Sod NATO, Britain’s Got a New Phonetic Alphabet

Britain's new phonetic alphabet

An influential “think” tank has revealed plans for post-Brexit Britain to get its own uniquely British version of the irritatingly international NATO phonetic alphabet.

The entirely unelected and unrequested group, Phobos, have declared that the days of “alpha, bravo, charlie” are due to end.

The leader of Phobos (the paramilitary wing of The Bullingdon Club), Sir Roderick Cumstain talks us through the proposed changes:

A is for Alpha. Well, at least, it used to be. Many people may be unaware that Alpha is the first letter of the Greek alphabet. Greece, of course, is in Europe and Britain is in a continent all of its own. So from now on A will be for ASBO. I’m not entirely sure what an ASBO is but I understand that many children of lesser breeding have to work very hard to get one. I feel that we should acknowledge that effort.

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Alpha: It’s all Greek to me!

B used to stand for Bravo. This is clearly some sort of Mediterranean word, so obviously it has to go the same way as “Alpha”. This will simply be replaced with Brexit. We still haven’t quite worked out what it means beyond Brexit meaning Brexit – Mrs May really was the worst teacher in our prep school – but it must be frightfully good as the plebs have already spaffed over £200 billion on it. That’s an awful lot of money for poor people to be throwing around. I’m told that it’s more than they’ve blown on the Grand National in 47 years, so it must be a cracking, good bet. I wonder who’s riding it?

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Brexit – all the fun of the fair.

C for Charlie? Awkward! None of us actually take it, of course, or even know what it is. But out of sight, out of mind, eh? Best kept on the old QT, I feel. We will replace it with COVID to remind the old public what a bang-up job the chaps in the House have done for us all.

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Just say “no thank you, old bean”

D is for Delta. According to my good chum Fishy Gove, that’s also a Greek letter, so that also gets the old heave-ho. After a rather decent result at 25-1, the other day, I propose that we name it Derby after our finest horse race (not that dreadful, little town in the north).

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Derby – that dreadful, little town in the north.

E for Echo? Something to do with the Classics, one suspects, which would make it Greek. Or Roman. Either way, it’s a definite no-no in our brave new world. We should, instead, go with Elgar, a fine British chap who did musical things, I’m told.

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Sir Edward – musical chappie.
You don’t have to be Nadine Dorries in order to start your day with a stylish cup of gin.

Grab one of these beauties while we’ve still got a container full of them stuck in Dover. Daily Distress mug

F is for Foxtrot. A perfectly fine way to fling around a filly, if you ask me. But as we all know, there’s nothing better than gratuitous change. So we’ll be changing it to Farage after that chap that worked out that you only have to drink beer to look like a man of the people.

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Nigel – our Russian Agent of Hearts.

G for Golf? A damned fine game but sadly, some ghastly Krauts decided to name a car after it. We shall replace it with God, which is of course, what we cry for Harry, for England and Saint George or some such rot.

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Saint George, a dashed fine Turkish fellow.

H is for hotel. I couldn’t actually see a problem with that one, myself. One of my chums (a bit of a lefty, if you ask me) said that lots of people don’t actually own one and we should go with Horse in order to be more democratic. Can’t say I really agree but anything to keep the old bird quiet!

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The horse – a popular British pet

I for India? Now that’s definitely somewhere in darkest foreignshire. Possibly Africa. Also, I believe that their chaps once had the temerity to beat our chaps at cricket. Dashed poor show! We shall replace the name of their grubby, little country with Inkblot. My doctor often shows them to me so they must be jolly good for something!

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Cut that out!

J for Juliet. Slightly sticky one, I’m told. Govey reckons that the lass in the Shakespeare revue was a tad under the age limit for the old you-know-what. As with the Charlie, we decided that it was best brushed under the carpet. Instead we shall go with Jubilee. I’m not entirely sure what it means but my chum’s mater has had plenty of them. So they must be rather good.

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My chum’s mater.

K for kilo? Well, I’m sorry, but that’s just plain offensive. We didn’t defeat Napoleon in order to measure things in French! We shall replace this vile word with Kit-Kat as there is nothing more English than an uninspiring snack-bar made by a Swiss firm with a total disregard for human rights.

