Satirical Snapshots bringing you whimsy on a Wednesday.

You know you’re back in England when…

The light at this time of year fades at around 4pm and turns into a dusky, purple hue which makes the bare trees stand out like they’ve been embossed onto the sky. The temperature plummets and you need hat, gloves, coat, scarf, a few packs of Lemsip and a bag of Jakemans. The fire needs to go on. The heating is up full blast 24/7.  Tesco have more tins of Quality Street than they have bread and milk and the pubs are full at early doors cos, well, it’s dark, innit! And all your friends want to meet you inside them. Who am I to argue? And not just for alcohol either.

Coffee?

OK, so it was morning. My friend, Miss E, came to fetch me for breakfast at a quarter to ten. We drove to a local wine bar that is also a coffee house and delicatessen. We just mix it all up here. One stop fits all.

“Two coffee’s please,” she said. “Put some of that vanilla malarkey in it, cos it’s Christmas and lets have a mince pie each!”

“Alright. Nice,” I replied.

“Let’s have a Tia Maria too!”

“But it’s only ten ‘o’ clock!” I looked at her askance. The man standing at the bar next to me sniggered. He was dressed in a decent business suit with well cut hair and spoke with an educated accent. This wasn’t some drunken turn from Wetherspoons already through his second pint. In fact, this chap had a cup of tea.

“It’s December, “ he said looking at me quizzically. “You can drink when you want in December.”

“Right. Course. I forgot where I was. Been away in America for ages. Soz.”

This is England. December is basically a party write off.

Fable at the table

“So, let me tell you a what’s been going on with me,”Miss E said as we positioned ourselves around one of those round tables for two that are only actually big enough for one. The Christmas menu and party events list lay on the table where evocative words sprung out like “Two For One” and “Santa’s Creamy Warmer”

She pulled off her coat and shivered. “It’s a bit parky out, innit!”

England. Mad words and trivial comments about the weather.

“Well, since you’ve been gone..”

“You’re out of your head, cant take it?”

“What?”

“Never mind. You’ll get used to me again soon.”

“I’ve had three counts of serious road rage and fell out with this bitch of a Traffic Warden. Watch out for her, she’s new on the block.”

“Right. Noted.”

“And I had a right palaver with my passport.”

“Oh?”

“Went to get it renewed and did that ‘check and send’ business at the post office, that cost me a tenner. Woman told me that my photo wasn’t good enough because you can see my teeth. Since when can’t you show your pearly whites off on a passport pic?”

“Since about ten years ago.”

“Well, whatever, I had to go all the way back to Asda to one of those bloody photo booths. Not used one of them since I was fifteen and pissed up with ten of us inside it taking obscene photos for a laugh.”

“Thems were the days.”

“Anyway, I took a picture and I looked like Myra Hindley. Not having that on my passport for the next decade! So, I did it again in black and white and took it back to the post office.”

“Let me guess…”

“You can’t use that, she said. It has to be colour!”

“Since about ten years ago. Maybe longer,” I stated.

“This is when I had my second road rage incident. Got stuck in the Asda traffic cos there was a deal on Port and Stilton and other party fodder. Three more bloody attempts to get a decent photo. Cost me fifteen sodding quid.”

“Lets raise a toast to Eng-Er-Land!” I said, raising my glass to hers and finishing it up.

“Have you heard about the ten foot Brexit Turkeys being bred by farmers and milked for supermarket cheese?” I asked.

“No, but have you heard the kerfuffle about the new fiver?”

The Indestructible Fiver.

Turns out, since I’ve been away shooting them, more sinister findings have occurred. Get this:

Hardline nutmunchers have forced the 322 year old Bank of England to review the indestructible fiver because it contains animal fat known as tallow. Whine-at everything leaf eating monomaniacs complained that this use of animal fat offended their sensibilities and demanded a review. Since then, PC word is out on the streets that this is causing severe upset to Hindus Sikhs and Jains – whose religion forbids them from eating beef.

Excuse me but what planet do I live on? I’m prepared to help all of these people out. Send me your tallow filled fivers and I’ll look after them for you then please leave on the nearest train or plane.

As for vegans, I’ve seen enough of them wearing leather Doc Martens, carrying suede handbags, wearing make up with animal fat in and pretty sure they may have lit a candle or two in their vegan life. Make it easy on yourself guys and become a Flexitarian.

The bank have already received a thousand ( phew steady on) signatures on a petition ( the first fourteen from a clan in Essex) to date and are taking it seriously as the head honchos go out in their chauffeur driven Bentleys to discuss it over lunch at The Greenhouse in Mayfair, London.

Not satisfied with that they’ve decided to take it a step further:

“Militant vegans are now demanding a ban on breakfast cereals containing cartoon characters because it demeans animals”

Yep. That’s right. Damn those marketing staff. I’ve not seen a Honey Monster since; they hide in absolute shame. And, for the record, nobody cares about the monkey in the jungle. Like me, people only eat Coco-Pops because they turn the milk chocolatey – duh!
Frosties? Well, they’re GRRRRRREAT!

Virginal bargains on eBay

But more interestingly, prostitution is finding a way to be legal. This will save a lot of sheep.
It all started on ‘This Morning’s Britain’ with hosts Phillip Schofield and Hollyby Willoughby interviewing a girl that started a craze by selling her virginity for £800,000. Well that didn’t wash round here. You can get a blow job for a fiver in the pub car park. So, rather smartly, another bird decided to keep it real. She’s prepared to sell hers for a second hand hoover. A nice little Henry type vacuum is her preference rather than some crap Malaysian knock -off but I’m pretty sure she’s up for a deal. I reckon a bag of quavers and a scratch card and you’re in.

Back home in Blighty!

Lets balance it out with a bit of William Blake. This is England. You gotta love it.