An Open Letter to Nigel Farage

Dear Nigel, can it really be?
  Are you the magic three?
You lied to us, you kicked out Fritz,
  Then, just like that, you call it quits.
  And with your latest little trick,
You’ve proved that you’re a spineless prick;
  Like Michael Gove and Boris, you–
Will always be a number two.

I’m glad you’re off, but can’t endorse,
  Your European tour-de-force,
Because no matter what you say,
  It’s not your independence day.
  But we'll continue, nonetheless,
With others mopping up your mess.
  And fine, upstanding, noble men,
Will make this country great again.

For politics is not a game,
  So crawl back into whence you came:
Your Swedish car, your German wife,
  Your pure and simple, privileged life.
  And you can quote me word for word,
You self-important, steaming turd,
  You’re no more than a hypocrite -
A low life, lying piece of shit.

Forgive me if I seem unkind,
  It’s not the first time you’ve resigned;
We thought that you were dead and then,
  You reared your ugly head again.
  In fact, you’ve done this twice before -
So this time when you close the door,
  Now, listen very carefully,
Please throw away the fucking key.





Nigel Farage has: a French surname; a German wife; and a love of Dutch courage. He drives a Swedish car; switches sides like the Italians; waves the white flag like the French when things start to look tough; takes far more out of Europe than he puts in like the Greek, Spanish, Portuguese, Irish, Latvians, Lithuanians, Hungarians, Poles, Slovaks, Maltese, and Bulgarians; then tries to disappear into obscurity like the Belgians.
It just doesn't seem very British.

05 July 2016