Here in the People’s Republic of Liverpudlia we very much value our autonomous status even though through tradition and, er, the law we closely follow our sister republics on our island(s) home. It has been no different whilst the pesky Severe Acute Respiratory System Coronavirus 2 thing has been keeping us all occupied. Like every other part of our commonwealth of nations we have been issuing regular press updates and, given the momentous events of the past few days, we felt compelled to chip in our tuppence ha’penny. Well, I say compelled but when local rag The People’s Republic of Liverpudlia’s Armageddon Times and Advertiser asked us what the fuck was going on we simply issued our stock in trade response that no one was available. That’s what you do when you haven’t got a fucking clue and/or the question will expose your absolute bell-endien incompetence, right? Anyhow after a brief conference we supposed that we might as well put someone up to answer the plebian’s questions. Naturally The Editor was having his annual asses milk bath and scotch bonnet colonic irrigation so his participation was out of the question. The rest of the writers were celebrating the fact that the local tavern would soon be open and drank the dregs of our home bar dry. Eventually it was decided that Sergio, the functioning alcoholic Italian-Taiwanese sous chef cum pot-wash in the kitchen would man up and face the press. His answers to the frankly intimidating questions of the fake news purveyors were heroic we thought:
Q: So lockdown is over?
A: No. Yes. No. Maybe.
Q: Two metres or one metre?
A: Two of course. Unless you can’t do two then one is OK. But two. But one.
Q: Can the local school, St. Markey The Immaculate’s Academy for Lost Souls, re-open?
A: That’s our priority. All children must get back to the grindstone. Except that Mrs. Dalrymple isn’t keen on it so no.
Q: Why?
A: Because she has one hundred and fifty children in her class and social distancing is an issue.
Q: Two metres or one metre?
A: Kids are snotty fuckers. I’d say three meters but the parents need value for money.
Q: But we can go the pub, right? The Bricklayers Arse has been closed for, like, forever.
A: You can go to the pub but you need to provide details of your mother’s maiden name and your inside leg measurement upon entering.
Q: Why?
A: We need to be able to trace you in case Milly-Molly Mandy, the barmaid, gets the sniffles.
Q: Are you taking this seriously?
A: Absolutely
Q: So can Robin Zimmerman, the local go-to song butcher, turn up and ‘play’ some tunes?
A: Absolutely not. We are very clear on this.
Q: Why?
A: Because he’s shit and musicians have their own channels now. Stay the fuck at home and beg for pennies.
Q: Can we go to the local Lido? The Joseph Mengele/Jaoa Balsenaro Memorial Bathing And Swimming Experience has been shut for, like, forever.
A: No
Q: Why?
A: Jeeeezus. Are you listening? We said no.
Q: Can I get a haircut?
A: Fuck me. Can’t your missus do it? But yes. Only if you wear a mask and stay two metres away from a Turk.
Q: Are you taking this seriously?
A: Absolutely
Q: Can I get my nails done? Those guys were wearing masks before face masks were even a thing.
A: No. Chin-Chin, the local nail emporium, went out of business weeks ago when we ran all the Chinese looking people outta town. Can’t be too careful.
Q: The gym?
A: As any fool knows ‘gymnasium’ is Greek for ‘the place people go to get naked’ or some shit. Nobody needs to get naked in a full-blown pandemic. Get a fucking grip.
Q: Can I hug my grandma on her birthday?
A: What are you – some kind of weirdo?
Q: Are you taking this seriously?
A: Absolutely.
Q: Dooreena, the local switchboard operator, would like to know how many people’s doors she will need to knock on during her day off to track and trace any snotty fuckers who sniffed into their phones. Have you any advice?
A: There are six billion fuckers in the world. Tell Dooreena to step up to the fucking plate and stop whingeing. We need to be world-beating or the other bullies in the world will pick on us.
Q: Speaking of world-beating…
A: Shut the fuck up.
Q:…
A: I said shut the fuck up. Fuck’s sake. This is about your freedom. OK? OK?
At this point the recording became indistinct. Reports have come through suggesting that there was some discussion as to whether citizens of the republic should just fucking do one and be grateful for what had been done for them, why the actual fuck didn’t they just do as they were told, why didn’t they know that there is a higher purpose here and why-oh-why do we have to sit here and put up with this shit. Paulinus Foote, editor of The People’s Republic Of Liverpudlia’s Armegeddon Times and Advertiser, was later found dead in a ditch. There is no evidence to suggest any connection.
