The Ballad of Breck's Isle!

The Ballad of Breck's Isle    (click to hear it)

"No man is an island but a part of the main." John Donne

As our sandy shores rock Euro-vision
With our white Cliff-Engelbert noir
And seize back control from green Brussels
And win a No Deal with Nil Points

The UK will win Eurovision again;
Cilla, with Ringo's hair.
The Tories will be Winston Churchill again.
(Except that they never were.)

You can keep your French shtick, your double Deutch,

Your Dolce-clad discothèques

Your  tiqui-taca, your Peps and your Klopps

Your Lattes and Pilsners and Becks.

You can keep your fromage, your Nordic noir,

Your Breughel and Brendan and Brecht,

Your Christendom, culture and 'civitas,'

Let me live on the Isle of Breck

Where coiffure d'Albert is Albert's of Heacham

And le bistrot a gastritis-pub;

Where mange tout de chef is Chav's All You Can Eat 

 And pure white folk rules at the club.

As our sandy shores rock Euro-vision

With our white Cliff-Engelbert noir

And seize back control from green Brussels

And win a no-deal with 'nil points',

England will win the World Cup again,

Harry Kane will be the hot Spur

The Who will be Number One again

(Except that they never were.)

You can keep your Rioja, your Pinot, your Brut,

Give us Spitfire and Bombadier

And Broadside and Bomber and Brexile Bitter

And rationing, hatred and fear.

It's the new party line, the new Civil War, 

Breaching kin, class, friend and Union

Eyes right, all salute the all-white flag

Of our half-mast donkey-led kingdom.

Full steam ahead to Breck's Isle, Ahoy!

A hundred percent right and sure

Or 52 on a confident day

Which it might not be anymore.

As our sandy shores rock Euro-vision

With our white Cliff-Engelbert noir

And seize back control from green Brussels

And win a no-deal with 'nil points',

Wales will win the World Cup/ beat the All Blacks/ again;

Real Madrid/ Warren Gatland/ the Spur;

The valleys be home-grown and funded again

(Except that they never were.)

100 percent for a four point turn

Going back where we weren't before

Back from the Front and that Normandy beach

Home to Brexile's doughty white shore.

We will fight in the plazas where families dine out,

Kick over their wine and cuisine;

We will never surrender our country and cod

And chip on the shoulder and Queen.

We are the champions of Europe we were

And will be, by running away

Backwards up Winston Churchill Drive 

Though his soft 'Will' has shrunk to hard 'May.'

As our sandy shores rock Euro-vision

With our white Cliff-Engelbert noir

And seize back control from green Brussels

And win a no-deal with 'nil points',

Northern Ireland will win the World Cup again,

A backstop midfield be the Spur,

Our Lost Lands will be Arthur's England again

(Except that they never were.)

Note

'Breck' is Middle English for breached, broken. 

A corner of a Norfolk field that is forever Europe