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.
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 Britain in honour of the United Kingdom of England and Her Minions.
C used to stand for Charlie which none of us actually take, of course. But out of sight, out of mind, what? 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.
D is for Delta. According to Fishy, 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).
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.
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.
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, England and Saint George or some such rot.
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!
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!
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.
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 a Swiss firm with a total disregard for human rights.
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.
M for Mike? I can’t quite remember why we didn’t like this as the old Bolly was flowing rather freely. We did, however, decide to change it to Morris Dancer in honour of the fine old English tradition of hitting each other with sticks.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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 the classier members of the lower orders.
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.
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.
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.