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Cloning Sir Nigel Farage and smuggling him into the Visegrád nations…

Well, my dears, the preparations for the 1815 commemorations in Barchester are well under way. The statue of General Sir Bufton Tufton-Dufton, who led the 23rd Foot and Mouth Hussars against the French at the Battle of Verhofstadt-am-Dummer, is being decked with garlands of Bourbon lilies and English roses as a sign of forgive and forget. There’s even talk of a flying visit from President Macroleon of France, who will expand on his Grande Armée Européenne idea to combat the threats from China, Russia and the United States. This seems to occupy his mind a great deal of late, no doubt a welcome respite from caring for the elderly. It is somewhat disheartening to know that, however much we humble Britons (who ‘never ever shall be slaves’) want to wave ‘So long, farewell…’ to the Zollverein, we continue to labour under a prime minister who cheerfully signs up to anything put in front of her as long as it is done on the quiet, thus ensuing our own Tommy Atkinses will forever be part of ‘The Little Corporate’s’ glorious globalist adventures.

I had to dig out the smelling salts the other day when Lady Arabella Gresham descended on The Palace in a state of near hysteria. Eventually, the Earl Grey and hobnobs calmed her down enough to elicit the cause of her agitation.

“We have had a compulsory purchase order slapped on Greshambury,” she wailed, dabbing her eyes with a cambric square.

“Goodness!” I exclaimed, “Tell me more.”

Lady Arabella explained that the government want to build 44,000 houses on the estate as part of their pledge to provide cheap, affordable dwellings for our rising population. The proposed new town (for that is indeed the scale of things) will be named ‘Javidsbury’ and will include 50 mosques, two souks, several halal slaughter yards and 60 benefit offices. Sir Roger Scruton was going to advise on beautification, but he might have to step down after denying there is such a thing as Islamophobia.

“But what of the hall itself?” I enquired.

“Oh, that is to become ‘The Al-Corbyn Madrassah’,” said Lady Arabella, “For the Many, not the Few.”

I could find no words of comfort, for the Morlockian dystopia is already upon us and its advocates are Legion.

Mr. Slope was inspired by one of Cranmer’s recent postings regarding Christingle songs, and has taken up the quill to produce the following:

White light, white light,
A beautiful thing,
White light, white light,
Now let us all sing,
But just add a prism
And then you will see,
The wonderous rainbow,
Of diversity…

I have locked him in the broom cupboard until he comes up with something more traditional.

The United States is another country; they do things differently there. This week saw the outcome of the mid-term elections, which means the House of Reprehensibles is controlled by the Demoncrats, leaving the Senate in the hands of the pro-Trumpers. Those expecting a ‘Blue Wave’ got more of ‘dribble’, but it is enough to cause President Trumpelstiltskin a two-year-long headache. However, I read in The Jupiter this morning that electoral shenanigans are afoot, with some of the senatorial results coming under scrutiny – uncounted ballot boxes appearing out of nowhere and accusations of illegality flying hither and thither.

“The Demons will stop at nothing,” roared the Archdeacon, as we left the recently completed Puginesque Church of St. Willibald the Brazilian after a service of thanksgiving for the 70th birthday of the Prince of Wales. “There isn’t a dastardly deed too… dastardly… that these progressively insane la-la-land flouncers with their Winfrey lifestyles and Whoopi ringlets would not do to overturn the Trumpian swamp-draining revolution. Why, I understand a group of masked Antifa thugs tried to break into the home of a right-wing journalist and terrorise his family – will these people ever by arrested? No, they will not!”

“The police are very busy these days,” I said, “both in America and here. There’s that nasty shooting in California which I’m afraid leaves many of us uncomfortably numb, and so many people say nasty things that the poor constables have all on to track them down. Offending is an offence, as recent police advertisements make quite plain. Feelings are what count these days, facts are immaterial.”

“One prays the pendulum will one day swing back, and a reckoning is made,” said the Archdeacon.

Indeed.

Poor M. Barmier is working too hard. He sees Farages popping up all over Europe, as if we have been busy cloning Sir Nigel and smuggling him into the Visegrád nations under the cloak of darkness. In fact, all those ‘Farages’ are home-grown patriots who dislike being dictated to by the Euromonster. Of course, it is only natural that unelected bureaucrats fear the wrath of the general public and will demonise populism at every opportunity – they know one day the worm will turn. Meanwhile, the real Mr. Farage warns that our entire political class is deliberately undermining Brexit. Well of course they are, and have been all along. I do hope you are compiling your list of Euro fellow travellers… I have mine.

My cold is much better, thank you all for those kind words last week. It was a real stinker, but a cunningly applied bread poultice and goblets of mother’s ruin did the trick. I leave you with the wise words of Mr. Bunce (of Hiram’s Hospital):

“If you saw Mr. Corbyn and Mrs. May drowning in a river five yards in front of you, which pub would you go to?”

Bless you, Mr. Bunce, and bless all of you, my dear friends, too.