Operation Marmite

Fellow Britons are being vilely oppressed by Johnny Foreigner. This shall not stand, it is the War of Jenkins\’ Ear all over again. When the rights of one Briton are traduced, wherever in the world they are, it is our bounden duty to defend them as we would defend ourselves from the same impositions.

Action This Day!

We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of suffering. You ask, what is our policy? I will say: It is to wage war, by sea, land, and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be.

Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall , we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.

The terror that is being visited upon our Fellow Countrymen?

But Danes will no longer get the chance to make up their own minds on Marmite after the British delicacy was banned under food safety laws.

\"\"Those of our fellow citizens who are stranded in the icy social democracy are no longer allowed to enjoy one of God\’s Gifts to his creation and this shall not stand. As one so oppressed states:

\”But if they want to take my Marmite off me they\’ll have to wrench it from my cold dead hands.\”

Fear not Ms. Lyndsay Jensen! While our Government may be composed of poltroons, jelly bellied flag flappers, assorted vilenesses and Old Etonians (but I repeat myself) there are still those who would do battle for our honour.

What\’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark\’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God\’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God\’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man\’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say \’To-morrow is Saint Crispian:\’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say \’These wounds I had on Crispin\’s day.\’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he\’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember\’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne\’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember\’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne\’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin\’s day.

As to the actual action we shall take, no, not Nelson\’s solution. The aforementioned poltroons have made sure we have no Navy capable of the task today. We do however have both a postal system and a system of governance which insists that presents contained in parcels not only may, but must, pass national borders without hindrance. So that, my fellow Britons, is Operation Marmite. If those so sorely oppressed would care to provide me with an address in that hateful State of Denmark I will post them* the Marmite they are being so disgustingly denied.

Take that Johnny Foreigner!

I urge this course of action upon my Fellow Countrymen

* Some indeterminate amount to some indeterminate number.

11 thoughts on “Operation Marmite”

  1. Pingback: ‘Ang on a minute, these Danes have got Marmite all wrong

  2. I like Marmite, sadly it doesn’t like me and does strange things to my stomach which I wont discuss here because I am aware many read whilst eating and drinking.

  3. Time for a cold shower I think Tim.

    Who gives a damn about what the Danes do or don’t do?

    They have pretty blond women admittedly, but apart from that there economy is closer to Belgium than anything else.

  4. Or, on their next London visit, buy a couple of jars, and they’d have a lifetime’s supply.

  5. Pingback: In an Ad Agency somewhere in London, right now

  6. View from the Solent

    An unwarranted slur on our Lords Admiral. With amazing prescience, they have the matter well in hand Portsmouth News .

    It is also reported that the curators at Buckland Abbey have heard a drumming sound from deep in the archives.

  7. Not just Marmite, but Ovaltine, Horlicks and Rice Crispies are also banned. Summat to do with added vitamins.

    Will we boycott Danish bacon in retaliation/ Will we bollocks – or at least I won’t. If the Danes are to be denied spreading the vile-tasting scrapings from the bottom of a Carlsberg brewing tank on their toast in a morning, then so be it. They aren’t missing anything.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *