Special Relationship

Whatever else may happen in the next few years, one certainty is that we have finally run out of First World War centenaries. Fortunately, beginning next September there are six years of eightieth anniversaries waiting for us; but the Trumpster and his hydrophobic head-tribble are apparently in a bit of a rush. Our American cousins, without whom Mr Churchill's personal victory over the forces of foreign racism and unauthorised authoritarianism would scarcely have been half so spectacular, are still owed the state visit with which Tumbledown Tessie pledged Global Britain's continuing vassalage after the Trumpster's famously crowd-free coronation. A visit did subsequently take place, but neither the Trumpster nor his head-tribble got to meet the Queen or accept an honorary doctorate or any of the usual honours which Her Majesty's Government habitually accords to despots, thieves, braggarts, swindlers and sex offenders. However, the possibility of a full-on pageant is receiving renewed consideration thanks to the increasingly urgent need for the Recrudescent Imperium of Westminster, Gibraltar and the Falkland Islands to facilitate and dynamicise trade in chlorinated chicken and other exotic delicacies, and the Trumpster's ambassador has suggested that the inevitable VE-Day rah-rah in May might be an opportune time. Presumably it is hoped that the profusion of Spitfires in the sky will be sufficient to keep at bay any subversive orange Zeppelins of the manbaby class.