Brexit isn’t about Europe – and it never was

Remainers got it wrong in 2016, and they have got it wrong ever since. Brexit is not about Europe, and the fact that they think otherwise is laughable, and even slightly sweet.

Look at the evidence. Brexiters aren’t stupid, contrary to the popular trope. Not the ones running the campaigns, at least. Europe was a whipping boy, an Aunt Sally, a scapegoat. The Brexit debate was about misdirection over Europe, and even the Remainers fell for it. So much for the intellectual elite.

Europe was the Trojan Horse through which Brexit could happen. By tapping in to the lingering resentment felt by Britons over the loss of the Empire, the feeling of disaffection (for whatever reasons), the transferred nostalgia for a glorious past where we won wars and world cups, it was the obvious choice to blame Europe. They lost, after all, yet managed to drag us down to their level.

The announcement of the European Super League of top football teams is a Trojan Horse in much the way Europe was with Brexit. If you look at The Beautiful Game as a whole, the Super League is a stupid idea. In the same way, if you look on the economy as a whole, Brexit is a stupid idea. But that is to miss the point. The ESL is nothing to do with football, and Brexit is nothing to do with economics.

The key expression is Follow The Money. Who wants to Take Back Control, and why? With Brexit, it was widely – and erroneously – believed to be the United Kingdom regaining its independence and surging forwards (or backwards?) to a glorious future (or past). This kind of ambiguous muddled thinking was deliberately encouraged, again to conceal the true motives.

Like the ESL, the aim of Brexit is to concentrate more money into fewer, rightly favoured, hands, and to prevent it from escaping. The People, after all, are only there to generate tax revenues for the leaders, just as football fans are only important so long as they cough up for match tickets and TV subscriptions.

Brexit isn’t about Europe, and it never was.

English clubs should no longer compete in Europe now we have got Brexit done

Amid all this fuss over the superior English clubs joining a European “Super League”, one fact has escaped most people. We Got Brexit Done. We are out of Europe. Now they are trying to force our teams into a permanent European alliance. In the immortal words of Liz Truss: This. Is. A. Dis. Grace! 

The argument for staying in European competitions was lost after The Vote in 2016. Remaining in the Champions’ League and its successors is a betrayal of the Will Of The People as expressed so clearly in the referendum. 

The biggest and best clubs, as defined by their balance sheets, would be forever removed from defining themselves as English ever again. The guilty parties are Arsenal, Tottenham, Chelsea, and three others, based (almost unbelievably) in The North. 

This European closed shop would lead to our magnificent English clubs become soft and lazy. They would lack the motivation and pride needed to thrash Stoke on a wet Wednesday evening in December. Every argument successfully applied in favour of Brexit applies here. We must rid ourselves of this feeble dependency on Europe in football as in economics. 

Instead we should apply to join the TransPacific MegaLeague, in order to teach our oriental friends that English football is the best. Ordinary fans like myself would fill the directors’ boxes in Tokyo, Beijing and Shanghai in no time. 

The aforementioned Liz Truss could Chair the League, and games could be played inside active volcanoes where there is ample space for Spectators. The playing fields will, naturally, be level. 

The winners will receive a lifetime’s supply of pork, provided and presented by Truss herself. 

And if you would prefer to watch your world beating team get world beaten by the puny and disrespectful likes of West Bromwich Albion, tough. You lost, get over it. 

Stuck in France: my personal nightmare

France has its virtues. It has an agreeable climate. There is an unlimited supply of delicious fresh food and fine wine. There is even the reputation of slightly loose morals, if you are that way inclined. Unfortunately, all the people speak French, so these undoubted pleasures pall after a while, and one is desperate to return to good old Blighty.

Ah, the rain, the chill wind, the endless grey tarmac, the soggy chips and the limp lettuce. Britain, land of heroes. Although far from representing oneself as a hero, one does crave home soil. However, this is impossible right now for me, as I have become trapped in a bureaucratic nightmare so characteristic of the EU.

