Clemantics Autumn Edition

 Welcome to Clemantics Autumn Edition 2017

Clem seems to have antipated the arrival on the scene of the ' Toxic Triangle of  Davis, Johnson & Fox' at a seminal moment in  UK history  

"In a life and death struggle, we cannot afford to leave our destinies in the hands of failures."

 

 Editorial: Labour MPs need to Mann UP

Keir Starmer announced a welcome change in the Labour Party's position on Brexit to a chorus of disapproval from a handful of Midland and Northern Labour MPs.

The burden of their complaint was that Labour voters in their constituencies had voted for Brexit in order to exert some control over immigration. The subtext to the complaint was clearly that the MPs feared losing their seats if Labour were seen to take a measured view on immigration control.

Shame on John Mann et al, who have heaped self-interest on spinelessness.

Do they not understand that MPs have a responsibility to lead as well as represent; to subordinate self-interest and political risk to doing what is right?

It is little wonder that many Labour voters, worn down by chronic austerity, have latched onto immigration as the source of all UK's ills.

• We were fed a daily diet of lies, half-truths, distortions about immigration and immigration figures throughout the referendum campaign.

• omissions regarding the way immigration enriched our economy and culture; for example: overseas students using visas to overstay (untrue)

• failure to mention £21 billion income they generated (omission); dependency of agriculture on EU labour;

• necessity of having immigrant skills and labour to fill key jobs and meet skills shortages;

• perpetuating the welfare scroungers/ health tourism myths.
  

The fearful Labour MPs should be feeding accurate information about immigration to their constituents in order that they might re-evaluate their position.Is it not more respectful of voters to engage them in debate rather than treat them as an unthinking, immovable Lumpenproletariat with fixed opinions? There is more than a whiff of intellectual snobbery attached to failing to engage in debate with one's constituents.


So c'mon John Mann Get up; stand up...get out and create a new narrative with the people you are supposed to represent or else it will have to be Mann overboard!

 

We begin today by joining the Tory Party at prayer as they seek divine intervention on how to get out of 'la croque merde' into which the Leaderene led them in June.

The Daily Service from The Church of Our Lady of Duplicity, Maidenhead

A Reading from the Gospel according to St.Theresa 

 

The Brexiting Demoniac – Theresa 8: 26-36

26. Then the New Messiah sailed to the sceptic Isle of Brexit, having negotiated the treacherous Straits of Europhobia; and when he landed, the people of the town of Ben-Dover came out to greet him saying: “Thou art Jacob Squeeze-Mopp, son of Volf Squeeze-Mopp and brother to Annunciata Squeeze-Mopp; Messiah,Thou hast come to save us.”

27. Jacob-the-Mopp replied “I know not of that Old Chap; but it seems like a good wheeze to me”. And those close by cast down their eyes for they heard His words but they comprehended them not; none could understand, for Jacob spoke Toffetonian

28. 'Whence goeth thy leader?' enquired Mopp of the citizens.

Emboldened by the insipid,impish appearance of the New Messiah, a swine-herd, known amongst his cronies,as Farago, grabbed Jacob-the-Mopp's arm and fixing him with his gaze said “ Our Leader, Boris-the-dark-Jester (BoDJ), lies 1000 ells (about a mile) hence. He is possessed of Demons; he deports himself wholly in the buff; that is to say naked unto the bollix. He lies at ease with the Brexit Swine atop the bluff known as 'White Cliffs'.

29. With measured stride, the New Messiah came upon this place. The Dark Jester espying Mopp from afar rose up in order to best disport his magnificence and said. “Ave, Jacobus Pravus; I know you from Scholam Nostram Eton Urbe Impostam. What business do we have with each other?”
 

30. The New Messiah let curl his superior lip and unleashed a sardonic smile replete with bile and derision. “You are possessed by the DeFeffel, the Demons are Legion and I have come to purge you of them.”

31. Jacob-the-Mopp's words mightily vexed the Demons, which inhabited BoJD's head screamed in desperation to each other. Beguiling words, which had no meaning tumbled from their lips “Brexit means Brexit,” shouted one; “Take back control,” exhorted another; “Cut the red tape,” exclaimed a third.

