Is it just me or is there too much clown porn infesting the media these days? I suppose it could have only been a coincidence that Bozo was launching himself (sorry the OUT campaign) in Dartford on the same day that a gasman had caught the largest rat in Britain. And for what it’s worth, those those of us who live in Essex affectionately call those who scuttle through the Dartford tunnel ‘tunnel rats’. But that’s enough rodentry for now.
The Bozo experience is becoming more bizarre by the day. Yesterday’s wheeze was to drive a red lorry to symbolise moving away. But hang on, Boris hasn’t got an HGV, (which is not a a sexually transmitted disease) so he would have to be in the passenger seat. Ho, ho, still not ready for the driver’s seat. What larks. There is always a ripple of excitement at a Bozo event. Is he going to fired, dressed as a bulldog in a blue tutu, from a cannon into the back garden of Number 10? Are the wheels going to come off the lorry? Will it leap through a burning hoop into a lake of Old English Marmalade? In other words, is this going to be a truck up? As it happens it wasn’t too much of a disaster except that the lorry was a Renault.
Then comes the speech. Advisers are now telling him to be a sort of up beat Willy Wonka. Once we are free of the Johnny Foreigner jackboot our green and pleasant land will be brimming with milk and honey, businesses will boom, the girls will get prettier and men’s penises will be allowed to grow by an extra three inches. Free, walking tall, standing proud. And this was the build up to the shuddering climax which would put the cream (full fat and English) into his éclat. And then it came. ‘I want Britain…..to be…..(oh, God the thrill of it)…..Europe’s……..(oh, this is too much)….Canada’. Mmm. Doesn’t quite have that thrill factor. But the choice wasn’t all that encouraging. Iceland? Sounds a bit to much like a frozen food chain. Norway? Barrels of oil rather than laughs. Switzerland? Cuckoo clocks, Nazi gold and a sense of humour that would make Chris Grayling sound like a funster. What about Liechtenstein then? Stamps, goats and sounds too foreign. So Canada it is then. Well, at least they share our Queen. Only one or two minor details. It took seven years to negotiate a trade deal, they have no say on the regulations that govern them in the single market and they pay for that privilege. Oh, and the deal doesn’t include services. Sounds very attractive. But of course little England will have a bigger, better, wonderfully fantastic trade deal, far, far better than Canada. And we will do it in a few minutes on the back of a fag packet. A bloody great gold crested British one with the severed head of Juncker on the front. That will learn ‘em. So in others words we won’t be like Canada at all. It’s all so confusing. But like the Mounties Bozo will always get his van.
On Thursday I had a splendid evening debating with Andy Burnham and Chris Smith at the Cambridge Union. The place was packed and much more fun than the Oxford lot. I’d forgotten just how good Andy is when he speaks with passion. Half way through my speech I remembered that a Cambridge college was having a bit of bother with a Nigerian cockerel. ‘Anyone here from Jesus?’ A few hands went up and I prayed that one of them wasn’t a Jehovah’s Witness. ‘I read in the TIMES that you are negotiating the removal of a cock. When you’re done could you turn your attention to a fellow called Boris?’ Well, I thought it was quite funny.
So thank you Cambridge Union for a wonderful night, your warm welcome and far too much wine.
