Corbyn's cunning Brexit plan
Jeremy Corbyn wracked his brains for a way out of the Brexit impasse. The Tories were at war, arguing furiously among themselves, in parliament, as if there was nobody else present. It was great time to be in opposition, Jeremy thought, except it wasn’t really. Labour had their own troubles over the dreaded B word. Amid the semi-conscious pond life on the Labour back benches were MPs representing places far removed from Islington, with strange names like Stoke-on-Brexit, where the proletariat were dead set against any deal with the hated Europeans.
The question of the hour was how to reconcile the views of Jez’s metrosexual, cross-dressing hipster friends with the stony-faced, die-hard northern proles. It wasn’t an easy task, but Jez was beginning to glimpse the outline of a plan. Something he overheard at the allotment got him thinking. He was turning a pile of rotting old marrows on the compost heap when someone mentioned a cheap drinks promotion at Weatherspoons on the High Street. Jez wasn’t likely to take up the offer himself, a glass of home-brew elderberry wine in the evening was his favourite tipple. No, a far more cunning plan began to ferment in his wily political mind.
Jez was at a parliamentary Labour party meeting when he got his first chance to discuss the idea. Catherine Letitia Hoey, mad right wing entryist MP, (how she wangled her way into the Labour party was beyond him), was droning on about launching a new campaign against the Irish, whom she hated even more than the Europeans. “We must close the Irish border and organise a blockade of Ireland to show them who’s in control and that we’re serious about a deep and special, global free trading partnership with the EU” she shrieked. MP’s made their excuses and drifted away as Hoey grew ever more hysterical. Many sought refuge in the tea room. Harriet Harperson was expounding her views on disgusting male behaviour and the evils of drink to Hillary Benn when Jez intervened. ‘I’m not so sure. Alcohol has its place, in moderation’ he said.
‘Really? You’ve changed your tune’ Harperson said.
‘What are you cooking up now?’ Benn asked with a wicked smile. He knew Jez of old and could smell a cunning Trotskyist plot brewing at fifty paces.
Jez stroked his beard. ’I was thinking, you know how Farage lays on all that old guff about the smiling man of the people, drinking pints at the bar, Mr Fascist Everyman. He’s built up quite a following on the back of that’ he said.
‘You’re not thinking of taking to the drink yourself?’ Benn asked.
‘No, no. Not that. I was thinking, our policy group is looking for new ideas to attract Brexit voters’ Jez said thoughtfully.
‘Yes, and?’ Benn asked.
‘How much does a round of drinks cost in the local pub?’ Jez asked
Benn glared at Jez suspiciously. ‘I don’t know, four quid a head, something like that. What’s that got to do with .....’ he said.
Jez became animated. ‘What’s seventeen million times four?’ he asked.
‘What are you on about Jeremy’ Harperson snapped, irritably.
‘Sixty eight million’ Benn said, in a flash.
‘And how many drinks per person? Two, three, four?’ Jez asked.
‘Five for a big night out’ Benn said.
‘Right, let’s make it ten, now ten times sixty eight is six hundred and eighty million right? It’s chicken feed compared with rail nationalisation and paying off the student loans’ Jez said excitedly.
‘Yes but what ...’ Ben protested.
‘Right, listen to me. Here’s the plan. We’ll announce a new Brexit policy sweetener. There will be a national celebration, we’ll call it the Brexit dividend, free drinks for everyone at the local pubs. It won’t cost as much as you think. Remainers will stay at home, out of principle, licking their wounds. Leavers will crowd into the pubs having a merry old time and while they’re getting sozzled we’ll sneak out a new policy announcement; we’ll extend the transition period forever, Brexit isn’t working out as we thought, it’s all a big mistake, the EU 27 won’t play ball, protect jobs and the economy all that sort of thing. The Leavers will be so pie-eyed they won’t notice. The Remainers will perk up and, to cap it all, that chap at Brexitspoons who’s always banging on about Europe, he’ll be too busy serving drinks and raking in the cash to object. What do you think?’ Jez said with wild-eyed enthusiasm..
Harperson looked around, desperately, wondering where she should turn to summon help.
Hillary Benn looked at his leader, dumbfounded. Is this what a hundred years of socialism brought us to? He thought. He grabbed a seat and flopped down, scarcely able to breathe. ‘My God, we really are finished’ he said despairingly while Jez rushed off to share his brilliant new idea with his colleagues. Where had they all gone?