The Good Gove Days
Hello! Here in Smolensk butcher shop, last night we watch re-run of great British programme, The Good Old Days. Here sample.
SACHS: Antediluvian [woooo], pre-lapsarian [woooo], retrospective, retrograde, reactionary rapscallion, Mr Michael Gove! [bangs gavel – applause]
GOVE: Thank you, thank you. Whoops, did I hear a gavel? My life, I thought it was Judge Leveson. Have a care there Your Honour, M’Lud and all that, that’s the freedom of the press you’re taking blinkin’ liberties with. Eh? Ah, you gotta laugh, haven’t you eh, eh? Otherwise you’d screw your face up into an ugly pout just like this one, eh, see that Misses, did you ever see the like? It’s like a cross between a guppy and someone puckering up to plant one on Rupert’s unmentionables. And don’t say you haven’t been there sir, I’ve seen your sort with your big wide get me elected and me principles is in the post smiles, I have! Well now what’s all this I’ve heard about GCSEs and what nots and all that new fangled malarkey. Stone the workers, if it isn’t a diabolical load of gobbledegook and some very unBritish way of expanding higher edicashon and that, to let lots of very undesirable people in. You know the sort I mean, so poor they’ve not a net curtain to twitch or knee to jerk between ‘em. Cripes, they’ll be letting anyone in next, even you sir, and judging by the shape of your head, good old-fashioned phrenology, that’s the way I say, you’re scarcely fit to be Deputy Prime Minister. Course in my day, if you was poor and wanted to get on and that, you got yourself adopted at an early age into a nice middle class family and did yourself some proper exams. Now if you can’t show that initiative as a nipper what’s recently leapt out from your mother’s how’s your father to get yourself adopted into more suitable surroundings then why should you be let into universitary? No. Back to good old-fashioned GCEs for them’s what knows what’s what, and apprenticeships and shelf-stacking for them what don’t. Am I right madam, oh, she’ll be up here in a minute, live wire she is, laugh, I nearly tore my own head off in agonised embarrassment, keep her on her Teather or she’ll have my whatsits for Wotsits. Remember Wotsits? And Freddos? And how you could take your Tizer bottles back to the corner shop and get enough coppers back to pay for a new King James Bible. Oh the past, my past, it’s what your future’s made of. A song? You want a song, a good old-fashioned tune what you’ve all heard before. Well how about this:
Standards goin’ down,
Let’s blame Gordon Brown.
Back to the future we must go
Sixteen plus called level O.
If Vince Cable’s bending
I’ll slap his silly head
G’s up, C’s up,
No S here but E’s up,
Mortar board and gown!