32. But the New Messiah was deaf to all such words and the entreaties, to which they were harbinger. The pitiful, tormented BoDJ writhed upon the ground in agony, weeping and wailing. “Forgive me, Great Mopp, I have lied most grievously; I have broken all my Brexit promises; I have given Johnson free rein when he should have been locked firmly in his stable. I was drawn into the abyss of temptation by Darius Guppy, the Devil of Bullenden and there is no health in me.” Catching Squeeze Mopp's eye, BoDJ winked conspiratorially and whispered “350 million Denarii to spend on the sick and unwashed – that's my final offer.

33. Extending the hand of brotherhood towards BoDJ, Squeezed-Mopp commanded the unclean spirits out of the man and bid them descend to the town of Ben-Dover, where they should seek out the duplicitous Farago, with whom they might consort. On hearing this, the spirits were sore afraid;

34. They pleaded with the New Messiah, saying “Farago; he too crazy for us! Cast us instead into the Brexit swine, who attend upon BoDJ. “At this, the Brexit swine, lifted their noses from their troughs and started to grunt in an agitated manner. The Demons entered the swine. The cry of “Bacon for Brexit, Turkeys for Christmas” went up from the Swine and “I'd rather die a Free Bacon Butty...”

35. “Whence are we commanded?” enquired the deranged Swine of the Messiah? “ You're off to see Eleanor Ancartt!” replied Squeezed-Mopp, chortling at his own wit. This caused great excitement amongst the Brexit Swine. “ We're off to Eleanor Ancartt!” repeated the Porker-in-Chief, who started to gallop towards the White Cliffs. Other members of the herd picked up the refrain and charged after their leader.

36. The air was filled with cries of “Bacon for Brexit at any cost” and “Hell in a handcart” as the Brexit Swine joyously threw themselves from the White Cliffs. Then there was a long silence broken only by the sea breaking on the Brexit shore. “Oh dear me!” said Jacob Squeezed Mopp thoughtfully.

 

Here endeth the lesson

We will return later for:

1.  'The Trumpette shall sound ' - A reading from the Old Testamony by the Leader of The America First Church (1^st Church of America? Ed.), Ivanka Parp
   
   
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   Alice in Brexit Land
   
   
   Alice learns about Constructive Ambiguity – (a tribute to David Davis negotiating stance with the EU)
   
   
   
   
   
   Alice felt cross and confused as she wandered off from the Tea Party into the impenetrable undergrowth of Brexitland. What did the Mad Hatter mean when he said that 'No Breakfast was better than a bad Breakfast'? What did the March Hare mean by 'Pro having cake and pro-eating it'? In Brexitland, decided Alice nothing is at appears to be.
   
   
   Alice crashed through the undergrowth talking reflectively to herself. She recalled how the March Hare had winked at her and pronounced that ' there are no disasters, only opportunities; and indeed opportunities for disasters.' The Hare had said this whilst mischievously pouring hot water over the Dormouse, who was fast asleep in the tea-pot.
   
   
   Alice was interrupted in her musings by a stern voice: “What's your name, young girl?”. Alice looked up to see a larger than life personage perched precariously on a narrow wall. How had she missed such an all-consuming sight?
   
   
   “Name; what's your name?” demanded the inquisitor
   
   
   “ Why Alice,” began Alice.
   
   
   “Why indeed?” scoffed the voice from on high. “ Alice is a stupid name. It tells me nothing about you. After all that's what names are for.”
   
   
   “ You're very rude, “said Alice, “ And isn't it just a little sexist to refer to me as, young girl?”
   
   
   “Nonsense”, retorted the voice. “ Now it would be sexist if I thought that you were a woman but called you a girl;; as it is I think you are a girl and that is what I will call you. When I use a word it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.”
   
   
   Alice tried to respond to this very male reasoning (the like of which, she had not experienced since she gave up listening to 'Yesterday in Parliament') but the pompous vice continued:
   
   
   “Take my name I was back in the day just plain Davis from the Estate, which meant nothing and told little about me. So I changed my name to Numpty Dumpty. “
   
   
   “What does Numpty Dumpty mean?”, enquired Alice.
   “Isn't it obvious? Numpty – a stupid or ineffectual person. Dumpty – someone who has been dumped; as I was by the Dreadful Cameroon. But as you see, I am back in one piece. Oh, yes! I am very much back – maybe a bit more cracked but very much back!”
   
