‘Twas the night before Christmas, round Westminster way,
And a dark lonely time for Prime Minister May;
Her MPs were prepping for the risks of No Deal,
In hopes that the party would change how they feel.
The rebels were smugly asleep in their beds,
While visions of tax havens danced in their heads.
But May, home at Downing Street, wouldn’t back down,
She sipped some Earl Grey, and tried not to frown.
Then out on the street, there arose such a racket,
“It must be the people! My deal! They will back it!”
She cried, as she ran to the famous front door —
But no — “It’s Remainers,” she thought, “What a bore.”
The usual suspects from the Commons’ back bench,
Celebrities too — “Is that Judi Dench?”
She muttered, aghast at the crowds gathered there.
“Why do they all hate me? It just isn’t fair!”
She thought she had 17 million behind her,
(So what if she’s being so mocked on Pajiba?)
She couldn’t — she mustn’t — she wouldn’t show fear.
Though no-one thought Brexit a solid idea…
Prime Ministers (former) had gathered to scold her,
“Be softer,” said some, and then others, “be bolder”.
She’d witnessed some carnage during Tory Secret Santa,
Insulting and rude, but they claimed it was banter;
Her Santa had dropped something mean in her stocking —
And though she had laughed when she sent Trump some smocking,
And giggled when one of the MPs — a newbie —
Sent an ‘et tu, Brute?’ mug to poor Anna Soubry —
At Christmas time, surely, there should be some kindness,
Or even just desperately cool, bland politeness.
She’d glared when she saw what her Santa had bought her-
A mug with the slogan ‘Stop Brexit? You oughtta’.
The spelling was poor, but the message emphatic.
Appalling, for sure, but a gesture dramatic.
But what could she do? “The people have spoken,
It’s hardly my fault that the country is broken!
Blame David, blame Tony, blame Gordon, blame Ed!
Blame Boris and Michael! Blame Nigel instead!
Blame decades of newspaper stories that bash
The EU and say that its ideas are trash!
Blame bendy bananas and all the red tape!
Blame anyone else, but not me for God’s sake!”
So tell us Theresa: Who else should we blame,
For a terrible deal that is bearing your name?
It’s not like sans Brexit you’re morally clear,
You’re hostile to foreigners, not welcome here,
And don’t forget Windrush — we’re right to be mad!
It’s hardly the first time you’ve done something bad.
And time’s running out. The people are booing,
Because they’re not stupid; they see what you’re doing.
Delaying the vote on the deal is a ruse
To force your MPs to support what you choose.
Spending billions (not millions!) of pounds just in case
Your deal is rejected… It’s time that we face
The music! We must revoke Article 50
Until we can settle on something less shifty
Than a meat trifle plan, developed in haste,
That nobody here is willing to taste.
Not a tax haven deal that’s a dream for a toff,
That’s the worst kind of Great British Buggering Off.
The people will suffer, the kingdom will crumble,
While Tories in government dither and bumble.
Perhaps Mr Corbyn could tell May his plan?
Momentum is certain that he is their man…
At the moment, he’s fairly reluctant to meet her.
(What’s good about Lexit? I don’t know, ask Petr…)
But May won’t take heed of our pleas or our threats;
With her Medium Brexit, she’s hedging her bets.
She’s seen off a confidence vote — just about —
And though our protesters continue to shout,
She tunes out their cries and returns to her chair.
Her tea has gone cold now; the chill winter air
Plays a whistling tune (Number 10 is quite draughty) —
And though all the plotters believe that they’re crafty
With all their conspiracies, it stretches credulity
To see this ‘ere Brexit as a good opportunity.
She knows this at heart, but the lady’s not turning.
She’ll not budge an inch, though the country is burning.
“It’s Christmas”, she thinks, “Some presents and food
Will change up the headlines, and lighten the mood.
Assuming austerity’s left them enough
For presents and turkey — if not, well, that’s tough.”
Does she feel some regret, as she sits at her table?
Of course not! The May-bot is so strong and stable!
But the fairy lights twinkle, and though Brexit is shite,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Header Image Source: Getty Images