Francais oo la la

It was nearly 30 years ago, that song where Trifle babbled on about the Single European Market and Free Access to All the European Nations, and then pivoted to start slagging off France because - and these are his exact words, folks - they were 'Sheep Burning Bastards'.

So that was nice.

I wasn't going to write anything today about this EU shit. It's all been said and it's been sad. And it's not even fucking started. I had a dream last night where I was at the beach on holiday on a promenade and some bloke had chalked a load of Union Flags and stupid WE R FREE type slogans on the floor, which I said were stupid and then I was scared I'd get battered for the rest of the holiday.

My distant relative, in America, doesn't think I ought to try and get my Lithuanian passport because there are some anti-semitic issues over there. I'm still wondering what to do. I mean, I like the idea of being able to work overseas without too much nonsense. The work permit rigmarole was bad enough when we lived in a fairly benign place like Cayman; it was paperwork, but it was a pain in the arse. And that was with everything done in English and largely based on UK law.

So be it. My wife - who is fluent in French and Spanish and moidering - has got all the paperwork to start getting an Irish passport. One brother lives in Scotland, where they've just voted to have another independence referendum, largely because Scotland is being dragged out of the EU despite having voted mostly to stay. And the other brother works in Dublin and all over the world and having a shit UK passport is going to be a massive pain in the arse unless something drastic happens like the UK negotiates something akin to what we have right now, except worse.

God, I am boring myself with all this. I've got work to do, and I need to go to town, and it's transfer deadline day so I need to half-arsedly keep refreshing various footy sites to read about rumours and deals and lots and lots and lots of nonsense that really does not make any difference except perhaps to make fans of clubs happy and distracted and, well. We all need that now.

Thirty years. That doesn't seem right does it. It goes quick, and it goes slowly, and at the end of it all the negotiations really never end. Au revoir.


PS: If any cunt comes up to me today with any kind of 'celebration' on their lips they will get the sharp end of me. I'm not having it. Yabadabadoo.