Driving home from France yesterday, I stopped for a long and boozy lunch at a lovely medieval town called Laon. Along with a glorious cathedral, it boasts a tattooing and piercing parlour at every corner and a hairstyling salon called ‘Blond Shag’.
It’s good to see that the English ethos and language are making inroads into the very heart of the EU. Makes one feel at home, that, Brexit or no Brexit.
And speaking of Brexit, Jean-Claude Juncker, ‘Junk’ to his friends, is getting a lot of bad press these days – mostly because of his demanding a modest exit fee from Britain.
People call him intransigent, fanatical, greedy, alcoholic and many other things that can’t be mentioned in a public medium accessible to children. This is most unfair, especially since Junk always runs his list of demands by me before making it public.
This morning, for example, he sent me the most recent list he compiled last night, or rather at five in the morning, when Junk had just got home after a most profitable time out with friends. Apparently, Junk had bet them €100 that he could drink a yard of whisky – and won.
(For the benefit of those of you who haven’t lived, a yard is measured out on the bar and full shot glasses are set all along the line. The bettor then empties them in turn, going from left to right without stopping.)
Appropriately refreshed, Junk felt positively magnanimous, which is why his demands are so reasonable, and I for one could find nothing wrong with them. See what you think (I’m quoting Junk’s prose verbatim, including his customary mishmash of languages):
“Dear Alex, it’s stark raving verrückt to think of Brexit as leaving a club. Ces Schweinhunden rosbifs ought to think of it as a divorce. Britain is a rich old homme who marries a beautiful much younger Mädchen and 15 years later files for divorce. It’s only fair that he maintain her for Leben in the style to which she has become habituée, nicht war? Let’s stop dickering about a billion here, billion there and call it an even trillion Deutschmarks, aka euros. Jawohl?
“La même chose applies to the Mädchen’s Kinder, who reside in Britain or will do so in the future. Britain must pay lifetime child support for them, otherwise known as welfare. Much has been made lately of the unemployment rate among EU immigrants, which currently stands at 14 per cent, three times the national average. That misses le point. It’s outrageous that 86 per cent (sick!!!) of the Mädchen’s Kinder are forced to work for a living. Nostalgic for those Victorian workhouses, are you, britische Schweinhunden?
“And just because Sie leben in Britain, it doesn’t mean these pauvres Kinder should obey British laws. They’ll live and die by the laws of their Mutter, the EU. Ordnung surtout!
“Ireland wasn’t so much married as violée. If Britain the rapist doesn’t wish to spend the next 50 years in prison, a compensation is called for. Ulster springs to mind, and I mean not the overcoat but the seven northern counties Ireland lost along with her virginité. They must be incorporated into the Republic and therefore the EU: Ein volk, Fourth Reich, ein Juncker.
“Committed as I am to liberté, fraternité, Aligoté, I think that not only Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales must stay in the EU if they so choose (or even if they don’t), but also such formerly independent parts of England as Mersey and Wessex. Les rosbif are obsessed with sovereignty, nicht war? Bien, what’s sauce pour l’oie is sauce pour le gander. Heil sovereignty!
“These are the only major demands I can think of this late at night or rather early in the morning. There are also some minor ones:
“Les rosbifs must stop describing me in pejorative terms, such as ‘alkie’, ‘whisky breath’, ‘piss artist’, ‘juicer’, ‘boozer’ and ‘wino’. Just because an homme can drink a yard of whisky he’s none of those choses. Call me a bon vivant if you must. But do call me to a piss-up.
“They must also stop comparing mon amie Angie Merkel to Hitler. Her moustache is smaller, her poitrine is bigger, and she doesn’t gas Juden. There are other differences as well, but I can’t think of them this early in der Morgen.
“Write to me if I’ve left anything out. Must pop out to les toilettes now. You know how they say ‘in vino vomit us?’ A bientôt. Your Freund Junk”
I haven’t replied to Junk’s letter yet, but at first glance I find his demands perfectly reasonable. And if you don’t, you’re a bigot, Little Englander, reactionary and – in all likelihood – also a homophobe, global warming denier and a male chauvinist Schwein.
Oh well, back to my deep thoughts about the EU and sordid fantasies about the Blond Shag, which, according to the sign, is only available at that hairstylist’s. A la prochaine, Laon!
Germany the dominant European power. Who would have thought it in 1945. And is now dominant without resorting to military force. Sorta like Japan became a dominant Asian power also without resorting to force.
Yes, but the Remainders insist that they love cold porridge and demand more of it.