Sir Basil Nardley-Stoads

A warm wind of change is blowing through the unhallowed halls of the European Onion. Down the dank corridors of that bureaucratic nest of conformity a perfume of freedom wafts. Quick, you commissars, drain your expense accounts, squeeze those few last groats from your peons before the tsunami of change hits you and your padded, protected useless existences are removed from the long-suffering body politic of Europe.

At last, a nation that taught the world the meaning of liberty is demanding some for herself. Despite the spite and sour demeanour of the chatterati, their squawking puppets in the BBC and the Grauniad, and the never-ending prattle of cretinoid celebrities, it is left to the British workman, farmer, soldier, mother, to speak for representative government.

Fellow nationalists of Europe, your nations are also under threat from the Hydra in Brussels. Rest assured, we, in our sceptred isle, will support you in your quest for the crystal airs on the high plains of national freedom and liberty.

Double gins all round, and here’s our toast to our Queen, long may she reign.


Hic.., damn, that was a great day, eh, Jeeves?