E is for Eggplant, European Union and Equestrian

So I've had a couple of suggestions from my writer friend Derrick LoRusso for today's E post. He recommended I write about the words "equestrian" or the "European Union."

Which are both better suggestions than the only word I've come up today which is "eggplant."

I have no idea why "eggplant" keeps popping into my head. Now, no offense to my lovely American friends but calling a vegetable an eggplant which looks nothing like an egg is completely nuts. When I imagine an eggplant instead of looking like this:

It looks like this:

And when I imagine a European Union eggplant it looks like this:

As for "equestrian," Derrick told me I should write about it because us Brits are obsessed with horse riding, polo and fox hunting etc etc. However, I am going to have to come clean and admit that the only horses I am interested in are the ones I might pull in the sweepstake at work and win at a 100-1 on the Grand National. I know nothing about horses except they have four legs and leave large amounts of shit on the roads around here. Now I am sure there's a European law that forbids either too much or too little horse shit on the roads but I can't be bothered to look it up as it would probably take me about 10 of my remaining 25 years to wade through the legislation and, as you know from my previous post, I need that time to find a series of senile old men to marry and fleece out of their cash.

Anyway, we Brits are on our way out of the EU so we can do what we like with our horse shit in about 18 months. In the meantime, in honor of this upcoming momentous event, I've written one of my thought-provoking haikus. It goes like this:

Britian is gone. France is left
With Germany.
Grins

Up Yours, Brussels (or Keep Your Hands off My Jars, Please)

Keep your hands off our jars, Mr Brussels,

We will do with them whatever we please

We will fill them with strawberries

Or lush green peas

But we will do with them whatever we darn well please

Keep your hands of our jam, Mr EU

We will do with it whatever we want

We will sell it from wheelchairs

Or village school fairs

But we will do with it whatever we darn well please

Keep your hand off our traditions, Mr Bossy

We will do with them whatever we please

We don't need your guidance

Or your ridiculous licence

And we will do whatever we darn well please

Keep out of our affairs, Mr Despot

We will act however we want

We will make jam for our teas

And our sweet pastries

AND WE WILL DO WHATEVER WE DARN WELL PLEASE

Keep away from our isles, Mr Dictator

We will rule as we darn well please

We will make Cheddar Cheese

And tasty Cornish Pasties

AND WE WILL DO WHATEVER WE DARN WELL PLEASE

So there is nothing left to say, Mr Idiot

But please, please, please go away

Our preference is for farce

But we might yet kick you up the arse

AND WE WILL DO WHATEVER WE DARN WELL PLEASE

Written by Jane in a moment of outrage at the EU directive that we should not reuse jars for home-made jam which might be consumed by the public.

The first and only time I've made jam. However, I have my principles and if I want to inflict future batches on the school fair, the church  fete or indeed the canteen in the houses of parliament I will would like to do so without the threat of litigation. On behalf  all  ladies in the UK who have made jam in recycled glass jars for generations I say this to Brussels : Up Yours!