As we settle for our traditional christmas fayre. I’m reminded of the ghosts of the year just past. I see a bowl of Scottish Sprouts grown in the bonny Blairs of the highlands. Sadly cold and past their sell by date. The tray of apparent Adonis’ a name passed to our wild boar as Greek tales would be told, cosetted in bacon blankets they are strangely wet and watery as they escape the cosy house of their peers. The Clegg sauce made from the wheat of the Yorkshire hills dissapointingly stale and lacking the freshness of such newly Brexit minted loaves. Parsnips old and withered sadly no longer in the Egyptian form of a Clarke. Not forgetting the Major ingredient the turkey sourced from the efficient farms of France. Cooked to the regulated time allotted and now as expected bland and tasteless as ever. Amazingly, we have mum Edwina standing by to provide the free range Yorkshire mix should the puddings be required.
Arriving by a gas guzzling Junker is the Christmas wine, sauvignan house blanc and house vin rouge courtesy of the quality department from the reject rooms above the EU cellars.
As we begin our feast we ponder in our prayers the £39billion. Whilst mindful of the lonely and sadly missing €5b being the shortfall in the EU unapproved audited accounts.
As we raise a prayer that the snowy nights are not regulated such that we have to warn of the whitness of snow. Just as Salmon has to be labelled for it surprisingly contains fish.
Our Carny provides the amusment the name we have for our novelty gravy boat as it plays the anthem from our distant past. Pouring from our Carny boat the gravy is a thick foggy sauce. We wonder whether we over did our internal treasury forecasts thus spoiling the gravy as it flops onto the Major ingredient, spilling over the Adonis’ while they are strangely unaware as to their role on this festive plate. The Sprouts have ducked and dived in every corner of Europe pleading in the hope that the Turkey contribution can be saved. Still blissfully unware as to the decisions which have already been taken. As the Sprouts still trying to bring life to the Union that’s preoccupied with the magnitude of the CAP and how to wrap for Christmas the remaining small parts to be distributed to the other 26.
As lunch progresses we move to the Xmas pud but sadly we find the cream is now Sour-by the beautiful domed and perfectly formed Christmas pudding with it’s sprig of holy. I am reminded of the beauty of St Pauls.
Fortunately Mother searches to her left and finds the crackers scattered across the house benches together with a little but elusive but still we manage a liberal portion of Cheddar to raise our festive cheer.
We all relax and ponder the New Year and the joy it will brexiting.