Lettuce Pray

Those words I always thought the priest uttered at Mass on soft Irish Sunday mornings – I was an almost-adult before – like many song lyrics – I realised I had it all wrong. Young folk have no idea how lucky they are that they have lyric sites at the swipe of an iPhone – and that they’re not bullied into Mass, for that matter.

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But this post is neither religious or musical, though I suspect a Mel Brooks-style treat is being hastily scribbled in the wings.

I ask you to to forget about world hunger. Begone Sub-Saharan Africa, Asia, and those irritating refugees looking for non-essentials such as shelter and water. The new kid on the block is Britain. Yes, in true OLIVER style, the begging bowl is out. The supermarkets are bare and the Sun editor is doing back-flips. It’s the scoop of the century. There is no lettuce. In February. That’s winter, right? But there’s no use whining and begging. Spain is NOT for sharing.

So, let’s consider the great #LettuceGate scandal of 2017 as a great hunger, perhaps even a Famine. Ah yes, we knew we’d have you eventually, landowners and bigwigs. You thought you could get us with our own potatoes when the chips were down.

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There’s a monumental disaster afoot and it’s caused by a lack of Lactuca Sativa.

What if #LettuceGate has the same consequences as the Great Famine? Starvation. Disease. Lettuce is a rich source of Vitamin K and Vitamin A. It’s a source of Folate. The National Health Service will crumble.

There’ll be mass emigration. The fact that no-one will want you is a bridge you’ll just have to cross in search of Iceberg, Cos or your next bag of Looseleaf.

What’s the solution? Rt Hon Andrea Leadsom MP might like to know that it’s possible to wait until lettuce is actually in season and grow her own.

Remember one more thing, Britain. Where did all the Irish go after An Gorta Mór? Oh yes, but now, sure, isn’t that ‘just desserts’?

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British Territory allows ‘Swarm’ of Migrants through.

In fact, they were welcomed with open arms just this weekend.  You didn’t know?  Where have you been?

Crowds pushed through and sailed through passport control, welcomed with gusto. They crossed a busy border strait, with two different oceans on either side, and didn’t even have to get their toes wet.  Lost children were safely plucked from the sea of people at various times during the day, and handed safely back to their designer-clad parents.

The crowd carried few belongings, mostly fresh drinking water, and a few snacks for the long queue ahead, as well as their documentation. They were identifiable once inside the fenced secure compound by their wristbands and entry papers.

But this was no war, no running for your life, no sweat.  The migrants were of many nationalities, three different passport holders in our little group of five.

Where was I?

It was Gibraltar Music Festival – where the migrants carried money – lots of it – and we all went safely home at the end of the two day festival.

A cashless event – the wristbands, or smartbands,  were ‘loaded’ up so no money was exchanged at the many food and drink outlets.

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Copyright David Johnston

Driving home – I idly wondered allowed whether any of us had money (non-refundable) left over on our smartbands.  Oddly, we all had a quid or two (maybe not so strange, as the drinks were not a rounded up price)

Hmm, so if we all had an average of £2 left, and there were 15,000 revellers….well,you do the maths. Perhaps a timely donation to the real refugee crisis?  No that would be smart marketing.