Amid all the sturm und drang in Westminster recently there was an exquisite moment of light relief that, at least momentarily, lifted my spirits and went some way to restoring my dwindling faith in the mother of parliaments.
You may have seen it: Anna ‘Sound and Fury’ Soubry, rose from her bench to make one of her pronouncements. And, for maximum impact, and to catch the attention of the TV news I suspect, she had decided to slip a ‘humorous’ little sound bite into her contribution. In that trademark headmisstressy tone of hers that gives new meaning to the word hectoring she insisted that the view of the people of Britain on Brexit had changed, and, ‘as I know it’s nearly the panto season’, she had a message for those who said it hadn’t.
‘Oh yes, it has!’
Now someone should have told her it’s probably not a good idea for those who have previously shown no interest in, or aptitude for, comedy, to take it up in later life, but in her almost charming, childlike naivety, she somehow couldn’t see that she had just rolled the ball into the path of the Brexiteers, with an open goal staring straight at them.
And they weren’t about to miss.
‘Oh no it hasn’t’, they returned with gusto, leaving Ms. Soubry looking like she’d been smacked around the chops with a wet haddock.
I was cheered by this little interlude. How welcome it was. And how thoroughly British; what other parliament in the world, in the midst of its greatest crisis in decades, would indulge itself with some daft knock-about humour?
But was it just a one-off? Or did it a signal a change in the weather? Were the clouds opening and was the sunshine about to burst through? Could this presage a return to the traditional British values of generous good humour and gentle mockery?
Sadly, it couldn’t.
For no sooner had the laughter died away, and Ms Soubry plonked herself down in high dudgeon (her default state) than we were back to the bickering and the bitterness, and the feeling of panicky dread that permeates our national discourse, momentarily banished, returned.
Quite frankly, it’s all becoming a bit much, especially in the season of goodwill.
So what I propose is a holiday Brexit truce. In the spirit of Ypres Christmas 1914, Leavers and Remainers must put down their weapons, climb out of their trenches, enter no man’s land and embrace their enemies. They may exchange cigarettes or small gifts, make merry banter, and wish each other a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. And mean it sincerely.
And for the general public, all insults must stop. I declare a ceasefire. I promise never again to make the observation that every time I see Theresa May I am reminded of a dead badger I saw lying by the side of a road in Essex, (something about the eyes, the hair, the deathly stillness). It’s cruel and unhelpful. And there should be no more mention of the ‘Maybot’ or ‘Madam Glumbucket’. Remainers should desist from their own ad hominem invective. Enough of the ‘swivel-eyed Brexit loons’, or ‘Little Englander nutters’ please, mutual respect and good manners is the order of the day.
But let’s go further than mere politeness. How about some light-hearted communal events to help heal our wounds and bring us all back together?
For a kickoff we can extend the WW1 theme by staging a ‘friendly’ pro-celebrity football match, Leave VS Remain, to be played on a piece of waste ground with trench coats for posts. Gary Lineker can give Twitter a rest and with David Beckham can star for the pro-EU side, while his old buddies Chris Waddle and Peter Shilton could feature for Leave. Teams to assemble afterwards for a champagne reception, hosted by Jean Claude Juncker.
On TV, the BBC having mercifully failed to arrange a debate between two of the world’s most boring people (May and Corbyn) (sorry) could instead revive the old It’s a Knock Out format and host a special Brexit version, not, repeat not, to be knicknamed It’s a Crash Out. I can see Jacob Rees Mogg, dressed as John Bull, attempting to ‘just walk away’ from a cardboard mock up of the Berlaymont building while attached to an elastic cable that keeps pulling him back, as he is showered with buckets of water by rival contestants in foam rubber suits with grotesque oversized Juncker, Barnier, Tusk and Ver Hofstadt heads.
Another game could be a reenactment of one of the most amusing episodes of the referendum campaign – the Battle of the Thames, when Nigel Farage commanded an armada of fishing boats in protest at the EU’s decimation of their industry, only to be met by a rival flotilla of remain supporting luvvies fronted by Bob Geldof and his groovy young fans flicking V signs and spraying them with water. The first one ended a bit messily, and with a degree of bitterness, so this time lets make it more fun – do it in pirate costumes and play it for laughs, and points. Each side has to ‘fulfill their quota’ by catching plastic fish in large nets while being bombarded with crazy foam. You know, something like that.
Or how about a game where Theresa May or Ollie Robbins abseil the glass walls of a mock European parliament to grab ‘concessions’, written on small pieces of white paper and tied to the flags hanging from the roof, while Eurocrats suddenly appear from windows and attempt to batter them back down with rolled up copies of the Maastricht treaty.
The possibilities are endless.
A special Brexit version of Strictly might be fun too, with pairs consisting of a Brexiteer and a Remainer, who one hopes might find a deeper understanding and shared consciousness when forced to harmonize their movements, if not their views. A celebrity Brexit Bake-off special would be a sure fire ratings winner. Pru Leith (Leave) vs Delia Smith (Remain) to bake a cake and decorate it in an hour with the rival themes, ‘Leave means leave!’ for Pru, and ‘Let’s have a people’s vote!’ for Delia. Cherries, and sour grapes should be off the menu.
Things would then hot up with a gala singalong concert at the Royal Albert Hall in the presence of her majesty the Queen, with Brexit themed songs, sung by the original artists where possible. Here are my suggestions: Don’t Leave Me This Way (The Communards), Should I Stay or Should I Go? (The Clash); Go Your Own Way (Fleetwood Mack); Stay (The Blue Nile); Breaking Up is Hard to Do (Neil Sedaka); Say Hello, Wave Goodbye (Soft Cell; No Way Out (Phil Collins); I owe you nothing (Bros).
All artists to assemble on stage for the grand finale, a rendition of Che Sera Sera (Doris day) – fitting as nobody in truth has a clue how it’s all going to play out.
And finally, this epic series of events could culminate in a glorious climax that draws its inspiration from a largely forgotten historical episode from far deeper into the past than the trenches truce.
In 1458 in the reign of Henry VI England was in the bloody early stages of the internecine Wars of the Roses, and in an attempt to bring the country together the king declared a ‘Love day’ when the warring factions would take a day off from slaughtering each other, and attend ceremonies of reconciliation in St. Paul’s cathedral. Sworn enemies were required to walk into the great church in pairs, hand in hand, to hear masses for the dead.
What a wonderful idea that was. So let’s recreate it. Just imagine, Farage and Campbell, Adonis and Johnson, Blair and Rees Mogg, Clegg and Hoey, Soubrey and Bone, A.C Grayling and Michael Portillo, etc, etc, dressed in 15th century costumes, making a majestic procession into the ancient cathedral, cheered on by the ecstatic crowds, and united in a renewed sense of brotherhood and shared humanity.
Now who wouldn’t want to see that?
Merry Christmas!