At the End of the Day


I can’t tell you what a relief it was today to hear Tony Blair tell us all how we need a Second Referendum, and that he’d like the choice on the ballot paper to be as follows:


Risky leap in the dark Hard Times disaster Brexit


Big Safe Warm hugs in the bosom of the European Union

I find it very hard to be fair to Blair; but give the bugger his due, last week he showed the common sense so lacking on both sides of the Brexit debate by leaving his tribe and saying, “This [May Deal] is not a negotiated departure, it’s a capitulation”.

That he is ever so right can be judged by the fact that Theresa May still refuses to release the legal advice she was given on the deal. I mean, here you are – an embattled PM beset by the slings and arrows of 650 MPs and 80 million people – and suddenly a way to wriggle out of it all presents itself: “This was the advice I was given”.

But no, Mother Theresa eschews this escape route, and censors the information. So tell me, all you folks out there in medialand, how exactly do you interpret her behaviour?


Enough of this jolly banter: let us turn to more serious matters. Last night, Noel Edmonds was evicted from the Australian jungle. This is a socio-media crisis of such enormity, the Gilets Jaunes will be blown off the front pages. Earlier today, Baron Adonis told the tabloid SunSportStar, “This is simply intolerable and yet another sign of the ruthless Leaver strategy to marginalise all those correct British thinkers who know that we must remain in the EU and I shall be writing to the BBC to ask why this disgraceful outburst of populism has been allowed onto our TV screens, even if it is an ITV programme”.

Sources close to Baron Astonish confirmed last night that they were concerned about his mental health. But Beauty Queen Eleni Poppadoppledoo (a former Miss Cyprus) defended him under questioning from Piers Mouthorgan on Good God Britain yesterday, saying “He is just a silly old tit really, but me an’ my mum like, we feel sorry for ‘im an’ that.”


I think it should be obligatory for all potential candidates for high office to reveal the forenames of their parents. If you look at the evidence, the parental nomenclature of many of our so-called leaders gives a clue as to why they are either tedious or distinctly odd.

Donald Trump’s parents were called Fred and Mary

Angela Merkel’s creators were called Horst and Herlind

Theresa May’s Mum and Dad spent a lifetime being called Hubert and Zaidee

Boris Johnson was the product of Stan and Charlie

Ashok and Miriam gave life to Leo Varadker.

I ask you: if invited to a large supper party (and told that the other guests were called Fred, Mary, Horst, Herlind, Hubert, Ziadee, Stan, Charlie, Ashok and Miriam) would you be fairly quickly making the excuse that you had a previous engagement to see the opera The Electrification of the Soviet Union?

And with that, dear friends, I am signing off tonight. Whatever you do, don’t mention Brexit. I did a couple of times, but I think I got away with it.