It is reported that the uncertainties around Brexit have now become so intolerable that Ebenezer Bean may go into a period of self-imposed purdah and refrain from writing about it until all is clear. Could be in for a long break.

So purdah, like prorogue’s a word,
That most of us had never heard,
Until the recent ballyhoo,
Brought both of them out into view.

Prorogue we discussed days ago,
So now let’s take the other mot,
And trying not to get confused,
See just how this word should be used.

I think in parlance it might mean,
The period that’s in between,
The time when an election’s called,
And the date on which voting falls.

And in this intervening time,
No business should in prose or rhyme,
Be carried out because they say,
The winners who will then hold sway,
Might want most of such things undone,
When they have scarce their plans begun.

So back to me, the stress is bad,
About the worst I’ve ever had,
And so with purdah from hereon,
I’ll write no verse – and I mean none –
About this Brexit every day,
Until the whole thing’s gone away.

What else to write? There’s lots to choose,
And always something in the news;
Not sure to what they will relate,
But not the big affairs of state.

So check my blogs each day you can,
Throughout my little Brexit ban,
And I will do my very best,
To make sure you don’t get depressed.

That’s some tall order now I think,
But don’t yet reach out for the drink,
It could be I am not that smart,
But banning Brexit is a start.


Big Ben

It is reported that at the request of the Prime Minister the Queen has prorogued parliament for a few extra days in September.

For months Remainers have tried to,
Restrict what Government can do,
As it tries for an exit way,
That Parliament will find OK.

They’ve tried the tricks there in the book,
To get our Boris on the hook;
They say a ‘no deal’ they’ll prevent,
And so reduce their discontent.

Such tricks, though they have largely failed,
And very few have at them railed,
When Government then actions take,
By extending the autumn break,
They all complain, “It’s a deceit!”
And start protesting in the street.

But all these folk, we should recall,
Do not want us to leave at all,
And others, doubtless on a whim,
Are commies simply joining in.

So Boris hopefully has done,
His homework and not just begun,
So he can see the best way through,
And which route is best to pursue.

Expect much more in days to come,
With time in court and still then some;
How it pans out we’ll have to see,
And you can follow on TV.



It is reported that President Jair Bolsonaro of Brazil (64) has angered President Macron of France (41) by implying that the French President might prefer his younger and more attractive wife (37) to Mrs Macron (65).

For diplomats there are a few,
Things that one really should not do,
And one of these that will cause strife,
Is criticising someone’s wife.
(Or husband too – not women, men –
Let’s not get into that again.)

Some wives are ugly, others butch,
A few one might not want to touch,
But never mind how they might look,
Or if they can or cannot cook,
One really must take good advice,
And always say they’re very nice.

Most people manage this with ease,
But when turned into Portuguese,
Perhaps it doesn’t sound as bad,
Though likely still to make one mad.

But now on to the case in point,
Which has put noses out of joint,
At the Ēlysée Palace where,
The Macrons enjoy living there.

Bolsonaro said to Macron, E.,
That he would be surprised if he,
Did not prefer a younger wife,
Like this one he has in his life.

“She is but thirty-seven,” said he,
“And surely you must now agree,
A young one’s better to behold,
Than yours who’s really far too old.”

The Macrons at this point were cross,
But for words not long at a loss,
For Mrs Macron (65),
But very nice and still alive,
Said that the leader of Brazil,
Was out of touch in speaking ill.

“His words,” she said, “were rather rude,
And if they’d not been misconstrued,
Implied to have a trophy wife,
Was all important in ones life.

Whereas, with age, she knows what’s best,
Will come out well in any test,
And should her husband look elsewhere,
For two black eyes he should prepare!”


moji smile

It is reported that the Prime Minister actually smiled after his meetings with other EU leaders (in Biarritz); possibly the first time such a thing has happened in our lifetimes.

While Cameron would force a smile,
And Mrs May said, “Not my style.”
We were all treated yesterday,
To Boris’ rather different way,
Of trying to leaders beguile –
He gave a thumbs-up and a smile.

In this way he aims to enthuse,
By careful choice of words to use,
And then to say in words direct,
(As far as he can recollect)
Just what he wants and what he needs,
So that discussions can proceed.

And while PM May was ignored –
A technique which should be deplored –
I s’pose that only time will tell,
If Boris will do bad or well.

