Captain Haddock and the blistering blue barnacles
As the 10-metre fishing boat Holladays R8 – aka HMS Brexit – approached Embankment Pier on the Thames shortly after 8.30am, a Transport for London official came running down the jetty.
“You can’t tie up here,” he yelled.
“Why not?” the skipper shouted back.
“Because you don’t have a permit.”
“Oh.”
No one had apparently thought of that when the protest against the government’s concession on remaining in the common fisheries policy for the best part of two extra years had been planned. After someone casually tossed two dead fish overboard to stick it to the Man, the boat motored back into the middle of the river and proceeded to potter round in circles for several minutes. As a metaphor for the futility of Brexit, it could hardly be bettered. Piss up. Organise. Brewery.
...
As HMS Brexit rocked listlessly on the water a police boat appeared alongside. Farage was thrilled. Martyrdom awaited. Let him be arrested for fly-tipping. But the police seemed more concerned for the wellbeing of all those on board than about any illegality. Farage had fought the law and the law hadn’t really given a toss. Much like everyone else.
Codswallop?
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