For I am unable to return home. The French have closed their borders – presumably this is an illegal act, since only a truly independent sovereign nation is able to do this – because of the panic over the Covid-19 virus. This appalling state of affairs is set to continue for some while. This dreadful treatment of a proud British Citizen is an example of how the EU has regarded us all along. This is not intended to become a political diatribe, but my experience demonstrates just how right we were to Leave.

My advisors inform me that the UK is now a 3rd country. This is just ridiculous. The UK is the number one country. Third place belongs to some insignificant, tinpot nation. Ireland, maybe, or Greece, but not the UK.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. Once 90 days have passed France will be obliged to deport me. This indignity I will endure in order to return to Glorious Great Britain. In the interim I shall be obliged to endure la vie Françoise and merely dream of concrete, traffic jams, and oafs brawling outside Wetherspoons.

Keep the home fires burning!

We already control Whitehall, now let’s acquire Pall Mall and Northumberland Avenue

Never mind the Monopolies Commission. Control is vital to the Ruling Class. To remain in the Pink, investment in key properties must take place.

The covid crisis has hit rental income badly. This was an unlucky roll of the dice. Private companies have, sadly, had to let staff go, in order that they may still afford to pay their dividends. There is nothing left in the Community Chest.

The solution is to acquire a greater number of properties. Whitehall, though it produces a not inconsiderable sum, is under pressure from the unpatriotic woke public standards office to reduce the amount of taxpayers’ money spent on renting offices, houses, hotels and the like. We exhort UnoTestiocular readers to club together to acquire the entirety of Pall Mall and Northumberland Avenue. We need only show the world that we possess the cojones.

Expert opinion suggests that this move would, at a stroke, double our rental income. We have been advised, however, to avoid one well-known property on Pall Mall. The advice is not to purchase St James’s Palace at the current time, out of respect for Prince Philip.

We must take the Chance. (Nobody in our circles would ever pay a £10 fine.) But we must not be too greedy. Doubling our income is desirable, naturally, but doubling three times could land us in Jail, although it is probable that someone in the know will be able to produce a Get Out Of Jail Free card.

Quite frankly, this is an unsurpassed opportunity to erect many hotels. London is still a big draw internationally, and should prices prove a little steep for some, well that’s business. We can be flexible and offer to receive payment in property. This has the advantage of taking lesser players out of the game.

And remember, we can always collect all the fines from the so-called “Free Parking”. Advance to Mayfair!

If England truly wants its independence, we must forget about Ireland

Brexit means Brexit. And now that we have Brexit, we, the English, must demand our independence, and once more become a giant on the world stage. As always, there is a price to pay. The deplorable scenes in Belfast show the way forward. We must jettison Ireland to avoid being tainted by their petty internal squabbles.

This means, sadly, that we must disappoint our Unionist friends – for now. English independence was always the primary objective of Brexit, and if you didn’t realise this, then you cannot have been paying attention properly.

But England cannot be associated with the senseless civil war on the Emerald Isle. It is better to let Ireland go, than to tolerate these scuffling fools and thereby destroy our glorious reputation.

It need not be this way. Our position is clear, and always has been. We genuinely love Ireland, but cannot abide the division between North and South. A united Ireland would be welcomed back into the English fold, but there must be two conditions. Firstly, this abhorrent violence towards the forces of Law & Order must cease. Secondly, Dublin must forego its foolish and damaging insistence of dangling from the coat-tails of the EU.

We must be a lean, mean Nation. We must now take our preeminent position in the developed world. Global Britain will become, once again, the heart of the Global Village. We will achieve this through a divine mixture of ideological and Anglo-Saxon purity. Our awestruck neighbours will bow before the might of England. The restoration of the Empire is around the corner, and we must seize this opportunity with both hands.

So once again, we must offer Ireland the choice. Join hands with us, and prosper. Reject us, and feel the consequences.

Colony, Overseas Territory, or Vassal State? The choice is yours. Over to you, Dublin.

Exploiting your contacts for profit is a benefit of success – why should politicians be exempt?

