Tag Archives: Brexit

TVTA Update – thank you!

First. I’d like to give BIG thanks and hugs to the donors who kindly helped out funding subscriptions for The Vintage Toy Advertiser into 2019. I thanked you via email but wanted to say it publicly too. The site is good to go, and for next year I will ensure funds have been saved in advance to prevent this hiccup happening again. My bad this year, but your good. You guys rock!

Second. I have another request. Wait, please don’t throw all your garbage and bottles at me just yet – it’s not another call for your hard-earned cash… it’s for a petition, and my request is aimed exclusively at my readers who are either British-born or who reside in Britain.

Allow me to use a nasty swear word for a moment: “BREXIT”.

Many of you will know about the blight of Brexit cast across the island of Britain but which also affects the rest of Europe. Many of you will have already suffered my occasional rants here (I try to keep TVTA pop culture fun and not get political, but sometimes you have to use your voice for what matters to you the most no matter what!).

There is this incredible, record-breaking, UK Parliament petition available to sign right now, calling to revoke Article 50 (the means to cancel Brexit). It is currently standing at a staggering 5 million signatures! I’ll say that again – 5 million signatures! You can sign it here: https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/241584

At the risk of annoying any Brexiter readers I may have, I urge you to consider signing it. And even you are a Brexiter, you gotta admit the whole Brexit thing is a massive, steaming, stinker of a shit sandwich that no one wants to eat, right?

Personally, I’d be happy with a second referendum – with all options put on the table so everyone can vote in good knowledge, now that we are all armed with the facts and realities that were previously distorted. However, signing the petition to revoke the whole debacle – which I’d be happy with too 🙂 sends a strong message to Government that “the will of the people” is not just about the will of the ones who voted to Leave.

I love Europe. And I want to stay. Here’s that link again: https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/241584

Remainingly yours,

Ford

Poem: Idles when idle

There I was, propped up in bed, a thousand thoughts forming
in the holiday of my head, mask off, headphones on, YouTube,
streaming, dreaming, coming to terms with a recently-deceased aunt
who had trouble breathing. Yes I loved her so, she helped me find sense
in the mess of teenage years, she gave me shelter from the helter
and the skelter of life’s tests, used to tell me: follow your dreams.
Loved her, loved her so, even though she voted Leave.
She’ll never know I’m that close to needing a visa to attend her funeral
in ruled Britannia, God save the Titanic, and all who sink with her.

On the bed was where I met them, mask off, headphones on,
finding sense in a present tense, correct, this is why, this is why
you never see your father cry. Council flats and country piles,
apartments in France – renewed my passport before it turned the blue
they want to make us feel, and act and march in their same shoes.
This is why, this is why, my heart swells with pride, not theirs but mine.
Idles your Colossus is a bridge between my republic and my septic isle,
septic minds, this is why, I point to freedom which is mine,
which is yours, which is ours, it’s called sharing, and it rhymes with caring.

Gone past caring? Don’t give up. Don’t stay down. Get back up.
There I was, propped up on the bed, time for a tea and something on bread.
And there they were, my family, watching The Voice on French TV,
Happily yabbering away in French, and me, in English, bemoaning the lack
of decent tea bags, and the way in which no matter how hard you always work
you’re still broke by the end of the month. Back and forth in two languages,
add Frenglish, Brummie accents, mais, ne t’inquiète pas, pas de problème,
je parle français, oui, avec un accent merdique, c’est pour ça,
c’est pour ça, mon clavier est AZERTY et pas QWERTY.

And this is why, this is why, I love myself and always try
to send the love and give the light, to cry when I like and fight the good fight.
Your tee-shirt, it said: Voltaire. I noticed you wearing it the other day,
got me thinking it did, that tee-shirt, and slogans in general,
Choose Life, Frankie Says, Make Love Not War, #MeToo #Remain, Idles on Tour.
Fudge-packing Crack-smoking Satan-worshipping motherfucker Nirvana,
that I wore on my back in days when my aunty wasn’t a Brexiter.
Wouldn’t mind now: Fairy Remoaning Snowflake Traitor Enemy of the People
see their faces when I tell them I don’t like barriers, and I dream in European.





Poem by the editor. Thanks to Idles.

The Nutella Poem part two

Qui Est-Ce? / Guess Who?

Hypocrisy

Nutella Nigella, your Pater has audacity far thicker than blood

Mixed with water and palm oil and gathered in the gutter

Such hypocrisy to mutter about tiresome hoops

Of bureaucracy he may have to haul his arse through

Watches his nuts as he jumps, palm-oiled and bright red as a propaganda bus

That suggests money saved from Europe could go to the NHS

Oh whore-brandy, weak scarlet-mouthed rock shandy-dandy

Piss-taker extraordinaire, serpent-tongue brass shiner

Slop-deliverer of rank duplicity, Baboon-arsed quackery

And slime-lipped pecksniffery of the highest merit

Utter Cant. May your carte de séjour receive no rubber stamp

And please purchase your Nutella from the Britain you wanted

No single market nuts, free movement or customs union trust

And enough forms to fill in to make even a French person blush

(Love never ends) We’ll always be together

Together in Brexit dreams


Words by the editor.


