I've just read an article by someone called Brendan O'Neill. It felt like an essay written by an overexcited schoolboy who has just discovered Hitler.

I've just received my Tarjeta Sanitaria Europea and it was accompanied by a lovely letter from the Minister of Work, Migration, and Social Security or rather the Director General, one Maria Redondo Rincon in which she said she was very pleased to send me said card which I can use during my 'displacement' or trip abroad in the EU and added she wishes 'your grace' ( that's me) a happy stay wherever I am destined. Watch out world, here I come!

Don't talk to me about immigrants. I am an immigrant, I married an immigrant and so did my husband!

How long will they string the people along before the people start to string them up?

I've just woken up. I was dreaming I was in a pub, the Blue Posts in Rupert Street, drinking with Barack Obama. One of those dreams you could stay forever. There were lots of other people there and I kept thinking I really ought to ask him something important as no one would forgive me if I didn't. I decided I would ask how we had gone from him to Trump when I saw him go to the other side of the bar and start serving drinks. He was pouring shots of something and handed me the first smiling and winking as if to say, 'this will get the party started', and then he turned up the music. I threw my drink into someone's cup of tea hoping no one would see and finally said 'sorry Obama ( we were not on first name terms at that point) but I have to get up in the morning, some of us have work to do.'

Where do people go now the Daily Heil has gone all soft? Well have a peep at Leave EU's page, it's the best cardiovascular workout!

Continental Europe calling. Well, with all the social agitation I realise nobody has written much about Jean Claude lately. To be honest the last time I saw him was a while back when we were hiding in a cupboard trying not to laugh while Michel B tried to keep some UKIP chappies, Digby and Woolfie, from the door. That was the time when they were trying to woo Michel with some typical British products, you know, a tinned Fray Bentos pie, a dog eared copy of Boris's Winston Churchill, some out of date Mr Kipling's fondant fancies and a pickled egg. Products which were worth it just for the look on Michel's face, especially when he opened a jar of Marmite and looked like someone who has just opened a tin of Surstromming the tinned Swedish fish that you can smell from here and one of the lesser known advantages of the freedom of movement within the EU.