Britannia Slinks Back to Port

Another of the Recrudescent Imperium's phoney wars has ended in an armistice, yet again with the phoneys rather obviously on the losing side, in that the jabbering homunculus Michael Gove, who had promised to take back control of Britain's fisheries, has emerged from the business looking about as honest and intelligent as he usually does. Although fishing is a relatively small part of what remains of the economy, it is highly significant for feelings, which of course are all that counts. For the jabbering homunculus himself, the quest for piscine autarky is nothing less than a personal crusade: apparently he blames the ghastly Euro-wogs for sending his father's fish processing business to the wall, thereby forcing the jabbering homunculus into his present dead-end job just to pay the bills. Nor should one underestimate the likely traumatic effect upon the senior Gove when a cruel Fate rubbed salt in his wounds by causing him to spawn a scion with the facial and intellectual endowments of an orgasmic turbot. Still, ministers are just about beginning to understand the need for economic stability if any directorships worth having are to be salvaged from the ghastly mess; so the jabbering homunculus has graciously fallen in behind whoever is operating the blithering prima donna David Davis at the moment, with doubtless a Dolchstoßlegende or several already nicely on the boil.