His Balls to Gun-Stones

We are all aware that the Farage Falange wishes to propel the country back in time; but there has always been some controversy as to the precise degree of reaction it has in mind, if mind is the word I want. There are those who look back doe-eyed upon the nineteen-fifties and sixties, yearning for the days when it was legal to display a notice proclaiming No Blacks No Irish No Dogs; there are others who prefer the authentic British values of the Mosleyite thirties; and, naturally enough for a party composed largely of cast-off Conservatives, there is a sizeable contingent who share the Bullingdon Club's nostalgia for Regency corruption and the Victorian poor laws.

However, all such chronological timidity is anathema to the Caudillo himself, who has now so far recovered from the emotive effects of his Nick Clegg pledge to resign that he finally feels capable of toddling back on the national stage. Now that asylum seekers are going to the lengths of maliciously dying in the Channel Tunnel, the Caudillo has belched forth his personal decree that England must hop back at least as far as the mid-sixteenth century, dispatch an expeditionary force to France and reclaim our historic ownership of Calais. It is as yet unclear whether the Caudillo would accept the Duchy of Normandy for himself, should anyone happen to offer it.