We’ve got to distract attention from Putin’s Nazi fancy dress party
May could be Catherine Tate at Irish border: ‘Am I bovvered?’
I DON’T want to sound alarmist but there are only 82 days left until the World Cup begins.
Which doesn’t give us much time, if we do want to boycott it, to get an alternative event lined up to distract attention away from what the Foreign Secretary is billing as Putin’s Nazithemed fancy dress party.
We’ll need something sexy to compete with the breathtaking skills of Messi and Ronaldo. Something dramatic to make up for the lack of BMWs being burned in streets from Carlisle to Croydon, as revenge for Germany knocking us out again.
So what about utilising the trait we’ve always been famed for but are now excelling in: humour? As Jacob Rees-Mogg said this week: “Britain has to decide if it is a serious country or a joke nation.”
Well, it’s pretty clear it’s the latter, so let’s hold a month-long comedy festival to take the spotlight away from what the Government sees as the Jules Rimet/KGB propaganda carnival.
And before you say we no longer have the acts who resonate globally like Peter Cook, Peter Sellers, Charlie Chaplin and Stan Laurel, you’re wrong. Right now some of our most prominent comedians are giving outsiders the biggest of belly laughs – and I’ve put together an opening bill.
Starting with Moggy, his butler could dress him as Arthur Askey (i.e. as normal) stand him outside the Passport Office and let him tell the one about the country that demanded to take back control of its blue passports from those lazy, blood-sucking Europeans.
Then when they got the chance to do so, they asked the lazy Europeans if they could make the passports for them as they would do a better job. Ay-thang-yaw, playmates!
Let’s get Nigel Farage, dressed as Austin Powers’ twin, Repatriate Powers, on a boat on the Thames chucking haddock overboard to symbolise his rage at surrendering our fishing rights to the EU.
He can tell the howling punters how, when he sat on the EU Fisheries Committee for three years, he was so concerned about the issue he only turned up for one of 42 meetings, yet still picked up his £74,000 salary plus expenses. Groovy baby!
We could have Boris Johnson doing his usual tatty-headed, wild-eyed Doddy impression outside the Foreign Office, spraying out gags like: “What a day it is, to tell the descendents of the 20 million Russians killed in the Great Patriotic War against the Nazis that their World Cup is as obscene as Hitler’s 1936 Olympics.” By Jove, missus!
Let’s film Prince Charles sat in his Highgrove armchair dressed as Jim Royle, updating us on the revelations about him in Tom Bower’s new book.
How he travels everywhere with his own toilet seat, changes his clothes up to five times a day, makes his staff transport his “complete bedroom” when staying with friends, including his orthopaedic bed. And how he has four gardeners “who lie, nose down, on a trailer pulled by a slowmoving Land Rover” to lift weeds in his garden. Privileged, my arse!
Topping the bill, Theresa May could be Catherine Tate, chewing gum at the Irish border and saying “am I bovvered though?” as businessmen on either side scream at her to get her act together, and behind them gleeful terrorists bring their buried ArmaLites up from the ground.
And for the finale, we can go live to the Luzhniki Stadium in Moscow where Prince Harry is sat in the posh seats, dressed in his favourite Nazi party uniform, planting a swastika on Putin’s back during a Mexican wave.
That’ll show ‘em.