There’s a sort of multivariate anarchy in the air at the moment, and it’s hard to say where it might lead next.
Diane Abbott says there shouldn’t be a Second Brexit Referendum, John McDonnell says there should. Mark Carney says Brexit will be an econo-fiscal disaster, Theresa May says her version won’t be, and Philip Hammond is somewhere between the two. A Muslim lady on Twitter this morning asserted that ‘Islamophobia is racism” (by definition, it can’t be) an Islamic preacher said paedophilia is OK because it’s part of Muslim culture (culture?) and a BBC spokesperson said the May v Corbyn debate is on (it isn’t).
“Oh yes it is!” (Audience) “Oh no it isn’t!”
Christmas Panto starts earlier every year, doesn’t it?
I’m quite attracted by the idea of the major political and cultural debates of the day being played out as a surreal tableau in which one well-loved pantomime leads smoothly into another, like an ancient episode of Monty Python’s Flying Circus. We are entering the season of epiphany, and so why not?
Theresa Mayladdin rubs her magic lamp and hey presto…the genie of the lamp pops out, in the guise of Olly Robbins, to grant her three wishes. She asks for election victory, a Remainer Brexit to please everyone, and her survival as Tory leader. He grants her all three, but turns out to be incompetent. It’s a contemporary update adding reality to an old fantasy.
Cinderella Brexit wants to go to the Ball, but the three ugly sisters (Theresa May, Ollyve Oil and Phyllis Hammond) force her to stay at home and clean behind Cruella Merkel’s sausage fridge. The Fairy Princess Jacquie Reece-Snob conjures up a golden coach and sequined dress to transport her to the Ball, where she is enchanted by the silver tongue and champagne of Prince Boris. Too late, she realises it is past midnight, and turns into Chequers Remainoid.
David Davis lookalike Peter Pan does battle with SS Eutanic captain Barnier Hook, and throws Hook’s ticking clock overboard – where it is swallowed by Tinkerbell Mayniac, the gullible crocodile. She tries to projectile-vomit the clock into the Houses of Parly Mental – with hilariously tragic results.
There is, without doubt, fun for all the family here. I fully expect thousands of Belgium-based EU commissioners to pile into a series of charabancs and make the trip to London for Christmas, where they will no doubt split their sides laughing at Dick Whittington’s abject fear of beanstalks, dwarves and Bank of England governors.
Onto centre stage walks Whittington, secretly shadowed by the shambling form of Jean-Claude Drunker.
“Behind you!” yell the audience
The terrified Dick turns, sees a harmless lush, and disappears in a puff of smoke.