A successful businessman is successful precisely because he is able to spot opportunities others can not. And part of that success is to ensure that one’s secretary maintains one’s Rolodex. Over time, these contracts accumulate until one is in a position to telephone a chap to help one out in almost any scenario. 

Naturally, one has to give a little in return. However, if one secures a contract by offering a more substantial discount than the normal, then one can expect to secure repeat business and recommendations. And so the Rolodex swells, you gain a formidable reputation, and an enormous quantity of goodwill. Now one dies not rely on this goodwill by tawdry capitalisation. It must remain off the balance sheet. One does not boast. 

The true mark of success is when you no longer need to schmooze people at your London club, or ensure a round of golf with social climbing Johnny come lately types. 

Which brings us to David Cameron. One of the most successful and charismatic Prime Ministers since Sir Alec Douglas-Hume, he should have been set up for life. Politicians are traditionally exempted from exploiting their contacts in the name of profit, but there is no good reason why this should be. In any case, this restriction is generally more honoured in the breach than the observance. 

Cameron could have maintained a dignified profile. He could have earned his pocket money providing £50K dinners to aspiring types like Rishi Sunak and dear little Mark Francois. But his clumsy lobbying was crude and vulgar. This is not the way that one should trade upon one’s reputation. One is expected to place a number of calls, perform introductions, provide a sumptuous luncheon with fine wines, brandy, and cigars. One greases the wheels, to use the vernacular, and in return receives a six figure sum. 

But one must be discreet. One should be invisible. One should not allow the scandal-seeking gutter press to catch even a whiff. This is not their concern. And if, by misfortune or incompetence, one is discovered, then one must act with contrition. 

Cameron should be permitted to benefit from his contacts list, like anyone else. But his blundering has put our whole way of life under threat. 

Why Labour needs a buffoon as leader

Labour cannot hope to progress under its current management. But if the Labour Party were ever to think seriously about becoming a political force in the UK, they must adapt with the times. The days of worthy but dull lawyers with forensic questioning skills are over. The Labour Party needs a buffoon as its leader. Send in the clowns!

Look at how well this approach has worked for the Conservative Party. Nowadays, of course, “conservative” is a dirty word in Conservative circles. The Tories have proved the most progressive party in recent years. The grey men have become showmen, and the greatest showman is of course Boris Johnson. Politically, the man is nowhere, but in the modern arena this is unimportant. Style has triumphed over substance, and until Labour learns this lesson it is doomed to failure.

It is not certain where this lefty buffoon may come from. Starmer is merely a throwback to the long-departed dreary competence of a Major or a Brown. Corbyn was worse: a throwback of a throwback, who never developed from being a shouty rebel at a Ban The Bomb rally. To stand a chance of even competing, Labour must drop worthy policy in favour of three word slogans. It must stop trying to sound reasonable, nobody wants that. It needs a vacuous fool to shout the first thing that comes into his head while waving a fish in the air. That is what the people want.

And note, it must be he, not she. Think of prominent left wing women, like Kate Hoey, Julia Hartley-Brewer, Arlene Foster. Not a trace of a sense of humour in any of them. No, you need a man, preferably a seedy aging Lothario who pleasures much younger women in a vain attempt to recapture his youth. A man, whose mere appearance and demeanour are comical.

Labour needs to be funny. Crack a joke, Keir! Tell us a rambling anecdote and lose your thread! Turn up to work drunk!

And then the Tories will really tear into you.

The War On Woke will never be won – which is why we must keep on fighting

Almost every day we hear of atrocities committed by The Left in the name of Woke. There is, it seems, a never-ending stream of new genders and pronouns, which we must instantly absorb and respect. There is a bottomless well of hand-wringing over everyday words, in case somebody could possibly take offence. There is a plethora of limitations on what we may say or believe. It is the duty of every right-thinking Englishman to push back against such poisonous flim-flam.

How seriously should we take this Wokery? Many would contend that it is so laughably pathetic that it should just be ignored. But this country has standards, and the world looks to England to take the lead in such matters. 

