Regarding immigrants

Much has been said about immigrants in the last months. We have a strong view on the subject of immigrants, and it is about time you all heard what it is.

Number 1.

Immigrants smell nice. Ours handle a lot of broccoli, kale and other greens, so this is perhaps a given, but nonetheless not to be sniffed at. Or actually, do sniff at immigrants. Just explain that it is because they probably smell of green vegetables.

Just in case.

Number 2. 

See number 1. The importance of kale for world peace cannot be overestimated.

Number 3. 

Immigrants are vilified by the thick and the malicious and the plain dangerous nutcases with more money than is good for the world. Generalisations are bandied about for populist ends and dark political agendas with no regard for truth or fact. Stupid people fall for this and start gobbling up stereotypes and plain lies to spew them out publicly as if racism, religious intolerance and hatred of those who are different from us are the new norm.

We can’t sit by and do nothing.


Number 4.

In the light of the above injustice we now have our very own immigrants who have moved into our vegetable garden.

Meet Frappe and Latte


Look at their faces. Homeless and worried about what their future holds. Who would want to build a wall to ‘keep them out’?!

So we invited them to share our home and our staff with us. The Bunnington Post isn’t full.

They arrived with their own waiter and waitress and brought a new home. Latte made sure he looked well-groomed and presentable to our newsroom.


He has trained his waitress well.

Meanwhile, building works were progressing well.


That’s their equally well-educated waiter wielding a screwdriver right there.

And finally Frappe and Latte were installed in their new home.


Facilities and the daily service have received the thumbs up from our lovely new friends…


…and the ladies have been having gossipy chats over the fence.


And Bouffe and Latte have been discussing equally gossipy matters of importance:


Now, if only humans could be as peaceful and understanding of each other… our world would be a whole lot more gentle and pleasant indeed.

There’s enough to go round for all of us.





Too busy ter talk, orrite

We ‘ave stuff goin’ down ‘ere like yer wouldn” believe


Letter to 2016

Dear 2016,

What is going on with you? It’s only July and we’re bloody exhausted. What are you up to, giving terrorists a platform, allowing despots to rule, letting refugees drown in droves, closing borders and fuelling hate? The stuff you have been dreaming up belongs in the sphere of fantasy, in movie scripts and comics, not on our streets. You should be showering us all with love and prosperity, not rockets and bullets. Where did you go wrong?

Ah – paternity. Of course. 2015 wasn’t a particularly good role model. Neither was 2014, or 2013 and so on. Why not continue a rich tradition?

Weak excuse though. What happened to your backbone? Will this really do? Really, really do? Meaning that this is it?

No. No, and a million times no. We may be exhausted, but we will not give in to hate and terrorism. We will fight back with love and empathy and we will challenge and probe and disagree and mobilise opinion. We may be mute, but we won’t be silent.

We’re taking back 2016.

Yours with love and affection,

Bouffe, Haas and Katrijn






The fur is flying

Look how I resemble David Cameron’s cabinet.


The fur is flying, the teeth and claws are out. Discarded secretaries of state and junior ministers fluff everywhere and a selection of Michael Goves and George Osbornes wet, smelly pieces of shit, trodden into the carpet. I confess, I do love a bit of political drama.

Hark! Who darkens my door? Is it Theresa May?

Oh, it’s the waitress with a dustpan to clean up the mess. She’d make a fine PM herself.


No-one home


Overheard at brekkers

Katrijn mah pe’al.

Yes, Haas?

Ah finks da Brexi’ Paranoia medicashiun ahr waitress is takin’ is workin’, like.

Really? How so?


She’s smellin’ da roses an’ feedin’ me rose pe’als fer brekkers.

That’s nice, dear.

Brexit hangover


Haas, why is brekkers late?

Waitress has a Brexit hangover, pe’al.

What, that new Olympic sport that Nigel Farage won a gold medal in yesterday?


Ah fink it’s to do wif that vote they had the other day.

Oh, that one. The one where 17,410742 people decided for the other 48,689,258 in Britain that the country wants to go back to 2oth century isolationism and 19th century nation-state politics. That one?

Yes, mah clever pe’al.

The one where 16,141,241 of the 48,689,258 turned out to say no. The one where the very people whose future it concerns, 16 and 17 year olds were left out, even though they have to live with it the longest, and are overwhelmingly in favour of remaining. The one where the old farts were too lazy to check their facts and voted with her underbellies. That one?


The one where Farage said the EU costs the UK £350 a week and pledged to take it back for the NHS, only to say a day after the vote that people who voted Leave on the basis of that pledge made a mistake, because it’s not going to go to the NHS. That one?


The one where David Cameron emerged bleary eyed after the markets had already opened – how thoughtful of him – to show the deep scratches in his Teflon coating and resign. That one?

Yeah pe’al…

The one where-


The one-

Pe’al. Fluff o’ mah ‘eart. Ah’ve ‘eard enuff, yeah? Ah know. Le”s be nice to da wai’ress, yeah? She need a cuddle, mefinks. Looks da worse fer wear terday. Ah’ll sor’ i’ aht, da whole Brexi’ mess, orrite? Honessly, fings will be fine. Promise.


Come ‘ere, mah bundle o’fluff…



Yeah, pe’al?

The cockney Cornish Pirate is back, isn’t he?

Yeah, pe’al. Ahm regressin’ in mah old age.