   
   
   “Well”, exclaimed Alice, “ I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Numpty Dumpty. - Or at least I think I am. By the way what does all that ' a word means what I want it to mean' mean,” asked Alice.
   
   
   Numpty Dumpty broke into a humourless laugh. “ What an exceedingly dull girl you are! I told the Gover that tinkering with exams would not make a ha'p'orth of difference. Youngsters these day are just ignorant.”
   “Let me introduce you to my latest linguistic invention by way of explanation...'Constructive Ambiguity' – a rather refined and clever phrase, if I say so myself. Well, what do you make of that?”
   
   
   “M mm... constructive means beneficial or worthwhile,” suggested Alice “While Ambiguity indicates uncertainty of meaning or intention... so I suppose you are saying it is useful to make people uncertain of what you mean.”
   
   
   “Uh h, sort of” agreed Numpty, “But it is something more sumptuous than that. You see, I am a negotiator by trade, and very good at it, if I might say so. I prefer to think of Constructive Ambiguity more as casuistry or sophism or put more plainly deceptive cunning.”
   
   
   Alice looked completely bemused.
   
   
   “ Let me give you some examples from my negotiations-in-chief.
   
   
   “As you know the Jabberwocky rules over many countries, which he calls the Custard Union, so-called because everyone can buy and sell custard without hindrance. Brexitland was part of the Custard Union, but we sort of believed that we would be better off buying and selling our custard all over Wonderland without the Jabberwocky's interference. We soon found out that going it alone was a disaster because amongst other things most of the custard trade was with the Jabberwock countries.
   
   
   So how did Numpty solve this tricky problem? Easy – by leaving the Custard Union in order to be part of the Custard Union – now that's Constructive Ambiguity in action! Ta-da!” said Numpty spreading his arms wide and nearly overbalancing.”
   
   
   “ But that makes no sense,” said a puzzled Alice.
   
   
   My dear Girl, you're missing the point” remarked Numpty tetchily. “ Well see if you can understand this:
   “The Jabberwocky has a Court called the 'Court-of-Just-His”, which passes laws that are just for him. We have no say in and no control over the laws the evil Jabberwocky makes. So we decided to get rid of the Jabberwocky's Court and have our own Brexitland Court. Problem is we found we needed the Jabberwock's Laws to continue to trade with the Custard Union. Now that's a problem; call for Numpty: Numpty's solution? Get rid of the Court-of-Just-His by 'mirroring its laws in our own Brexitland Court! - Constructive Ambiguity! Marvellous!” Numpty exclaimed in a rather self-congratulatory way.
   
   
   “Isn't that a little dishonest?” ventured Alice.
   
   
   “That's as maybe.” replied Numpty Dumpty. “ My last triumph, I think you will agree, is the best :
   The Jabberwocky is a devil for red-tape – he adores it. Tied up like kippers we were by all the red-tape. Numpty discovered however that by breaking away we needed more red-tape and a whole department of people making and untangling red in order to escape The Jabberwocky's red tape . Id est (i.e.) red-tape to get rid of red-tape!!”
   
   
   “Constructive Ambiguity?” suggested Alice.
   
   
   “Exactly,” said Numpty, warming to his now friend.
   
   
   “But isn't it all just totally nuts?” wondered Alice.
   
   
   “Oh, dear; perhaps you're right” mused Numpty Dumpty. “You know, I feel quite unstable up here on this wall... come to think of it. Whoa; I think I'm falling...Heeelp!!”
   
   
   
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   Thanks to Lewis Carroll - a source of constant inspiration when considering the absurd politics of Brexit

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   And Another Thing...

   

   Who’s the man? 

   Nick Cohen – he’s the man! (Ref: Observer 3^rd September 2017)

    

   
   

   Fashion Tips – What’s In, What’s Out.

   
   

   
   

   Wellington boots and waders are sooo last year.

   
   

   For those who think themselves hip, 6” heels and slacks for her, suede brogues, slacks and a smart jacket for him.

