MURDER ON THE BREXIT EXPRESS

The Brexit saga has all the ingredients of an Agatha Christie thriller — money, politics, intrigue, conspiracy, blackmail, and a strong, stable female central character.

Following this week’s news that Murder On The Orient express is being remade, who better to sort out this unholy mess than hercule Poirot himself?

It will need the considerable skills of the celebrated Belgian detective to unravel the plot and get to the truth.

We join the drama as Poirot gathers the suspects in the dining car of the Brexit express, as it leaves Brussels for the very last time bound for London. (It helps if you do the voice.)

MesdAMes et messieurs, you are probably wondering why I have invited you all here this morning.

Sacre bleu, Poirot. I’ve not had my petitdejeuner yet. I could murder un grand cognac et un bacon banjo.

All in good time, mon cher Jean-Claude drunker. Ze buffet, it will be open shortly. In the meantime, Captain ’Astings will relieve you all of your mobile telephonic devices. We don’t want any leaks to ze newspaper sensationelle deutschland Uber Alles.

Just get on with it, you irritating French dwarf. You have the charisma of a damp rag and you dress like a pox doctor’s clerk.

Mind your language, s’il vous plait, Monsieur Farage. I shouldn’t need to remind someone with your surname zat I am Belgian, not Francais. And I have been resident in London for many years.

Not for much longer, chum. We’re taking back control of our borders.

Be careful what you wish for, Farage. Poirot is your best hope of getting out of the eU alive. Zat is why Inspector Japp of scotland Yard has asked me to apply my little grey cells to zis case.

Very well, but hurry up and open the bar. I’m gasping for a pint of Bombardier and a large gin and tonic chaser.

Allow me to summarise the situation. There has been an attempt, most serieux, to steal the result of the Brexit referendum from under ze noses of the British people.

That is an outrageous suggestion, Poirot. We are merely trying to prevent a hard Brexit.

Not so outrageous, Monsieur Clegg. You and your fellow conspirators have resorted to methods most foul to rob the British people of their democratically expressed destiny. As you know perfectly well, a socalled ‘soft’ Brexit means no Brexit at all.

We are only trying to save the poor, deluded fools from themselves. They didn’t know what they were voting for. They bought the fake news peddled by the Right-wing Press.

Unlike the fake news peddled by Project Fear, the BBC and the Financial Times, n’est-ce pas? Ze editor of the FT got the French Legion d’honneur for services to europe, did he not? Pink ’Un by name, pinko by nature.

Now look here, Poirot, you’re Belgian, for heaven’s sake. Whose side are you on?

Poirot, he is on the side of truth and justice, a concept which seemingly is lost on Remoaniers like you, Monsieur Blair.

Steady on, Poirot. Everybody knows I’m a straight kinda guy.

As straight as a corkscrew, Monsieur dossier dodgy. And in case you have forgotten, Poirot

still intends to get to the bottom of the death of dr Kelly.

Careful, Poirot. I know my human rights.

Zen I suggest you get yourself a good lawyer, Monsieur Blair. And I don’t mean votre femme, la Witch Wicked, from Les Nonces sommes Nous.

Sorry to interrupt, Poirot.

What is it, ’Astings?

We’ve just heard that the line

is blocked at Calais. Apparently, a few thousand of those migrant chappies are trying to cross the Channel before Britain pulls up the old drawbridge.

I knew there would be an attempt diabolique to derail the Brexit express. Zis is your fault, Frau Merkin.

‘Ow iz it mein fault, Poirot?

You left the back door wide

open and invited into our safe european home millions of undesirables Arabistes and jihadists Islamique. I should have Inspector Japp charge you with the assisted suicide of an entire continent.

You are forgetting zat you are addressing ze most powerful woman in Europe.

Not for much longer, Frau Merkin. Permettez-moi to introduce Frau May, la Iron Lady

Marque deux, la Boadicea de Brexit.

Bonjour, Hercule. Bonjour, Angela.

What’s she doing here, Poirot?

I’ve been on a hiking holiday in the Swiss Alps and I was determined not to miss the last train out of Brussels. Brexit means Brexit, deal or no deal.

I’m not even discussing a deal unless you write a cheque for 100 billion euros immediately, payable to the european Central Bank, Frankfurt.

That’s blackmail. Can’t you arrest her, Poirot?

Un moment, Madame May. But first, you, too, still have some questions to answer.

Oh, very well. But I warn you Poirot, I can be a bloody difficult woman.

You say that Brexit means Brexit, but where were you in the six months leading up to the referendum? hiding behind the chaise-longue, n’est-ce pas? If Poirot is not mistaken, you were for Remain.

That was before I saw the chance to become Prime Minister.

how do we know that you’re not part of the conspiracy to stop Britain leaving the eU?

Oh, for heaven’s sake, Poirot. I’ve called a General Election to strengthen my negotiating hand. You should be investigating Drunker and his chums for trying to influence the election.

Pardon, Madame. Their clumsy attempts to interfere will only make a Tory victory more likely. You know full well ze British people don’t like being held to ransom, especially by foreigners.

And your point is?

I submit, Mrs May, that you have asked your friends Frau Merkin and Monsieur drunker to threaten Britain most dastardly because it plays into your hands.

Why on earth would I do that?

If you get a big majority, you can then turn round and announce that Brexit was a big mistake and Britain will be staying in the eU after all. And the 17.4million who voted Leave will have been screwed royalement.

You cannot be serious.

Nor can you, Madame. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have made Bonquing Boris your secretaire Foreign.

Er, Poirot . . .

What is it now, ’Astings? I was just getting to ze denouement.

Well, the good news is that they’ve cleared away the migrants at Calais.

excellente.

The bad news is that someone has driven a sort of shepherd’s hut packed with explosives into the Channel Tunnel and is threatening to blow it up unless there’s a second referendum on Brexit.

I knew it, zey are all in it together and think they can get away with murder. Inspector Japp, arrest them all!

Then I suggest you get yourself a good lawyer, Monsieur Blair. And I don’t mean votre femme, la Witch Wicked