The one in central Vienna also went up in 1945 within months of the end of the war. Locals refer to it rather unkindly as the 'Monument to the Unknown Looter'. The memorials gave the Russians a useful foothold in the West, with guards stationed by the one in Berlin, while Putin was a regular visitor to Vienna's. If he goes back now, he'll find the huge wall at the back has been painted in the colours of Ukraine.
Take your seats for the new series of The Crown. But here's the scene you won't be seeing. Its contents were exclusively revealed in this blog on 13 September 2020. Now read on:
‘Oh great! The Crown!’
‘Oh yes. World-beating! But wait a minute, Carrie. That caption says May 3, 2021. None of this has happened yet. How can they know about it?’
‘Shh. I’m trying to watch the programme.’
‘Oh God! I don’t look like that. Surely they could have found somebody better looking! And he’s nearly bald! Where’s the phone. I’m going to get on to that new head honcho we put in – Davey Somebody – and make him take this off.’
‘Boris! It’s not the BBC, it’s Netflix. Now shut up and listen.’
‘Oh. I was expecting to see the Queen.’
A hint of a mirthless smile flickers beneath an impressive moustache. ‘I’m afraid Her Majesty is otherwise engaged. She asked me to see you on her behalf.’
‘Hold on! I recognise you. You’re Tommy Lascelles. You were in the last series or the one before. You can’t meet me, because you’re dead.’
Unlike his interlocutor, the urbane functionary is not in the least nonplussed. ‘Don’t believe everything you read on Wikipedia, Mr Johnson. It sometimes…….exaggerates.’
‘You mean “prime minister”’
‘Mr Johnson.’ The mirthless smile was back.
‘Well, the point is that once parliament has passed this ‘Unilateral Cancellation of EU Trade Agreement Bill’, I’ll need HMQ to give the Royal Assent pronto, so we can implement the populi voluntatem without delay and all that.’
‘And, of course, if you ask Her Majesty to take that action, she will have to comply.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Which is precisely why you will not do it.’
‘What do you mean, Lascelles? You can’t obstruct the will of the people.’
‘I have here a few papers for your perusal.’ (The phrase: ‘Restricted. Top Secret. Not for Fatman’s eyes’ is fleetingly visible on one.)
‘Oh. I’ll take them back to number 10. Dom reads that kind of stuff for me.’
‘The papers will not be leaving this room, and, Mr Cummings is (Lascelles consults his watch) as of now, ‘a guest of Her Majesty’, as I think they say in the films. Apparently something about his time in Russia?’
‘There’s no point trying to frighten me about leaking stuff to the press. The ephemerides are all in my pocket and the BBC daren’t sneeze without my say so.’
The immaculately turned out royal servant produces a newspaper and eases it across the table. ‘If the papers I showed you a moment ago are too voluminous, perhaps you might cast your eye over this?’
“‘Bang Up Boris’ call. Gove poised for No 10.” What’s this?
‘The front page of tomorrow morning’s (Lascelles raises his eyebrows and utters the next word as though wiping something nasty off the sole of his Berluti Oxford) Sun. I managed to persuade them to tone it down from ‘string up’ to ‘bang up’.’
‘That bastard Gove! It’s a fake, Rupert would never do this to me.’
‘If you examine the papers I suggested you should read, you will see that some (the pause is followed by the same tone of voice used for ‘Sun’) gentlemen who had hoped to profit from certain actions of yours felt they had not received the degree of forewarning you promised, and so have not profited as much as they had anticipated.’
‘Can I get my mobile?’
‘As you know, these audiences are strictly mobile-free.’
‘Then I need to get back to Number 10 right now.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Some kind of security alert. The police say there’s a suspected criminal in the building. However (it’s that mirthless smile again) should you wish to avail yourself of a generous offer from President Putin, you may leave now and take asylum in Krasnoyarsk.’
‘What the hell is that?’
‘A place in Siberia. The president has provided special transport from here to the airport, and your flight leaves in a couple of hours. Aeroflot. I’m afraid he couldn’t get business class.’
‘You can’t do this. I’m the prime minister! I’m the prime minister!’
So, Boris Johnson, the great liar has finally gone (sort of). Back in September 2020, I prophesied how he might fall. Want to check how close I was? Here's what I wrote:
‘Oh great! Season 4 of ‘The Crown’!’
‘Oh yes. World-beating! But wait a minute, Carrie. That caption says May 3, 2021. None of this has happened yet. How can they know about it?’