   
   

   Now, these clothing items lack something in water-proofing but for those who are clearly just pleased with themselves and want to be distinct from the hoi polloi they are perfect!

   
   

   DATELINE: HOUSTON, AUGUST 2017

   
   

   
   

   
   

   Brexit – The (Fairy) Story So Far

   
   

   Or as Churchill said “Jaw, jaw, not war, war”- which is precisely the reason why the EEC (later the EU) was created.

   
   

   
   

   And then there were Trade Deals…

   
   

   
   

   The world waits the day when Global UK will be unveiled in all its glory… And what deals await…!

   
   

   Hey! 

   We currently have a trade surplus with the US.

   
   

   
   

   Does anybody seriously think The Donald will tolerate such a thing?

   
   

   No! (‘America First, America First’)

    

   
   

   So what can we expect? Chlorinated chickens, much to the pleasure of swimming pool enthusiasts, and hormone enhanced beef; the medical profession will replace hormone replacement therapy with the words “have a roast this Sunday”.

   
   

   
   

   As in any trade deal there will be winners and losers, in this case the winners will be the US and the losers will be – guess!

   
   

   Chicken farmers and beef producers will go to the wall and, with the doubtless introduction of multi-national companies to the National Health Service, the phrase ‘free at the point of delivery’ will become just ‘free entry’.

   
   

   
   

   Then there’s India…

   
   

   
   

   Hang on... the Indian PM has already held talks with the EU about a trade deal!

   
   

   And, whoops a daisy, Japan is close to agreeing a free trade deal with the EU.

   
   

   Also, the Japanese want us to have a Customs Union with the EU so they can maintain de facto access to the single market.

   
   

   Who do they think they are? Just because Nissan, Honda, Toyota could up sticks to Europe.

   
   

   Just because Japanese banks have announced plans to scale down their presence in London over the potential loss of their EU Passport, which allows the banks to trade freely with Europe!

   
   

   
   

   Well, what did we expect? We seem to be running a very poor second in this race and, looking at our negotiating team, I don’t think we have much of a sprint finish in the tank; we’re more likely to stop and retire hurt!

   
   

   But take heart you despondent Remainers! That frighteningly believable John Dead… sorry, Redwood

    

   says he’s not at all concerned, everything will be fine.
    
   

   And that should be good enough for anybody!

   
   

   The End… Is nigh…

   
   

   And Finally

   
   

   Talking of Nye we should perhaps heed Mr Bevan's advice and pick up a Daily Mail and have a good laugh: 
   
   

   " I read the newspapers avidly. It is my one form of continuous fiction."
   quoted in The Times, 29 March 1960

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Where do you go to?

I have just returned from cycling in France with a few mates. As we strolled along the Promenade des Anglais in Nice we spontaneously burst into song, singing Peter Sarstedt's 'Where do you go to my Lovely'.
While we were away we received the great news that Theresa may had completely misread the electorate and had received her comeuppance for so cravenly calling an election.
 The ballad below, so shamelessly derived from Sarstedt's great song is to celebrate my 3 comrades a velo; Rosie Duffield's victory in Canterbury; the revival of Labour; the re-entry of Young People into politics; and the kicking administered to the Tories' solar plexus.

Where do you go to my Mayfly? (in the style of the song by Peter Sarstedt)

Where do you go to my Mayfly

When you're with Phil, home in bed?

Do thoughts of duplicity surround you?

I'd like to look inside your head.

Your  dad was a C of E vicar

Which gave you an ethical steer?

But your carefully confected,  faux-Christianity

Just serves as a smokescreen, I fear.

Yes it does, Ha! Ha! Ha!

You took yourself off to Oxford

You're remembered by all at St. Hugh's

Some talk of your burning ambition

But more of your leopard-skin shoes.

So where do you go to my lovely

When you're at home in your bed

Are you troubled by thoughts of Grenfell Tower

I'd like to look inside your head

Your friends call you 'boring but competent'

But you're much more dangerous, I think

You'd trash human rights tomorrow

You thought up The Snooper's Charter

without so much as a drink

You style yourself 'New Iron Lady'

yet you lack her hateful, steely charm

You've tried to do Ronnie and Maggie

With ridiculous Trump on your arm

So where do you go to my Mayfly?

