All this cliff-edge nonsense is – bollocks. All the stuff you buy from the EU can be bought in the UK and the 99% of the world that is not France or any of those other poncey countries where by law you have to be a Muslim.
I proved this point last year by running an experiment at “The Knackered Whippet” my pub in Essex. We took some of our biggest selling products, replaced them with alternatives – and guess what – nobody noticed.
Stella Artois might be very popular among lefty establishment figures, drinking it in their Mayfair clubs but every sip is a betrayal of British workers. Stella Artois is a Belgian beer made by foreigners and I’m not having that muck in my pub no more. So we got some good quality British urine put it in a soda stream, called it ‘Harlow Stars’ and sold it back to them. Customers bought pints of the stuff. Better still I managed to sell it to them for 10p less than that Belgian muck. By passing the reduction on to the customers I saved them money and me the trouble of learning Europish or whatever it is they speak in Belgium. So win, win Mr Barnier – you muppet.
What could be more British than a Hamburger? Almost anything! For decades I’ve been selling them in my establishments not realizing that they come from a little town called Frankfurt in – you guessed it – Nazi Germany. Soon changed that. Now the customers in The Knackered Whippet enjoy “Chelmsfords.” There’s a choice of topping – with a bun or without. The beef in those burgers comes from trusted suppliers parked up behind the big cash and carry outside Jaywick. They’ve got a great sense of humour those lads – when I ask them where they source it they give me this big wink and say “‘horse’ but you keep it to yourself big man or you wake up next to head of one”. Just love those guys. Real British entrepreneurs.
We took our 2nd best-selling spirit ‘vodka’ and replaced it with a locally distilled ‘craft ethanol’ made by a man I met lying on the street. He runs what he calls an ‘artisan’ shed in the toilet of his home. Normally the lefty luvvies would be all over this product – but guess what – because it’s made by a working class white guy called Derek they start banging on about ‘health and safety’ and all that nonsense. They’d rather have foreign made muck like champagne than the stuff Derek sells in plastic bags out of his garage because they hate this country, plain and simple.
We call it ‘Snogcar’ because the first punter who tried it ended up trying to get off with the exhaust of a vehicle parked up outside. It’s true that most of the regulars are now blind but that’s got ‘f’ all to do with Snogcar. It’s the EU and I can prove it. I just don’t want to.
Our success at Ditherspoons was such that I tried to tell Mrs May about it. But guess what – they turned me away at the gates of Downing Street saying: “Go home mate, it’s three a.m. and you’re pissed”. Even the coppers are bent in this country nowadays. And Dime bars aren’t called Dime bars any more either.
Here are some other ideas:
A lot of rubbish talked about insulin running out post Brexit. Load of garbage. Put newspapers down in your loft instead and invest one of those log burning stoves. Climate change is a lie anyway. Big con.
There’s an easy way to solve the Backstop. Tell the Irish to fuck off. Easy. Easiest thing in the world. Couldn’t be easier.
Jean Claude Juncker and the other lot:
The foreigners as I like to call them are all playing it cool at the moment. They’re all like: “Oh La! La!” and that as they drink brandy and eat croissants – but they won’t be laughing once they’ve sampled some of my “Harlow Stars” let me tell you. No mate. They won’t be laughing at all.