On Saturday last, I joined a mind-bendingly diverse throng of assorted happy deviants and their “normal” allies (feel free to speculate about which I am) to witness the Pride in London parade and subsequent LGBTQ-themed revels.
While the heart was gladdened and the soul enraptured, the feet may never forgive me (MAN, it was a long parade this year; I haven’t stood still in the one place for so long since my primary school teacher suffered a fatal stroke in the middle of a game of Simon Says.)
Now, as I recuperate with my ankles at a suitably elevated angle (ow) I can’t help but wonder: whatever happened to the Festival of Brexit? This oft-promised but never yet delivered (appropriately enough) shindig should surely have taken place by now.
Whatever can the delay be? Logistical hiccups? Organisational glitches? Surely it can’t simply be the case that, six years after the triumphant referendum, Brexit is now about as popular as herpes and that any such festival is likely to be less well attended than a bit of luggage that’s had to be destroyed in a controlled explosion?
Assuming that the Festival of Brexit actually DOES go ahead at some point in the future, and further assuming that there’s a PARADE of Brexit (why not), let’s speculate as to what sort of thing we might see proceeding through the streets of London on the Pride in Brexit Parade…
THE WONDERS OF BRITISH AGRICULTURE FLOAT
Even the bed-wettingest of doubters, naysayers and moaning Minnies must surely acknowledge that Brexit has had a transformative effect – possibly irreversibly so – on the British food industry.
So it’s only fitting that this is commemorated in the form of a huge, colourful rolling collage of rotting unpicked fruit, rancid unsaleable fish, and burning pigs.
THE ‘COME TO RWANDA’ HOLIDAY FLOAT
Bigging up the new hot, hot holiday destination! It’s THE place to go when you’re fleeing somewhere that’s not entirely unlike Rwanda to start with! OR if you’ve just had your ass handed to you in the two worst by-election defeats in recent history and you’d rather not do any interviews!
THE IMPERIAL MEASUREMENTS CHARIOT
Standing dozens of hands high (or a handful of yards) and built at the cost of countless guineas, this moving testament to the superiority of traditional British values (both social and numerical) will astonish the scores of onlookers as it inches forwards (that works) at a speed of several furlongs per scrupulum.
Unfortunately, this may cause a tailback of several leagues in the middle of the parade as no one has any idea how long a “scrupulum” is supposed to last.
THE NUMBER 10 DOWNING STREET PARTY BUS
Because nobody knows how to party like the Conservative party!
With ABBA hits pumping out of massive speakers and wheely suitcases full of booze, the staff of No 10 will take you back to that hot, hot summer of 2020 as they dance on the tables, swig publicly subsidised Tesco Merlot, while jeering and throwing bread rolls at…
THE NHS WHEELBARROW
… as it is pushed squeakily along by the last as-yet undeported Nigerian nurse in Britain, laden with useless knock-off Chinese PPE imported by Somebody In The Cabinet’s Brother-in-Law.
THE EMPEROR BORIS VITIATUS IMPROBUS
To celebrate his recent elevation to the status of “living god”, our benign emperor will bless his people in person as he is borne aloft on a jewelled litter by a loyal cohort of Daily Express readers, and attended lovingly by a harem of easily impressed pretty young interns with serious daddy issues.
Our beloved Caesar may not yet be fiddling while Britain burns, but you can rest assured he’ll be fiddling with something.
THE “ENEMIES OF THE PEOPLE” FLOAT OF SHAME
The list of “enemies of Brexit” is long, comprehensive and already written, principally by the scribes of the loyal Tory press. Once a “master list” has been compiled, it shouldn’t be too hard to persuade the equally compliant Metropolitan Police to round up some of the more prominent usual suspects so they might be displayed, leg-ironed and miserable, on the back of a flat-bed lorry at the head of the parade.
The decent folk lining the streets will then be free to boo and jeer at the sorry cabal of activist judges, de-whipped One Nation Tory MPs, Remainers (see you there, folks) and so-called “satirists” (yep, definitely see you there). And boo and jeer they will, lustily too, for fear that the watching police officers will pick up on their lack of fervour and toss them up on the back of the wagon as well.
POEM OF THE WEEK
There are many rules in parliament
But here’s a good place to begin:
If you’re meeting Boris Johnson
KNOCK BEFORE YOU GO IN