‘Shh. I’m trying to watch the programme.’
‘Oh God! I don’t look like that. Surely they could have found somebody better looking! And he’s nearly bald! Where’s the phone. I’m going to get on to that new head honcho we put in – Davey Somebody – and make him take this off.’
‘Boris! It’s not the BBC, it’s Netflix. Now shut up and listen.’
‘Oh. I was expecting to see the Queen.’
A hint of a mirthless smile flickers beneath an impressive moustache. ‘I’m afraid Her Majesty is otherwise engaged. She asked me to see you on her behalf.’
‘Hold on! I recognise you. You’re Tommy Lascelles. You were in the last series or the one before. You can’t see me, because you’re dead.’
Unlike his interlocutor, the urbane functionary is not in the least nonplussed. ‘Don’t believe everything you read on Wikipedia, Mr Johnson. It sometimes…….exaggerates.’
‘You mean “prime minister”’
‘Mr Johnson.’ The mirthless smile was back.
‘Well, the point is that once parliament has passed this ‘Unilateral Cancellation of EU Trade Agreement Bill’, I’ll need HMQ to give the Royal Assent pronto, so we can implement the populi voluntatem without delay and all that.’
‘And, of course, if you ask Her Majesty to take that action, she will have to comply.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Which is precisely why you will not do it.’
‘What do you mean, Lascelles? You can’t obstruct the will of the people.’
‘I have here a few papers for your perusal.’ (The phrase: ‘Restricted. Top Secret. Not for Fatman’s eyes’ are fleetingly visible on one.)
‘Oh. I’ll take them back to number 10. Dom reads that kind of stuff for me.’
‘The papers will not be leaving this room, and, Mr Cummings is (Lascelles consults his watch) as of now, ‘a guest of Her Majesty’, as I think they say in the films. Apparently something about his time in Russia?’
‘There’s no point trying to frighten me about leaking stuff to the press. The ephemerides are all in my pocket and the BBC daren’t sneeze without my say so.’
The immaculately turned out royal servant produces a newspaper and eases it across the table. ‘If the papers I showed you a moment ago are too voluminous, perhaps you might cast your eye over this?’
“‘Bang Up Boris’ call. Gove poised for No 10.” What’s this?
‘The front page of tomorrow morning’s (Lascelles raises his eyebrows and utters the next word as though wiping something nasty off the sole of his Berluti Oxford) Sun. I managed to persuade them to tone it down from ‘string up’ to ‘bang up’.’
‘That bastard Gove! It’s a fake, Rupert would never do this to me.’
‘If you examine the papers I suggested you should read, you will see that some (the pause is followed by the same tone of voice used for ‘Sun’) gentlemen who had hoped to profit from certain actions of yours felt they had not received the degree of forewarning you promised, and so have not profited as much as they had anticipated.’
‘Can I get my mobile?’
‘As you know, these audiences are strictly mobile-free.’
‘Then I need to get back to Number 10 right now.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Some kind of security alert. The police say there’s a suspected criminal in the building. However (it’s that mirthless smile again) should you wish to avail yourself of a generous offer from President Putin, you may leave now and take asylum in Krasnoyarsk.’
‘What the hell is that?’
‘A place in Siberia. The president has provided special transport from here to the airport, and your flight leaves in a couple of hours. Aeroflot. I’m afraid he couldn’t get business class.’
‘You can’t do this. I’m the prime minister! I’m the prime minister!’
Dear Vladimir,
I’m sorry about the
delay in getting the trade war with the EU underway, but now we’re motoring. I’m
as keen as you are to destroy the EU. I know perfectly well how embarrassing it
is to have neighbours who are more prosperous, more efficient and more
democratic.
Of course I am aware
that without your money, bots, lies, dirty tricks, etc. I would never have got my
job, but you have to understand I’m in a very tight corner. Even some of the
foolish people who voted for Brexit have begun to see through my lies! So, apologies once again that it has taken so long.
And I appreciate you
invading Ukraine so the mendacious right wing press and my stupid MPs could
trot out the line about: ‘We can’t change prime minister! There’s a war on!’
And I can understand
that you’re cross about me sending weapons to Ukraine, but you have to see it
from my point of view. This has got to look good! If too many people start to
think I am in your pay and in your pocket, the outlook for me could be really bleak.
Onwards and upwards!
