turn around and go home again? I will be giving serious thought about lodging a letter of no confidence.”
Clearly the risk of defeat is evident, but that doesn’t mean the PM is without options to get avocadoes, and the causes of avocadoes done.
“Why doesn’t he just use the emergency powers and ban them? Why does he need us? You don’t need MPs to govern anymore. That’s been clear since late 2019. I didn’t sign up for this. Look here, the beach is magnificent today. Look at the sunlight on that water? Marvellous.”
Emergency powers would certainly solve the issue of a restless Commons for Mr Johnson and it would be a double win as shoppers won’t notice any difference from the ban, as food will soon be unavailable anyway. Thanks to Brexit.
ENGLAND’S A GARDEN : Prime Minister Boris Johnson is to set out plans later today to deal with the worsening food supply crisis in what will be welcome relief for voters from the Afghan crisis.
“Let me be clear there is no intention to unwind recent immigration law changes,” he will tell a grateful nation. “The Home Secretary’s victory of ending Freedom of Movement from the Continent is secure. It is a beach head for a new Britain. A leaner. Meaner. More self-sufficient Britain that all can take pride in. Like Theseus in a wool shop searching for the exact weave to navigate the Minotaur’s Maze, Global Britons will choose the right packet of seeds. The maiden of a good meal will be taken out of the dark and gazed at it in the candlelight at dinner.”
The plan in essence appears to be an exhilarating revival of the classic ‘Dig for Britain’ scheme of WW2. This has been much mentioned as the sunlit uplands of Brexit were approached and now it’s time. Britons will grow their own food and save themselves from “the tedium of supermarket outings with screaming toddlers” and “inflationary forces.”
Britons are expected to top the league tables of savings on food spending over the coming months as the tangible benefits of Brexit begin to come home “to roost”, unlike the actual chickens. This is to be especially pointed in lessening heavy goods vehicle traffic on our roads and less money wasted on groceries.
“We will deal with the new food chain in the traditional way for peasants. You will grow your own,” he will exhort. “Just imagine the pride of navigating through a damp summer and producing blight free tomatoes! You will handle the empty shelves as we have handled the pandemic. You’ll learn to live with it. You will take personal responsibility for the supply crisis!”
The exciting speech will be delivered before a twelve course lunch to which “only Tory donors have been invited”.
FORM AN ODERLY QUEUE : The British government has come under fire in recent days for lacking foresight and preparation in the face of crisis, even being AWOL as it unfolded. That isn’t going to knock them off their stride though as that’s the Johnson government’s natural state.
While most of the attention has been on the absentee Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary, as the crisis in Afghanistan unfolds, the Home Secretary is certain to have her moment in the limelight.
“Ms Patel has seen what’s happening to Raab,” a Home Office source tells LCD Views. “She’s not going to go down that path. She’s got to be prepared to put herself forward for the highest office. That means she’s not going to be a fall guy for Boris. She is being proactive.”
Luckily for desperate Afghanis attempting to escape the Taliban they’re refugees, one of the Home Secretaries hot button topics. The issue now has all her focus.
“We’ve already acted swiftly to alleviate the risk to life and limb,” the source continues, “Priti Patel herself has authorised an emergency airlift of tens of thousands of life in the UK quizzes to Kabul. There they will be distributed in a calm and orderly fashion.”
Anyone concerned their life is in danger simply has to take the test and “fill out the other required forms. Please ensure to use black biro and print in capitals. Then you simply wait for the forms to be processed. We’re keeping our heads while all around us our colleagues are losing theirs.”
There will be additional emergency activity too.
“We’ve spent years demonising refugees for short term political gain, but these are good refugees. Repeat after me. These are currently good refugees. Mostly because they’re far away. Which is exactly how we like the consequences of our arms exports and foreign policy choices.”