When you hide under the bed

Does your staggering hypocrisy surround you

I'd like to look inside your head...

You're obsessed by immigration

Though you you could not keep numbers down

You've started Brexit negotiations

With people as bargaining chips

The JAMs you supposedly side with

are still squealing like so many squeezed  pips

Your loveliness goes on and on; yes it does...

No strategy is too mendacious

No trick is ever too mean

But it's not just yourself you abase

It's all of us that you demean.

Now you called a General Election

You called it just for fun

(for a laugh, ha! ha!ha!)

The greatest miscalculation you could have made

A game of very high stakes and

One you should never have played

So eat up your own Dog's Brexit

You see; they no longer want you

Or fall silently on your sword

Boris says it's the right thing to do

So, where do you go to my Mayfly

When you're alone in your bed

Do you dare to look in the mirror?

Do you see someone already dead?

(na  na-na-na  na  na-na-na  na-na   na na na na)

Bozos deceived!

3 Bozos in a Boat

Scene 9

Porcamis continues shadow fencing for a while. He slumps in the chair. He wanders over to the sideboard and pours himself a generous quantity of absinthe. He downs it at a gulp, smacking his lips.He moves to take a snort of the powder left for him. He scrutinises the 1000 rouble note .

P: (to himself) This is the only trough Porky wants to get his snout into – unlike the dour Foxos, I might add.

Porcamis glances over at Hammond who has recovered from his kicking and is now earnestly lapping at a bowl set down for him. It is marked  ' Pour un fils d' une chienne'. Hammond suddenly keels over and lies twitching on his side.

P: Cripes! Hammondo's  bowl must have been spiked. Porky's drink tasted a bit strange. Oh lorks, probably spiked too, lets hope it's not some dreadful truth-drug or Porcamis is in real trouble.

The door to the boudoir opens. Mr. Muscle (Vlad) saunters in with Maureen La Plume bobbing in his wake. La Plume is wearing combat trousers, which match Vlad's; she is sporting a tri-colour T shirt with a logo on the front, which reads 'National Front'  and a logo on the back , which reads ' National Back'

VP: I see you haffe made yourself at  home, Comrade. (Vlad taps his nose knowingly)

P: I am fine, Putrid, which is more than I can say for the dog (Gestures with distaste at Hammond)

VP: Do not worry about Mayfly's 'lap dog'; he will recover. We did not want him to interfere with our 'negotiations' or indeed reporting back to the 'Ironing Lady'

P: Wowzer! Negotiations; a spot of diplomacy, Porky is good at that!

VP:  I sink zatt we call it duplicity rather  zan diplomacy; We know de Piffle that you are, shall we say (he exchanges glances with La Plume) sans pareil at duplicity.

P: Steady on, your excellency. I would say (thinking of Gover) that Porcamis is more sinned against than sinning in that department.

MLP: Must nous put up with ce nonsense arrant?

Porcamis turns towards Mme La Plume

P: Madame La Plume je vous recognised immediatement – vous etes even more charmante than dans les images..Mille pictures ne peuvent pas convey adequatement votre beauty exceptionnelle!

(Porcamis winks winningly at MLP)

MLP: Bourgeois piffle, de Pfeffel, si Je might say so!

VP: (trying to ripple his muscles) I advise your Lordship to leave Mme La Plume to do the talking.

 (MLP blows a kiss to Vlad Putrid)

MLP: As you know, de Piffle, Vlad and I had an agreement with the perfidious Mayfly

Unnoticed Hammondo opens one eye on hearing his mistress’ name. He quickly closes it , pretending still to be knocked out.)

MLP: Together the ‘Triple Lock’ (as we were to be known) would destabilize Europe so that the EU would shatter into a thousand pieces. Good for La France, as i would enter the Elysees Palace like Jean d’Arc; Tres Bon for putrid, who would again have dominion over a fragmented Europe de L’Est and good for the Mayfly as she would spared an embarrassing rebuff of her negotiations pathetiques après Dog’s Brexit.

P: What a spiffing idea, si je might say so Maureen; but Porcamis knows rien of this – the Ironing Lady never keeps old Porky nor her gallant Brexiteers in the loop.

