The Courier & Advertiser (Angus and Dundee)
Brexit. What a laugh, eh?
Being the time of year when the worst jokes in the world are perpetrated in cracker form and we all dutifully fall about in response to the scintillating wordplay surrounding such concepts as low elf-esteem and the confused snowflake (“What’s white and goes up?” Oh, suit yourselves…), I thought it was time to inject a note of levity into the proceedings.
Now, as many of you may remember from way back in the day, my favourite Christmas rib-tickler is the one where the unsuspecting butt of the joke is asked to name all of Santa’s reindeer and comes up with the usual suspects, plus one called Olive. Because, of course, Rudolph’s theme song contains the deathless couplet: “All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names…”
And then there’s the seemingly innocent question, designed for all those hopeful little tykes who might otherwise leave out a sub-standard snack in their bid to entice the jolly red-faced one down their particularly chimney come December 24, about Mr Claus’s favourite pizza. Deep-pan, crisp and even. I thank you.
Right, you now know the standard of what you are about to read so if you have something better to do, like panicbuy satsumas or work out how to wrap a digeridoo, I suggest now would be the time to go and do it. Fast. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Of course, I claim no originality in this pursuit of the much-needed giggle and the essential guffaw, as this year’s “best” – note quotation marks – seasonal offering has already been served, tied up in tarnished tinsel, to the world-weary public. It takes the basic shape of: “Why was Theresa May sacked as nativity manager? She couldn’t run a stable government.”
Not bad, I grant you, with its mix of cynicism, world-weary acceptance, a vague passing reference (via nativity and stables) to the reason we celebrate this winter festival in the first place and the ineffable joy of kicking a woman when she’s down. Not to mention the elephant in the room (or stable) – the complete inability of our great leader to come up with even three wise men, which is why we have Boris Johnson in the Foreign Office and David Davis spouting (no, not quite a typographical error) in Brussels.
Which leads me neatly on to that thigh-slapping example of soul-sapping satire, Brexit. A state of affairs more lacking in wit, lightness and sparkle would be hard to imagine but that doesn’t mean you can’t squeeze a drop of fousty fun or slightly sour humour out of this wizened old chestnut of a situation. You can’t beat a complete lack of goodwill to all men, especially if they’re Johnny Foreigner.
Adding a contemporary twist to an old favourite always works well. One good thing to come out of the current political scenario in which we find ourselves after the EU referendum result is that we will no longer have to sing all the interminable verses of A Partridge in a Pear Tree, as the three French hens won’t be allowed through customs, let alone be granted residency rights, even if the Lords, leaping or otherwise, spring to their defence.
And although it’s always fun to put the crack into crackers, it isn’t absolutely de rigueur to mention anything Christmassy at all when searching for something to lighten the load over the festive season.
Take, for example, what to my mind was one of the best jokes to come out of 2016’s expression of the will of the people. An Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman walk into a bar. But then they all have to leave because the Englishman wants to. Updated to the present moment (and with a bit of careful fine-tuning about titles and terminology), that would surely translate into: “An Englishman, a Scotsman and a man with a regulatory alignment agreement walk into a bar…”
The aforementioned Mrs May, of course, has been accused of putting all her negotiating eggs in one basket while trying to play her cards close to her chest, a feat of political contortionism that even the ever-flexible Michael Gove might find impossible to replicate with any degree of credibility.
But with the British government team being perpetually pulled up by the 27 other nations who are still fully-fledged EU member states for demanding something for nothing and too much of everything, I suppose you could describe the current position as too many asks in one Brexit.
That’s all, folks. I promise you, that’s all. And let’s face it, the best we can hope for is to leave ‘em laughing; hopefully, for all our sakes, on the other side of their collective (straight) faces and not too far up their elegantlytailored, haute couture sleeves.
An Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman walk into a bar. But then they all have to leave because the Englishman wants to