LETTER: The tale of Boris the blue

It was a cold and snowy first day of February in 2023 and the hungry people of the north responsible for electing Boris the blue were searching for food that they could afford, from their newly frozen universal credit benefits, a consequence of cash flow problems at the treasury.

Food banks had been outlawed by government decree to encourage more self reliance, and to avoid further embarrassment in Downing Street.

Today was the second anniversary of the UK leaving the evil EU.

The electorate had been returned to their boxes in 2019 to be forgotten, abused and ignored. The brave and selfless Boris and his blue army had fought the shark infested waters of the EU, ensuring that we had arrived in a Trump-inspired land of milk and honey, unaware of the even more dangerous predators that awaited them there.

Sir Nigel Farage, the manipulator and his massed ranks of reformers, rode four square with Boris the blue all the way ensuring their own dream of a hard Brexit, and a safe delivery, into the destructive arms that greeted him at the White House.

Boris the blue’s classically educated father Stanley the blue had become education guru and had remained in No 10, arrogantly overseeing compulsory literacy lessons for the great British proletariat, commencing with Pinocchio, his son’s favourite book.

The future Boris had cried would be bright, the future he vowed would be blue, but the future now was fraught with danger.

The poor and the sick were so lucky to have the self-titled Prince Boris as their saviour after he had dissolved the royal family, when they disagreed with his third proroguing of parliament in a year.

The departure from Europe had now been achieved, but alas no new trade deals had been agreed, except with Vatican City, whose imports were mostly spiritual.

The newly self-appointed good king Boris discovered that his loaned but sadly now more classically educated troops from the north of the country, and the marauding militants from across the border, led by the fearless Nicola Queen of Scots had formed an alliance and were revolting against him, after realising that their NHS has been sold to someone named Donald in the US.

Queen Nicola had demanded that the UK parliament be moved to Holyrood following independence for Scotland, which was now sadly bankrupt after it was discovered that King Boris, in order to finance his crusade, had sold their oil reserves to a Mr Putin.

The EU itself had become insolvent. Berlaymont, its Brussels headquarters had been repossessed and turned into a theme park.

The MEPs which still included Sir Nigel, who was about to resign due to his generous salary not being forthcoming, had relocated to a soup kitchen in Tirana and were having to travel economy class. King Boris was now without Sir Nigel, who had been banished for treachery, and who was busy assisting their mutual friend Mr Trump to stay in power, and to fight his fourth impeachment had been deserted by the masses and by his own cabinet, which had turned on him to save themselves after being offered safe passage out of the country.

The king, despite the ungrateful northerners, was still regularly lauded by his nouveau riche and ultra loyal troops from the south, who waved their American private healthcare policies to display their adulation. The future it seemed was not as bright after all, as Boris the blue had predicted.

After the commoners’ rebellion, he was last seen serving a cheeseburger and fries in Washington DC. Stanley and Nigel were doing the washing up, all under the watchful gaze of their franchisee Donald.

The End.

But wait!

Should we tell the children this story? We have always taught them that cheats never prosper, and that liars are always found out.

They will respond that whilst this was probably true, it had not stopped Boris the blue from becoming their prime minister.

Alan Barnett, address supplied