VP: It ees precisely because you know nothing that we have chosen you for our Novad Project. Now zat you are guaranteed to do everyzing we say, you are as Abramm would say ‘The Special One’

P: (offended at being seen as a pushover) Now Look here Porcamis may play the fool now and then – hanging on a high wire or creating Alcoholgate at a Sikh temple – that’s all knockabout to endear Porky to the ignorant plebs back home. (Porcamis puffs out his chest) Inside there is a man of steel. If you think Porcamis is just a gun for hire....(Porcamis tales off)

MLP: You pay trop d’attention to your gun, de Piffle. My advice is to let it spend more time in its holster. Vlad is just alluding to the fact that vous etes dans mon poche because we have an interesting little video of you sniffing talcum powder, taken just a few moments ago from behind our two way mirror. (MLP indicates the wall-to-wall mirror)

P: (shaking his head) That’s dirty under-hand stuff; not cricket, du tout.

MLP: Quite, so. But really de Piffle, you should know that any self-respecting Bordello will have une mirroir two way.  Do you not find it a trifle amusant that you were actually sniffing poudre de talc when you thought it was quelque chose plus fort! Of, course the Mayfly when she’s our petite video will not know the difference and you will be in the sack...oh, excuse my Anglais...you will be sacked.

P: (mutters to himself) Done up like a kipper

VP: Vee prefer the saying ‘You are in an Eton Mess! (Vlad chortles in a menacing way)

MLP: To continue our histoire malheureuse. Your Mayfly has let us all down. We have been informed by Monsieur Farrago that a ‘Grande Bete’ Europhile of the Partie des Tories - has been feeding information, with Mayfly’s consent, to the Scottish imposter, MacRon, which has helped him to enter my Elysees Palace (Maureen starting to lose control) and not me...not me....Jean D’Arc, Brigitte Bardot, Edith Piaf together as one woman in Maureen La Plume’s body...

(Vlad Putrid puts a comforting arm around Maureen’s shoulders )

P: So who is this Big Beast?

VP: This is no longer important; but let’s, for example, call him Hushpuppy-Jazz

P: Et Tu, Clarke! You canny old hound!

VP: Aided and abetted by zee Torree party’s ageing clitoris, Mike Brilliantine. But, as I say, theez is all irrelevant. Maureen and I are now playing thee Long Game. We are going to use; should I say, work with you and Flakey Farrago and put one of you in power following the election. We will let you and Fag-end Farrago work out between you, who will enter Numero Dix.

(Vlad blows another kiss to Maureen, who is cursing MacRon and Mayfly in a low vengeful voice)

MLP: We have code-named this petit plan Dumb & Dumber 2

P:  (gloomily) I see what you mean by Le Jeu Longue – The Ironing Lady will not call an election until 2020.

MLP: Pauvre Porcamis! We no longer live on the Playing Fields of Eton. Ici, c’est le Monde du Realpolitik! Why do you think you and Les Deux Autres Bozos have been sent on an undercover jaunt? To bring back information to strengthen Mayfly’s feeble negotiating hand? Don’t make me laugh, de Piffle. You, the hapless Davros and the Puffball Foxos have been sent to Brussels so that the Ironing Lady could call an election without you around! Antwerp to Brussels by boat; hahaha! No, you Porcine Pudding, you have been sold down a very different river from the Scheldt!

VP: Now you are up zee execrable creek without zee paddle!

P: gesturing at himself( Brutus in the wall to wall mirror,) aside  At a time like this one can only find solace in the Great Bard

walking theatrically towards his imagined audience

     Porcamis ,    

     Thou art the ruins of the noblest man

     That ever lived in the tide of times

     Woe to the hand that shed this blood

VP: So we can take it then, de Piffle, that you are on board with our new plan

P:  with his usual understated sense of self importance (he is now Russell Crowe)

My name is Borisimus-Johannes-Maximus-de-Piffle-Porcamis, father to a Bastard son, Husband to a Deceived Wife (or 2), Commander of the Forces of Little Britain, Tireless Servant to my own Vaunting Ambition and I will have my vengeance in this election or the next...

There will now be a short Intermission; please make sure you are back in your seats by JUNE 8th