Stop all the boats, cut off the RNLI’s phone
Toss the rabid Right a juicy little bone.
Silence the Libtards and with thumping drum
Bring out the Daily Mail, let Rishi’s Gammons come.

Let Suella’s Rwandan planes circle merrily overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘Your Asylum Claim is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of British doves
Let our humanitarian standing wear black cotton gloves.

“From the North, the South, the East and West
Fleeing conflict and war, we sought safety and rest.
You were our hope, our harbour, our Dover, our song
We thought you’d give us refuge. We were wrong.”

The EU’s stars are not wanted now: put out every one
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away all compassion as we enter these woods
For this Tory government can never come to any good.

(H/T W.H. Auden’s ‘Funeral Blues’, 1938)

Circle the wagons
Show your loyal-ty
Because now, more than ever
It’s all about me.

No surprises there
It was always thus
A sociopathic ego
with a Big Red Bus.

But now the gig is up
Chickens coming home to roost
The leaker’s leaking good stuff
About how we all got juiced.

We partied while you locked down,
kept the rules and died in droves
But one of us was prepping
Revenge Served Cold.

Now I’m thinking through a plan to save
my own sorry skin
Who will take the fall for me
like Anne Boleyn?

The head upon the chopping block
surely won’t be mine.
Come sacrifice your souls
at the Boris Johnson Shrine.

Operation Save Big Dog
Operation Save Big Dick
Operation Save Arrogant Prick
Operation Save Me Me Me Me Me

Carrie: Ta-daaaaa! You can open your eyes now…

Boris: Sweet Jesus! It looks like a Turkish bordello! I mean – perfectly divine, my little otter. Erm, how much did it cost again?

Carrie: Well, the thirty grand redecorating allowance was obviously inadequate, but I didn’t go a penny over deux cent mille.

Boris: 200,000 quid?!

Carrie: Darling, it was a total John Lewis nightmare. Had to start completely from scratch. Is there a problemo?

Boris: Just some of the natives getting restless. There’s talk of £840-a-roll wallpaper, a £10,000 ‘baby bear’ sofa, and the small matter of how we paid for everything.

Carrie: Who cares?

Boris: The Parliamentary Commissioner for Standards, apparently. Oh, and the nurses we gave a measly 1% pay rise, not to mention businesses who’ve gone tits up thanks to our handling of Covid and Brexit.

Carrie: Just keep your head down, Bozzie. It’ll all blow over, you’ll see.

In all honesty, Monday was a real low. Sure, we knew we were going to lose given the parliamentary maths, but it still hurt watching Tory after Tory vote our amendments down. I mean, why wouldn’t you want to stop the NHS being part of any future trade deal? Or keep chlorinated chicken off our tables? No, don’t answer that.

I know what you’re going to say. Why bother. Because, mate, we’re playing a long game. We forced them to show their hand; now their votes are on public record. Ammunition for when the election comes round.

Apart from this fine glass of Belgian beer, there’s a Rebecca Solnit quote that’s keeping me going. ‘Your opponents would love you to believe that it’s hopeless, that you can’t win. But hope is a gift you don’t have to surrender, a power you don’t have to throw away.’

Amen and cheers to that.