Have you put the bunting up? Have you baked the Brexit Cake? Well, I couldn't just let it slide past without comment, could I?
So, the thirty-first of October is here, When we would be out of the EU "do or die", the date when Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson would rather "die in a ditch" (bit obsessed with the old death, that lad. I can relate, as a fellow fat bloke I, too, am preoccupied with thoughts of mortality), and I can't help but note that we're still, um, in the EU.
But wait, what was it that everyone's favourite one-time Territorial globe impersonator, Mark Francois said, shortly after brushing fried egg off his tie. I'm pretty sure he said there would be riots, if we weren't out by now. I think.....I think he said the country would....explode? Something like that. Come to think of it, animatronic frog-corpse, Nigel Farage, said something pretty similar. We had to leave by now, or this nation was going to rise up in bloody revolution.
Back in a sec, just going to check outside.
Nope, no riots. A couple of early trick or treaters and an elderly cat, yes, mass civil disturbances, not so much. Which is odd, they all seemed so certain.
So anyway, here we are, still part of the European Union and the world, astonishingly, doesn't appear to have ended. In fact, if anything, things seem to have improved slightly. There have been sightings of non-Brexit related news stories, Parliament have given themselves an election, which should hopefully keep them entertained for a bit (in a similar manner to how I use CBeebies to keep my three year old quiet while I get the tea on) and, without any interference from the guardians of fiscal responsibility, the pound seems to be staging something of a recovery.
I mean, there's plenty of scope for it all to go horribly wrong in fairly short order, but such sentiments are hardly in keeping with the spirit of the season, so I'll keep them to myself. In the meantime, let's get on with enjoying Brexit day, after all, it only comes three times a year.
So, the thirty-first of October is here, When we would be out of the EU "do or die", the date when Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson would rather "die in a ditch" (bit obsessed with the old death, that lad. I can relate, as a fellow fat bloke I, too, am preoccupied with thoughts of mortality), and I can't help but note that we're still, um, in the EU.
But wait, what was it that everyone's favourite one-time Territorial globe impersonator, Mark Francois said, shortly after brushing fried egg off his tie. I'm pretty sure he said there would be riots, if we weren't out by now. I think.....I think he said the country would....explode? Something like that. Come to think of it, animatronic frog-corpse, Nigel Farage, said something pretty similar. We had to leave by now, or this nation was going to rise up in bloody revolution.
Back in a sec, just going to check outside.
Nope, no riots. A couple of early trick or treaters and an elderly cat, yes, mass civil disturbances, not so much. Which is odd, they all seemed so certain.
So anyway, here we are, still part of the European Union and the world, astonishingly, doesn't appear to have ended. In fact, if anything, things seem to have improved slightly. There have been sightings of non-Brexit related news stories, Parliament have given themselves an election, which should hopefully keep them entertained for a bit (in a similar manner to how I use CBeebies to keep my three year old quiet while I get the tea on) and, without any interference from the guardians of fiscal responsibility, the pound seems to be staging something of a recovery.
I mean, there's plenty of scope for it all to go horribly wrong in fairly short order, but such sentiments are hardly in keeping with the spirit of the season, so I'll keep them to myself. In the meantime, let's get on with enjoying Brexit day, after all, it only comes three times a year.
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