Brexit: The Musical

The slightly sing-song cadence and rhythm of Theresa May’s catchphrase when she says these words…

“Brexit…means…Brexit. (Pause) And WE’RE going to make a success of it.” (1.10, this video)

…has been rattling around in my head for a few months. It sounds like she’s about to break into a full-on jazz hands number.

Waiting around in an airport with my partner, sleep deprived, this idea became a quite lengthy synopsis for a very terrible production of ‘Brexit: The Musical’.

Waiting now for this to catch the attention of some big players in the West End and at some point I’m sure the royalties will come pouring in.

Opening scene

Dark, empty bar with just one barman silently cleaning glasses. An old man sits alone in the spotlight at a table, nursing a pint. He wears a tattered shirt, no jacket and a Union Jack tie.

Another old man, better dressed in a posher suit, enters. The spotlight follows him as he slowly approaches the other characters. 

Posh Man: I say, is anyone sitting here? [does double take] Oh. Farage. [pause] It’s been a long time. How…are you?

Farage: Cameron. Well, I’ll be damned. How have you been? Continue reading

Suffering from Post-Brexit brain fever

Here are some lyrics the Killers wrote and then crossed out:

I’ve got Docs, but I’m not a doctor.

I’ve got a neck, but I’m not a necrophiliac.

I’ve got legs, but I’m not a legislator.

I’ve got plums, but I’m not a plumber.

I’ve got mince, but I’m not a minstrel.

I’ve got toes, but I’m not a toaster.

I’ve got soup, but I’m not a supermodel.

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Today I heard Donald Trump described as looking like ‘the guy who would play the president in a porno’.

I don’t know who said it, but I like it, and am therefore making a note of it.

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Here in Britain, we’ve been experiencing a huge influx of slugs and snails (Screw you, Brussels bureaucrats- thank the heavens we’ve now put a stop to the insanity and taken back control!)

My partner and I have been trying to defend our garden, but each morning we go out and the veggies and clematis and other vulnerable plants have just been decimated. Sometimes it’s literally just a twig that’s left, surrounded by slime, as if to taunt us. It made pure hatred boil up in our hearts. (No, I don’t think that’s too melodramatic a phrase.)

Continue reading