Brexit, defined

Ever since the stout yeomen of Britain voted, overwhelmingly, to exit the European Union the media seem to have taken delight in questions what our commitment to “Brexit” actually means.

This is nothing short of deliberate obfuscation by our left-wing, Corbyn-idolising press.  The basic requirements of Brexit have already been made very clear by The Sun

sun list

The forward thinking young men of The Telegraph have added to that list with their sensible call for the return of imperial weights and measures.

Obviously all of these things need to be part of any sensible Brexit plan, but both newspapers have missed some of the more fundamental issues.

As someone fortunate enough to be born in the greatest decade – the 70s – I did my growing up before the paper-mountain of red-tape from the EU washed over our proud white cliffs and drowned Britain in a literal drought of common sense, so let me tell you how Brexit needs to be defined…

The National Health Service

A lot of sore-losers in the ‘Remain’ camp have been whinging about the busses promising £350 million per week to the NHS and, more specifically about it’s failure to appear…but, let’s be honest, nobody in the Remain or Leave camp really expected it to, did they?

How can I put this without being patronising…ah, yes…when you buy your Asda own-brand frozen meals for one they have a picture on the box.  You might even use it to decide which nearly indistinguishable flavour of chemical sludge to buy, but you have no expectation that your finished meal is going to look like that, do you?  It won’t be served on a plate, looking like it had just been lovingly prepared by a MasterChef finalist.  You won’t have a fine Chablis ready-chilled to drink with it, from cut-glass with beads of condensation forming on the outside.  No, you’ll sit in front of the idiot-box and eat it straight from the plastic tray, probably with a warm can of Fosters.

Well, that’s what the £350m/week was…it was a serving suggestion for Leave.  Maybe if you get your act together, work a bit harder and increase tax revenues by £30 or £40 billion per annum then you can talk to our magnificent post-Brexit government about spending a bit more on the NHS, but at the moment you haven’t even bothered to buy the sprig of parsley to put on the top.

Stop bloody complaining, you slacker!

What the NHS really needs is a return to the values that made it so great in the first place; big single-sex wards, spending weeks at a time in for a broken leg (with your leg in plaster and held in traction), terrifying matrons and sexy nurses, who always wear black stockings and suspenders.

That’s what the Great British public want, but it was killed dead by the EU’s crazy anti-discrimination rules that opened the way for political correctness gone mad; such as crazy laws that forced hospitals to employ male nurses! You couldn’t make it up!

Nowadays we can only catch a glimpse of the glorious NHS we once had through repeats of the Carry On films and Only when I laugh; where James Bolam went into hospital for a routine appendectomy in 1979 and stayed there until 1982, without anybody thinking it was strange.

Which brings me on to…


The British sense of humour is what binds us as a nation and makes us better than the foreigners, but as the daggers of the EU tightened their stranglehold around our very souls we allowed the great tradition of British comedy to be ruined, and ruined by one word…


Suddenly our TV screens stopped showing good, family-orientated comedy where we could all have a proper laugh at women losing their clothes, jokes about puffs or people in blackface doing ridiculous accents.

I think all of us alive at the time remember the dark day in 1982 when BBC2 first screened The Young Ones and we knew that the tide had turned on our mighty tanks in the comedy war.

That same year the status quo of British society was rent asunder as the three-channel consensus was rocked by the arrival of Channel 4, the dark overlord of “alternative”.  Just 7 years later The Benny Hill Show was cancelled, that was our D-Day…if the British had been Nazis.

Damn it, Benny, you had so much left to give!

Yet the resistance who fought on, brave patriots like Bernard Manning showed that there was still a demand for the comedy that the EU had branded “racist” and “sexist”.  Manning could still pack venues, which I’m told is a terribly good indicator of popularity with the general public, and had hordes of admiring fans.

If Brexit means anything it means a return to the three channel system that made Britain what it is and an immediate banning of the cosmopolitan “alternative” comedy, which for so long blighted our youth and made them lazy, stupid and politically uncooperative.

But before I leave behind the topic of racism…

Food, drink and shopping

In the 70s, if you didn’t fancy a proper British take-out of fish & chips, it was perfectly acceptable to nip to the chinkies for a curry and stop at the paki shop on the way home for 20 Benson & Hedges and some McEwan’s lager.  If you really wanted to you could buy a bottle of wine instead, and it would give you the sophisticated air of somebody who wished they’d chosen the lager.

If you ate out then you went to a proper restaurant, with a table-cloth, you went to Wimpy for a burger-like meal or you ate chicken in a basket at the pub.  You bought your clothes at Marks & Spencers and you never had to worry about being fashionable, because fashions only changed once a decade.

The EU has forced choice upon us, where none was wanted.  If has made our life a whirlwind of choices, over which we must surf daily.  They have even forced us to show tolerance towards shopkeepers from ethnic minorities…it must be 20 years since I last heard somebody hilariously ask for a “bag of plawn clackers”. That’s no way to live, not for an Englishman.


So there you have it, Mr Davis, aside from The Sun‘s perfectly reasonable list, and The Telegraph‘s call for pounds and ounces (which, I assume, was always going to be a natural consequence of Brexit) all we need are unfeasibly long stays in hospital, tended to by sexy nurses, the immediate cessation of all alternative comedy (a new series of ‘Allo ‘Allo might show our European “friends” that we mean business), an end to tolerance, a massive reduction of choice in everything and  a sprig of parsley for frozen meals.

I suppose you should sort out some trade deals as well, but that’s very much a sideshow in the buffet of Brexit.

I hope this has been useful for you next time you speak in parliament.

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