In England, we do not pander to the weak-minded. We lay down the law. That is called strong rule, and if you don’t like it, you are free to leave. There is a rhythm to life in England, and rules must be delivered from the top down. Getting above one’s station merely upsets the apple cart, and this is the aim of the Woke Brigade. They want to put the cat among the pigeons just to watch their betters have their feathers ruffled.

We must not allow the Little Man to become too big for his boots. Wokery aims to disrupt the English way of life, forgetting that it is precisely because of the English way of life that Britain became Great. We did not gain an Empire and win two World Wars by considering the correct form of address for a man who thinks he is a woman. In the old days we had a word for this sort of person: a nancy boy.

We can never win the War On Woke, but we must keep on fighting the good fight. Otherwise in no time we will all be forced to be non-binary non-gendered rainbow-coloured nobodies.

Boris Johnson could learn a lot of lessons from Henry VIII

The Churchill comparison is oft made. But a more apt parallel is the famous – indeed, infamous – Henry VIII. A giant among Kings, and an iconic figure even today, over 400 years since his glorious reign, Henry could teach Boris Johnson a few good lessons in statecraft.

Every schoolboy knows that Henry had six wives. Johnson, to date, has only had two, but it is the ruthless manner of those terminations that holds the lesson. The first marriage ended in divorce, but not before Henry moved Heaven and Earth – quite literally – to make it happen. Breaking from Rome presaged the modern breaking from Europe, but second time around Henry acted far more swiftly. Imagine how much smoother Johnson’s path would have been had he been permitted to execute Jennifer Arcuri.

It was not just inconvenient wives that Henry executed. Political opponents were also disposed of in this swift and effective manner. One is left to speculate whether, in more enlightened times, Johnson could have disposed of Keir Starmer, in the same manner as the turbulent priest, Cardinal Wolsey. Perhaps this would have managed to quell the endless mutterings about alleged incompetence and corruption.

On which, Johnson could learn a thing or two about financial management from Henry. Henry managed to bankrupt the country at least twice. Johnson, although obviously doing his best, has neither drained the treasury nor provoked war with France. These must remain as key objectives for his second term in office.

Scotland is another key area for Johnson. Henry endured mutinous rumblings from north of the border, but established control through battle. Nobody would suggest that a war with the treacherous Scottish Independence mob and their de facto leader, Nicola Sturgeon, is desirable. But the Jocks must not be allowed to dictate matters. Ultimately, leadership is all about taking decisive action. Sturgeon must be dealt with harshly, as one would with a filly who has taken ideas above her station. A period of rough wooing may be necessary.

And yet, Henry had achieved all this at a younger age than Johnson. Hurry up, Boris!

The importance of one’s second home in France

Lockdown is easing at long last, and, with the sun out, one’s thoughts naturally turn to one’s second home in France. Normally one will sojourn in sunnier climes for a season at this time of year. As regular readers of UnoTesticular know, this is to avoid contact with the hordes of city dwellers, who decide to use the ancient rights of way across one’s estate at the first sight of sunshine.

Last summer, unfortunately, many of our kind were imprisoned in our paltry mansions due to the coronavirus panic. This led to a backlash, as many were obliged to resort to setting the hounds on negligent day trippers straying from the footpath or attempting to picnic in the grounds. We all know that this sort of behaviour is unacceptable. Many stiff letters were sent to the editor of the Daily Telegraph, deploring that organ’s championing of the rights of the Great Unwashed.

Rights of way cannot, alas, be easily or cheaply removed in the modern era. So slumming it in the South of France has become the preferred option of many a landowner.

This has preserved the sanity and self respect of many moderately well off people, while permitting the lower orders to admire the benefience of their betters.

Imagine, then, the dismay felt by many at the 90 day rule. I’m no politician, but this is an absurd situation. 90 days is hardly enough time to settle into the French lifestyle following a bitter English winter. Here at UT we understand that Sir Montague Hyphen-Hyphen-Hyphen is coordinating a powerful response, and will ensure that the Foreign Secretary reverses this decision forthwith.

Then once this storm in a teacup has passed, life can return to its natural rhythm.