A SONG FOR BREXIT

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C'est une poupée qui fait non...non...non...non...
Toute la journée elle fait non...non..non...non...

Elle est tell'ment jolie
Que j'en rêve la nuit.

C'est une poupée qui fait non...non...non...non...
Toute la journée, elle fait non...non...non..non...

Personne ne lui a jamais appris
Qu'on pouvait dire oui.

Sans même écouter, elle fait non...non...non...non...
Sans même regarder, elle fait non...non...non...non...

Pourtant je donnerais ma vie
Pourqu'elle dise oui.

Mais c'est une poupée qui fait non...non...non...non...
Toute la journée elle fait non...non...non...non...

Personne ne lui a jamais appris
Que l'on peut dire oui...

Non...non...non...non...
Non...non...non...non...

A CAKE TOO FAR ?

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When I heard the news I baked a cake for Theresa and Arlene but it appears I was a bit previous. Arlene is not yet ready to go to the altar in advance of a satisfactory pre-nup despite Theresa's ardent desire for a quickie consummation.

The image is not making any one point but many. There were four layers to the construction of the image, each with its own area of contemplation.

The top layer is, of course, the icing. The optics are for mutually tolerant harmony, sanctified in this case not by the church but by the UK electorate.

The next layer is Theresa whose combination of greed and incompetence has got her into a jam where the only way out is a shotgun wedding with whoever will have her.

The penultimate layer is Arlene who is being a bit coy about the proposal of marriage and wonders if they can just get into bed together on a less formal basis.

The final layer is Ashers, who have asked me to say, for the avoidance of doubt, they did not bake this particular cake.

I'm sure, if you contemplate it long enough, you will see many more dimensions in this image beyond the two obvious ones.

By the way, I brought along a wedding present but I can't decide which of them to give it to.