The Visit


Where is she? They seek her here, they seek her there. Shaking her groove thang with the rhythmic dance moves of a recently born giraffe on crystal meth, the totemic perpetually hanging on by the very end of the very ends of her fingernails Prime Minister of hopefully the last, or one of the very last, governments by another country that Scotland will ever be subjected to, is coming north of the border today, ‘visiting a factory site somewhere near Glasgow’.

She’s there fighting the Brexit good fight, soothing and reassuring the masses that all will be well, there there now, as long as you keep eating the cereal (until it runs out) all will be well.
You should be able to spot her quite easily though if she’s in the Central Belt, because no doubt, knowing her keenness to hear what folk think,  she’ll be wanting to be as accessible to the people of Scotland as she can possibly be.

Therefore just look for a huge crowd in an industrial estate somewhere, maybe around Cumbernauld, or Uddingston, somewhere like that, and assuredly she’ll be right in the middle of it, joking wae the local characters, selfying wae everybody who wants one, charming the weans, in particular the wee lassies, who she’ll particularly be working hard to inspire to go on and take on the world and kick it’s erse, feeding the lunchtime nearby High School troops bits of her locally bought fish supper, clapping dugs and helping tae jump start faulty motability scooters. Aye, right doon tae earth she’ll be. She’s a real people’s Prime Minister. It’ll be magic.
The assembled crowd, they’ll be enthralled, and be hanging on her every word. “Dae ye hear that?” they’ll mutter to each other as she makes her public speech. “I never realised that the Turks and Caicos Islands were so important to the continued marvellous performance of our export sector, did you?” As a casual passer-by you’ll be able to actually physically feel what a whole gathering of Scots gushing with pride in their British identity feels like as they sigh and coo, and wave imaginary wee plastic flags they sell at the Gala every time she repeats the phrase “ It’s a good deal for all parts of our precious Union, our family of nations, and the only deal”.
They’ll get how clever she is, how dogged and tenacious she was in those endless negotiations with that untrustworthy lot of foreigners in Brussels, they’ll hear how she stood up for Scotland, how she put our interests first and foremost at the spearhead of her negotiating strategy.

She’ll drop hints to her captivated audience about how ensuring Scotland’s continued prosperity in particular was a clear red line for her as she took part in a staring competition with Ms Barnier, a competition in which he blinked first.

She’ll describe by anecdote a moment where over a scalding skinny long black in the atrium of the EU headquarters she threatened Jean-Claude Juncker with a gunboat off Zeebrugge unless he agreed that Tunnocks tea-cakes and Walkers shortbreed and oatcakes would continue to be on the canteen menu in the strangers lounge of the European Parliament until at least 2020. She’s a ticket, that one.
Once the show’s over, and she’s finished reassuring Scotland that Brexit is the greatest thing since cholera, there’ll be a rousing  three cheers of ‘Hip Hip Hooray’ in her honour, a chorus of “Rule Britannia”  and she’ll be carried off shoulder-high to her waiting Range Rover, which will depart the scene for a lunch engagement with our ever popular Viceroy, who is always particularly clear about how particularly clear he is that he is not resigning. Such a fine man of integrity that he is.

The showers of rose petals being strewn in her vehicle’s path by the scores of adoring Scots, content that they’ve had their say on the matter,  happy that their democratic will has been protected, their views satisfied, will warm our gracious leader from another country’s heart.

She’ll return to her cosy nest in the southern city state that actually matters to her and those like her, renewed in her sense of ‘Precious Union’.
……And then she’ll wake up, and spill her glass of water on her pillowslip.


One thought on “The Visit

  1. What can I say, still can’t stop laughing and smiling in equal measures. Brilliant article, just love your satirical writing. 😉😉😉😉


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