Your friend in the FUK (Former United Kingdom)
.jpeg)
1. We will defend democracy in Ukraine, but not in the UK
obviously, where anyone who does not bow down to worship the Great God Brexit
and the heroic achievements of Chairman Johnson HAD BETTER WATCH OUT.
2. We appreciate that a lot of you can’t afford to eat or
put the lights on, but don’t worry. We will be delivering you a whole pile of
BREXIT BENEFITS (details to be announced in due course).
3. We will use the OPPORTUNITIES OF BREXIT, which makes our
economy smaller, to make our economy bigger.
We accept NO RESPONSIBILITY for any policies that may prove
defective.
Is this all right, Vladimir?
Boris Johnson’s Conservative ‘government’.
‘Oh great! Season 4 of ‘The Crown’!’
‘Oh yes.
World-beating! But wait a minute, Carrie. That caption says May 3, 2021. None
of this has happened yet. How can they know about it?’
‘Shh. I’m trying to
watch the programme.’
‘Oh God! I don’t
look like that. Surely they could have found somebody better looking! And he’s
nearly bald! Where’s the phone. I’m
going to get on to that new head honcho we put in – Davey Somebody – and make
him take this off.’
‘Boris! It’s not the BBC, it’s Netflix. Now
shut up and listen.’
‘Oh. I was expecting to see the Queen.’
A hint of a mirthless smile flickers beneath
an impressive moustache. ‘I’m afraid Her Majesty is otherwise engaged. She
asked me to see you on her behalf.’
‘Hold on! I recognise you. You’re Tommy Lascelles. You
were in the last series or the one before. You can’t see me, because you’re
dead.’
Unlike his interlocutor, the urbane
functionary is not in the least nonplussed. ‘Don’t believe everything you read
on Wikipedia, Mr Johnson. It sometimes…….exaggerates.’
‘You mean “prime minister”’
‘Mr Johnson.’ The mirthless smile was back.
‘Well, the point is that once parliament has
passed this ‘Unilateral Cancellation of EU Trade Agreement Bill’, I’ll need HMQ
to give the Royal Assent pronto, so we can implement the populi voluntatem without delay and all that.’
‘And, of course, if you ask Her Majesty to take
that action, she will have to comply.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Which is precisely why you will not do it.’
‘What do you mean, Lascelles? You can’t
obstruct the will of the people.’
‘I have here a few papers for your perusal.’
(The phrase: ‘Restricted. Top Secret. Not for Fatman’s eyes’ are fleetingly visible
on one.)
‘Oh. I’ll take them back to number 10. Dom
reads that kind of stuff for me.’
‘The papers will not be leaving this room,
and, Mr Cummings is (Lascelles consults his watch) as of now, ‘a guest of Her
Majesty’, as I think they say in the films. Apparently something about his time
in Russia?’
‘There’s no point trying to frighten me
about leaking stuff to the press. The ephemerides are all in my pocket
and the BBC daren’t sneeze without my say so.’
The immaculately turned out royal servant
produces a newspaper and eases it across the table. ‘If the papers I showed you
a moment ago are too voluminous, perhaps you might cast your eye over this?’
“‘Bang Up Boris’ call. Gove poised for No
10.” What’s this?
‘The front page of tomorrow morning’s
(Lascelles raises his eyebrows and utters the next word as though wiping
something nasty off the sole of his Berluti Oxford) Sun. I
managed to persuade them to tone it down from ‘string up’ to ‘bang up’.’
‘That bastard Gove! It’s a fake, Rupert
would never do this to me.’
‘If you examine the papers I suggested you
should read, you will see that some (the pause is followed by the same tone of
voice used for ‘Sun’) gentlemen who had hoped to profit from
certain actions of yours felt they had not received the degree of forewarning
you promised, and so have not profited as much as they had anticipated.’
‘Can I get my mobile?’
‘As you know, these audiences are strictly mobile-free.’
‘Then I need to get back to Number 10 right
now.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Some
kind of security alert. The police say there’s a suspected criminal in the
building. However (it’s that mirthless smile again) should you wish to avail
yourself of a generous offer from President Putin, you may leave now and take
asylum in Krasnoyarsk.’
‘What the hell is that?’
‘A place in Siberia. The president has
provided special transport from here to the airport, and your flight leaves in
a couple of hours. Aeroflot. I’m afraid he couldn’t get business class.’
‘You can’t do this. I’m the prime minister!
I’m the prime minister!’
