Bumped into Teresa Mayhem the other day.

She had those leather trousers on again,

cracking the party whip.

Our thinking on Brexit isn’t muddled at all, muttered ol’ Tess.

Tim might be living on Barrowed time and he’ll sort it out, she assures.

But Nicola Pilchard (or is it Sturgeon?) can’t wait.

She’s determined to go it alone.

Has she got the Tartan Clans on side?  Will she go Scot free

And form a  new Republic?

Remains to be seen.

Saw tousled and ruffled Borisky Johnsky at the airport yesterday.

Said he was off to meet the Trumpeteer (yeah the one with the hair!)

and his band of business buccaneers.

Rumour has it that Karen the Culture Vulture has Foreign Johnsky in a Finishing School

when he gets back. So expect to see him with a blonde afro,

shirt tucked in and stiff upper lip in the corridors of power.

Bring back Tony Blurr cry Laborious opponents.

Jeremy ‘Che’ Corbinho is a mere activist without a voice. A rebel without a clue.

He’s destined for the Shadows.

That’s what I heard Tom What’s on say at a football match.

Perhaps I should swing past David Camaraderie and see what he thinks. 

Oh look it’s Fallon vs Farron locking horns gain. What do we do with those two eh.

Can’t you see the Russian sharks in our waters Mike?

Here comes last-leg Clegg.  The Yellow Brigade would have populated the

august seats at Westminster if he didn’t sell his soul for a moment of fame.

All in all a creepy situation really. Infested with hazardous national bugs:

NHS on life support; bleeding to death,

railways derailed, trade under threat (you listening Liam?),

inflation swelling by the minute. Borders minus controls.

A nation divided.

With all these sinister creatures looming large who needs him.

Yes him, Nigel Barrage of Blabber, the prophet of doom.