So far it’s difficult to say,
If this will help him get his way,
But at least it avoids the gloom,
Of Mrs May’s grey face of doom.

So we should all admire his pluck,
And at the same time wish him luck,
Because ’gainst Krout and Frog and Wop,
He really must come out on top.


Boris 2

It is reported that Eton educated Boris Johnson delights in using obscure English words which would stump any EU translator. The most recent of many examples is ‘eschatology’ as in “I have great relations with our friends and partners in the EU and intend to continue to improve them the whole time, without getting into any post-Brexit eschatology with the President of the Council.” You can’t even work out the meaning from the context in the whole sentence.

Though Boris looks just like a scruff,
Who looks like he’s been sleeping rough,
It’s clear to me that he’s quite bright,
For things he says that I might write,
And may be captured in folklore,
Include words we’ve not heard before.

The latest one, as used above,
And p’rhaps the best example of,
Is ‘eschatology’, just used,
When Donald Tusk said he refused,
To discuss no-deal Brexit plans,
Because of such he’s not a fan.

EU translators would, I think,
All pause a bit and maybe blink,
At this word they had never seen,
And still less knew what it might mean.

They’d reach out for their little books,
While giving quite despairing looks,
And none too sure if they would find,
The meaning Boris had in mind,
For if they can’t they’ll seem too dim,
And that would be one up for him.

I do suspect, though, Boris likes,
These obscure words that he recites,
To keep the EU on its toes,
Which they’re not keen on I suppose.

My poem here is almost done,
But I won’t spoil his bit of fun,
By now revealing what it means,
Here on the page or on your screens.

I can, however, give a clue,
Which might be of some use to you:
It might be helpful if you speak,
The language we all know as Greek.

For that is where its roots are from,
So of translators maybe one,
Might have a better chance to say,
Or work the gist out anyway.

But still they all need to translate,
A tougher task at any rate;
Perhaps that’s for another day,
And some of them might want more pay!


moji 1

It is reported on the Andrew Marr Show that nobody has any idea how or when Brexit will end.

I once again am in despair,
Because no-one knows when or where,
This Brexit saga tale will end,
As politicians try to bend,
The rules to make it go their way,
Avoiding letting others say,
Unhelpful things that might undo,
The outcome that they want it to.

Is there a deal then? Maybe not.
Another referendum slot?
Or are enough prepared to say,
The whole thing should just go away?

And what if Europe still won’t budge,
On May’s agreement or a fudge?
This surely means that on the day,
It will be no deal anyway.

For in that case the only deal,
Is Mrs May’s but let’s get real:
This was rejected three times by,
The Commons who would not comply,
With terms within it which they said,
Was so bad that it is now dead.

Then in the midst of all this mess,
MPs might think they ought to press,
A vote of confidence which means,
That Parliament then intervenes,
And Bo Jo’s Government might fall,
With an election after all.

But Farage then comes on the scene,
Whose intervention might well mean,
The Brexit vote is split in two,
And that could mean that you-know-who,
Is then the next to be PM,
And God knows what might happen then!

This really is too much to bear;
It’s bad enough not knowing where,
We’re headed now to meet our fate,
And still don’t know the bloody date!



It is reported that Brexit rumbles on towards Halloween.

The Brexit nightmare rumbles on,
Although Theresa May has gone,
And now blond Boris runs the show –
But all of that you likely know.

He’s getting on now with the job,
And spending quite a few spare bob;
His spending’s high, you must agree,
As if there’ll no tomorrow be.

And that’s just what Remainers say:
That if we get to Brexit day,
With no deal and we don’t extend,
The world will then be at an end.

So now they have their latest wheeze:
To kick out Boris if you please,
And replace him but then with who?
For sure Jez Corbyn will not do.

And as for others in the chase –
By now a geriatric race –
It seems they’re mostly dumb not wise,
And disinclined to compromise.

But Brexit still continues on,
The Irish backstop not yet gone,
And getting it removed, I’d say,
Becomes less likely
by the day.

The situation, though’s, unsure,
For Mrs May could not procure,
Agreement change from the EU,
And MPs wanting it were few.

And Boris has had no more luck,
So maybe we will all be stuck,
With no deal Brexit as foreseen,
Upon the night of Halloween.

Are we downhearted? No we’re not.
For once of Europe we’ve got shot,
More opportunities arise,
With those who really are allies.