Hang out the bunting, stop the clocks, break out the mini pork pies and sing from the rooftops – our blue passports are coming back.
Take that you cheese-eating surrender monkeys, you over-stuffed unelected Brussels eurocrats, you inferior beings. John Bull is back.
By God, did we not warn you? Did we not tell you we weren’t joking, that this Brexit malarky was for real? Well now you know, damn you.
What care we about the conundrum of the Irish border? Let the fairy people jig across gaily with their ginger beards and lorries full of red diesel, we have blue passports.
Trade deals? The free movement of labour? Pish, tish and blah blah blah. No more the faff of having to guiltily hide one’s inferior burgundy passport (don’t think we didn’t realise you chose that shade on purpose) inside a facsimilie £9.99 blue passport cover, like a dirty mag inside the Financial Times.
You have tried to tie us to your yoke, to subjugate us, but you didn’t ever think we’d have the gumption to do it, just to bloody well go ahead and do it, to change the colour of our passports back to blue.
Well we have, we did, and we will, because this is the land of the Magna Carta, habeus corpus, of freedom and liberty, and blue passports. Because if God had meant them to be red he’d have invented them that way. To borrow the words of Dr King, as I think is appropriate in this instance, free at last, free at last, Thank God we are free at last. And don’t even try to give us one of your Gallic shrugs and tell us you don’t care, we can feel the heat of your blood boiling from here.