 

Poem: The Joker, the Snow, and the Beast from the East

To prove your undying love you said you could make it snow.
What are you now, a magician, a conjuror, clown, the Joker? Hahaha.
I detect your urge to display power rather than sentiment,
You tricky buffoon, in purple costume and spinning bow tie,
True to your word you widen your smile, cackle, and make it snow.
So glorious, in minutes, an hour, an afternoon,
The world becomes covered, the sun’s rays hardly knowing
What to do with themselves upon all that virgin whiteness.
“See what I did!” you boom fiendishly, making trees tremble and shake                                       Their shoulders free of their dusty, white epaulettes.
The mountains grumbled you’d given them headaches,                                                                 While birds tweeted symphonies of pure joy.
Tweet, tweeting: Hey, wow, did you see the orange snow in eastern Europe?
African dust storms and pollen lending peachy pink patches to the continental quilt                    Of Bulgarian ski resorts. And that woman, OMG, oranges and lemons, so beautiful                      In yellow against the tangerine of snow that framed her.
See, not everything from the east is a ‘beast’ you stupid fucking imperious                               Jingo-jangling Brexitmotorbreathcraprag and piss poor TV emission.
Hahahahaha, see the Joker tipping fish into the London Thames.
Haaaaheeheee, see the Joker down in Cambridge data mining privacy.
Weeehahhahahhaaa, see the Joker paying off his porno actress fees.
Snick, snick, snicker, see that clown making off with all the loot and family jewels.
Look! Watch him drive away in his comedy clown car, toot-toot, parp, bang,                               Falls to bits, oops, he forgot to attach snow chains to his comedy wheels.
Snow go! Snow joke! The Beast from the East strikes again! Oh FFS the pun of it all!
And, why? Why so serious?
The stuff will have melted by the time you’ve dragged your asses outta bed,
Pulled up your boots and put on your mittens.
Good thing I took pictures. Click. Click. Whirr.
Reminds me of Wilson Bentley and his magnificent slides,
How he photographed snowflakes.
He was no joker, unlike you, racing off to eastern Europe in some insane attempt                       To paint the snow there a cobalt blue.
Wilson Bentley – a Gotham City-esque name if ever, eh?                                                         Diligently cataloguing his Ice-flowers, could teach you a trick or two.
And I’m sorry to pick on you dear Joker, but you kind of deserve it…
And you will do well to hide among clowns until we’re bored of looking for you…
Or get distracted by Eastern summer tournaments and puffed-up superstars…
But like fingerprints collected at the scene of a crime, no two snowflakes are ever the same.      Whistles blow. And justice points you out as the yellow stain you are                                           Sunk deep into the snow.                                                                                                                  Hahaha, who’s laughing now?


Poem and photos by the editor.

Toy images by TVTA. Poster and adverts scanned by TVTA from own collection. Batman and Joker copyright DC.

Spinning. A toy poem. Illustrated.

Love grows in all kinds of places.

They came from love. Bloomed, blossomed, were buds on the trees.

Were butterflies hiking lifts inside bubbles.

Dreaming of skies.

Up in the air they learned the art of conversation.

Learned that communication is chemistry.

Compounds and elements. Dispute. Problem. Discuss. Solve.

They defended rigorously their right to disagree with one another.

And in doing so they discovered accord.

That great union in the sky was lucky.

Not so lucky for some of the creatures down below,

Who are spun, turned.

Spin. It’s your go.

Q1: Does your government have you in a spin?

Where to begin … begin with a word …

A word to the wise from the Masters of Austerity …

“We have your number and your number’s up.”

Spin.

Miss a turn.

Go ahead, go again.

In Britain, the Brexit red bus had them under its wheels.

With smarmy charm it punched their tickets and bid them un mauvais bon voyage.

A one-way ticket to nowheresville.

A carousel spinning in delicious circles.

Taking back control one foul turn at a time.

Hi-jacked flags to march under.

Banners of lies.

What exactly did they vote for?

The safe return of their country,

The migrants to go home,

Hospital wards to close,

Beds emptied of broken souls,

Staff worked to the bone,

Emergency services stretched to the limit of their resources,

And all they can endure both morally and physically? 

And all along European people employed as bargaining chips.

Home and abroad. Pawns.

Spin.

Spin.

Shake the dice.

The Masters of Austerity will have you shaking with rage.

Shake, as will the ground beneath your feet when they finally get round to fracking you.

Won’t matter one bit if you own your land… you’ll be fracked right under your house.

That is, those who can afford to live in houses in austerity Britain.

Then ablaze!

Tower blocks that go up in flames,

Because of savage cuts and the corners cut and the wicked decline in the treatment of

the poor?

Grenfell Tower,

A giant aflame,

Austerity framed by dawn’s breaking sky,

Witnessed from Smartphones, TV screens,

And the windows of neighbouring luxury flats.

A hollow stare aimed at the poor.

Austerity Masters squeal their mantras.

Pigs with snouts red raw from scraping too many troughs for far too long.

Orwell said some animals are more equal than others.

Enough to make you sick.

Put you in a spin.

There are doctors for that but not the doctors you need.

Your turn.

Question number 2:

Does your media have you in a spin?

With their spinning tops that spin,

Whirl and twirl, spin and spin,

Engineered by sinister hands conducting in the shadows.

Spin, spin, spin.

It’s all a game they don’t want you to win.

 

A game.

An illusion.

Start again.

And in the small print of the rules it says:

“The only thing spinning worthy of attention is the globe we call our home.

And you are not the only one to call it such.”

Your go.

Your spin.

Spin again.

And spin, spin, spin.

 


Words by the editor.

Images taken from scans made by TVTA and Jaltesorensen.

Publications: Pif Gadget. Anders And & Co. Pato Donald. Christie’s Catalogue. Hamleys Catalogue. Topolino. Bécassine. Star Wars. Doctor Who. 2000 AD.

Grenfell Tower image by Natalie Oxford – https://twitter.com/Natalie_Oxford/status/874835244989513729/photo/1, CC BY 4.0, Link

Updated Feb 2018 to correct spelling error.