Racist scarecrow competitions, and other shit that only happens in small villages

THERE are thousands of tiny villages across our green and pleasant land, each with their own weird shit going on. Here are five things that only happen in them:

The weekly bus

Bus services have dwindled down to almost nothing, the loss bemoaned by pensioners despite the fact that they now shop almost exclusively on Amazon. However, there is one hardy bus route which persists, the driver miserably trundling his way through 254 stops in 76 equally bleak villages. There isn’t a return journey until the following week, which is probably why no one uses it.

Sudden terrible smells

Living in the countryside means that at any moment, without warning, the whole neighbourhood can be clouded with a hideous smell which arrives and leaves of its own volition. Is it a farmer spraying manure on his fields? Or has the Dobson’s septic tank got a dead cat in it again? No one is ever sure, but it will be a hot topic of conversation in the post office during the one hour a week it’s open.

An unwieldy WhatsApp group

The village Facebook group became mired in passive-aggressive digs and untidy garden shaming, so a breakaway group migrated to WhatsApp where everyone else eventually joined them. It now has 167 members and no one can keep up with any of it, apart from Deirdre from The Willows, who has admin rights and isn’t afraid to expel people for things she doesn’t approve of like excessive use of emojis.

Racist scarecrow competitions

Nothing says it’s summer in rural England like a village holding its annual scarecrow competition. As ever, this bit of harmless fun comes with an undercurrent of casual racism. What will win this year? A sack stuffed with straw and a parsnip for a head which is a dig at Keir Starmer? Or a Robinson’s golliwog so scarily well rendered that it must have taken old Mr Wright 200 hours to complete?

Lock ins

When you live in the sticks, normal rules don’t apply which means that once the landlord has bolted the door, you can stay in the pub until 3am on a week night drinking local scrumpy straight from the pump. City folk rarely, if ever, get to partake in this special, almost mythical, privilege, but on the other hand it does mean they’re able to get up for work the next day.

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A points system by Priti Patel: What a Brexit Britain Eurovision will look like

A EUROVISION Song Contest hosted in Brexit Britain is a disaster waiting to happen. Here are the many ways it will go wrong.

A points system by Priti Patel

The Eurovision Song Contest points system is an arcane black magic that defies logic, but at least it isn’t evil. When the UK runs the show though it will be modelled on Priti Patel’s immigration policy. The best and brightest performers with medical degrees will be awarded douze points, everyone else will be packed off to Rwanda.

Nigel Farage as presenter

For the sake of balance and gammon representation, Nigel Farage will take care of some of the presenting duties. Expect him to get into the Eurovision spirit by dressing up as a pint or a blue passport, and making what he thinks are wry observations on the contestants but are actually xenophobic hate speeches. Co-hosts Prince William and Claudia Winkleman won’t know where to look.

Union Jacks f**king everywhere

The UK is only holding this party because it’s marginally more hospitable than Ukraine and we somehow came second place last time. But this won’t stop us acting like the centre of attention and draping every square inch of the venue in Union Jacks. After all, we don’t want to look like a ridiculous failure to the rest of Europe.

Continental contestants barred

Britain has full control of its borders now, meaning it can shut out whoever it wants. This includes everyone it thinks has done it wrong over the years, meaning that nobody from Europe will be allowed entry. The resulting contest will be an empty stadium with the UK and Australia performing their dreary songs on repeat for three hours.

The UK’s inevitably shit entry

Sam Ryder was a fluke. He was a once in a generation freak anomaly which the country will fail to learn from. Instead of copying his success by entering a catchy, feel-good song, the UK will revert to form by pinning its hopes on ‘Rule Britannia’ as performed by the Military Wives Choir. What could be more Brexit Britain, therefore shit, than that?

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