A week or two ago, a pro Brexit individual’s tweet landed in my Twitter feed. It said something about how he didn’t know why we were all still making such a fuss, because after all, the economy had never been healthier and it only went to show that any people still doom mongering, were in fact deluded. Obviously he said it in 140 characters, possibly with emojis. I care not.
I tweeted back that it was interesting he say this, given that Brexit hadn’t actually happened yet, but I was glad to see that his predictive powers were spot on.
I did not send the steaming pile of pooh emoji. You would have been proud of me.
Reply came there none.
Interestingly, since Theresa May started spouting Brexit Bilge (TM) at the Conservative Party Conference this week, the pound has been steadily tanking, and I wake today to find that it’s at a 31 year low.
It transpires that Brexit is not only Brexit, Brexit is HARD Brexit. This means it has to be cooked for six minutes, rather than the soft option, where we would at least be able to dip soldiers.
Apparently we will be leaving the single market, and kick starting Hard Brexit some time in the spring next year. I’m pleased we’ve been given plenty of warning, as this means I will have lots of time to stockpile acorns and sign up for a Ray Mears survivalist course, not that I equate a Hard Brexit with the zombie apocalypse or anything.
I don’t know why I’m panicking to be honest. After all, Andrea Leadsom has reminded us all what valuable resources we have in the UK, and how these are going to make us a fearsome trading powerhouse when we finally pull the plug. I could not be bothered to read the entire article, due to the fact that it makes me grind my teeth, but I gather that we are doing particularly well selling coffee to Brazil.
And ice to eskimos.
How fondly do I remember those old holidays spent on the coffee plantations of Somerset?
Although it could be those happy days spent taking mind altering drugs in a bush at the side of the M25, which I think is where Mrs Leadsom got her information about coffee plantations from.
If that were not cheering enough, and really who could fail to be cheered by this news, we are, apparently, world leaders in the production of innovative jams and marmalades, which the French surprisingly, are going to lap up by the container load. Because you know, they simply have absolutely no idea of how to throw fruit in a pan with a load of sugar and heat it until it sets. There are two reasons for this. Firstly, they are bloody foreigners and as such know absolutely nothing at all that has not been pointed out to them by a pompous, shouting Englishman brandishing a stick, a flag and a loudhailer. Secondly, it is a closely guarded secret, much like the Chinese and the method of silk production. You may think I have told you all there is to making jam, but clearly, we must have a secret ingredient which makes our jam infinitely superior to the jam production of three quarters of the known world.
If I told you what it was, Leadsom would have to send in the heavies to kill me.
It may be that the secret is actually the fact that we do not just make jams, we make ‘innovative’ jams. I can’t say I’ve ever had what I’d classify as an innovative jam, but that is probably because Leadsom is stock piling them in an old nuclear bunker somewhere, preparing for the dark times ahead when that’s all we’ve got to keep us going.
I’m imagining something along the lines of that last scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where the Ark is being carefully stashed in a giant warehouse full of art treasures. Picture Andrea, wandering the dimly lit stacks with a torch, gloating over jars and jars of gleaming, jewel like treasure, salivating at the thought of how impressed those Frenchies will be with our secret weapon, innovative jam.
As far as innovative flavours go, we must remember that we will probably only be allowed to draw on our traditional, British heritage for ingredients. I’ve come up with a few ideas already:
Pork crackling and apple with Colman’s mustard
Strawberry and Pimms with a hint of tennis ball.
The bitter tang of regret
Tears for the old empire
Humble fucking pie.
We must pray that Heston Blumenthal, that most innovative and British of gentlemen, never leaves our shores, or we will be royally screwed. Ditto Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and his secret weapon, Pam the Jam. We can’t risk having a drain on jam talent, much like the one we’re experiencing in the NHS with doctors.
This could explain why Jeremy Hunt looks so hell bent on destroying the NHS and throwing out all the doctors. Maybe he’s been too focussed on keeping our innovative jam resources both secret and safe. Yeah, that will be it. Don’t panic about the fact that we’re shutting hospital wards like windows and your knee is being operated on by the Fourth Wigston Scout troupe for their first aid badge. We’ll stick the whole country back together with jam.