EUROPE | COP26

“Oh Fish Off, Macron and Let Me Pour My Pint in Peace!” Says Boris

Fishy tantrums reign between the Franglais Frenemies

Prime Minister Boris Johnson was just helping himself to a delicious pint of British ale, at a truly celebratory reduction of 3p following the glorious annual budget, when a smelly fish came flying through the open door of The Jolly Haddock Inn.

“Prenez that!” Came the angry voice of President Macron, in perfect Franglais.

(Franglais = French + anglais, which could equally be called Fr-english)

“Beat that Boris!”

“Oh donnez-mois un break, you gren grenou spit waffle piffle” sputtered Boris, trying desperately to get out the word for “frog” in French.

“‘Grenouille’, Bojo,” whispered Nigel Farage, who was hiding under the bar, in case anyone thought that he might be having some influence over the country’s post-Brexit glorified disaster. Heaven forbid!

It would be difficult to explain that he had simply been hired to aid Boris with his language barrier since Boris really struggled to hold onto any memory of French with so much ego filling that pretty blond head of his. Despite having become fluent in his younger days.

Another fish came flying through the door, this one a little more rotten and putrid than the last. It hit Boris smack on the forehead.

Nigel smirked in glory at the mess unfolding before him.

“I created this,” he thought to himself, proudly, wondering when he was going to be knighted by the Queen for creating the biggest political and economic mess in the history of Britain.

Surely that was deserving of such an honour?

He was just imagining how it would feel to be addressed by all and sundry as “Sir Nigel” when he felt a sharp slap on his face, followed by a stench that filled his large nostrils. It was the impact of the smellier of the two fish that Macron had pelted through the doors of their proudly British establishment.

“I am getting really énervé with you, trout-face!” Snapped Boris.

Red circles were appearing on Boris’s cheeks as he grew angrier and angrier with Mr. Smug-as-a-bug under the bar. Nigel marvelled at how clown-like Boris really could look when pushed far enough.

“Get out here and fight like a real man!”

Boris exclaimed as he slapped Nigel again with his rotten fish.

More fish came flying through the door, all equally as pungent. Boris ducked under the bar, setting his hindquarters down next to Nigel with his pint, as Rishi Sunak took the impact on the back of the head.

“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, eh?” He said, and the two men banged their oversized glasses together.

“Bottoms up, old boy.”

Meanwhile, outside the doors of The Jolly Haddock, Monsieur Macron was quietly congratulating himself and the EU commissioners for creating major delays on the exporting of British fish, to show the Anglo-Saxons a lesson. They wouldn’t have had such vast and noxious ammunition had they not held up the trade for so long.

“This should last us a few days,” he said to his confidants. “Just long enough to keep the press forgetting that there’s a major climate conference happening that could make us all look like a bunch of two-faced, self-serving assholes. Keep them coming!”

He took aim again.

“Prenez that! And that! You rotten poisson!”

For more fishy Brexit tails (see what I did there?) read this:

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