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Napoleon – more than a little French.

L for Lima? Now, I’m pretty sure that Lima is the capital city of somewhere abroad. Bolivia, Argentina, Croatia or one of those other places underneath Mexico, I think. Anyway, it’s certainly not in England, so we’ll go with Luton, thank you very much.

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Luton, apparently.

M for Mike? I can’t quite remember why we didn’t like this as the old Bolly was flowing rather freely. Perhaps it was something to do with the ghastly dress-sense of Michael Foot or maybe it was Michael Portillo’s trousers. We did, however, decide to change it to Morris Dancer in honour of the fine old English tradition of hitting each other with sticks.

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It’s alright, we’re English!

N for November? A perfectly fine month to my mind, but Fishy insists that it was named by the Romans, so it has to go. The chaps have opted for Norfolk as one of our uncles owns it.

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Norfolk – it’s a bit flat.

O for Oscar is a little problematic as far too few Brits ever win one. We have chosen Oligarch as its replacement in honour of our Uncle Vladimir who sends us lots and lots of postal orders in exchange for the jolly good work that we do.

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Uncle Vladimir

P for Papa was fine until the Frogs made those adverts where the lovely Nicole kept shouting it. Now, of course, it is ruined. Well, move aside Papa and make way for Pinocchio! Boris’s pater thinks it frightfully important that people know how to spell his name.

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Boris’s pater’s favourite film.

Q is for Quebec, the Belgian part of Australia, which makes it doubly foreign. Obviously the only choice for a right-minded Englishmen is Queen. They did that Bohemian Raspberry song that we always sing in the back of the old limo!

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The other Queen.

R brings us to Romeo and we’ve already touched on this issue with Juliet. There’s no room for vile perverts in our new alphabet, so the Latin lothario will be replaced with Rugger – a good, working class game where we can all show each other our bottoms in a nice way.

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Rugger – not as common as soccer!

S for Sierra – another awfully oiky excuse for a horseless carriage, I’m afraid. Instead of a grotty car, we shall honour the mighty Spitfire which jolly well won us the war even though it was made in some frightful place like Birmingham.

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Some frightful place like Birmingham

T is for Tango, which is either an Argentine dance or a form of chemical warfare waged on children. Either way, it has to go. T will now stand for Talent because Britain’s got lots of it!

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Latin types dancing.

U for Uniform – I don’t quite recall our objection to this as the mention of it sent the old grey matter spinning off topic, but we did all agree that Unicorn would be far more appropriate as over half of Britain believes in them.

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Britain’s 7th Cavalry

V is for Victor, which I always thought was a dashed fine comic. Sadly, it’s out of print as we are no longer allowed to hurl abuse at Krauts, Nips and Eye-ties. A dashed shame if ever there was one. Still, nil disperandum, as the old Latin beak used to say. V is also for Vulcan, the smashing new bomber plane that will put Britain at the forefront of the jet age.

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Whizz for atoms!

W is for Whisky and Whisky isn’t British. It’s Scottish. Much as the Jockoes like to think that they’re part of the club, they’re jolly well not! W will now stand for Wetherspoon’s, a drinking establishment for filthy, tattooed oiks that wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near our clubs but support us all the same.

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Light refreshment.

X is for X-Ray. I did suggest xylophone and xenophobia but the chaps said xylophone was silly and xenophobia was ironic. I’m not entirely sure what irony is, but I’m pretty certain that I’m not terribly fond of it. After a great deal of thought, X will continue to stand for X-Ray.

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This would have been silly.

Y is for Yankee. None of us could actually remember anything about the American Civil War of Independence but we were all sure the Yankees were on one side or the other of that. So we decided that it was best to steer clear and go with Yobbo in honour of our charmingly oikish friends and collaborators in the EDL.

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Z can obviously no longer stand for Zulu. According to a film I saw, they were some sort of foreign Johnnies and there were thousands of them. We struggled frightfully hard to come up with an alternative and finally settled on Zippy who was awfully good on Rainbow.

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Zippy (and George)

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