“Mum! What are we having for dinner?”

“We’ve had dinner.  Your Dad says that we have breakfast, dinner, tea and supper – like in the old days.”

“What old days?  Where’s the car Mum?”

“More to the point, where’s the dog?”

“Ah, well.  Dad’s gone out in the car with the dog.  He’s going to exchange the car for one that’s made in Great Britain, and he’s going back to the dog rescue centre to change the dog as well.”

“That’s our dog! All our friends have got French bulldogs!”

“Yes, well Dad’s going to see if they’ll change the dog for a Staffordshire bull terrier because that will be British too.”

“He obviously hasn’t heard that there is a thriving puppy farm trade for all breeds – based in Eastern Europe and Ireland as well as in the UK.”

“Your Dad says we have to say Britain now, Great Britain in fact, because people in Wales, Ireland and Scotland don’t agree with us Brits. Dad says that they are just jealous of us like all the people in Europe.”

“Dad needs his head examined. My teacher says that all this Brexit stuff is codswallop.  I didn’t dare tell her that my Dad voted for it. I’m going up to get changed.”

“So what are we going to have for our TEA then Mum?”

“That’s been another problem.  Your Dad’s given me an initial list of things. We can’t have pizza or pasta because that comes from Italy. No crusty French, Champagne, omelettes or pancakes because they come from France…”

“Hang on Mum.  We have pancakes before Easter, on Pancake Day. The bread is baked on site at the supermarket.”

“Dad says they are French and they call them crepes.  No paella, tortillas or Sangria, none of that jambon ham on the bone stuff either because that all comes from Spain.  You aren’t to go to the little shop at the end of the road because it’s run by Polish people, and Dad says you can’t go to the other shop across the road because the people there come from India and that means they aren’t British.”

“Sajid’s parents own that shop; the whole family were born in this country.  His grandparents came from India years ago.”

“MUUUUUMMM!  Where’s my duvet?  Why have I got these manky old blankets on my bed?”

“Dad told me to get rid of the duvets; he says they are really called continental quilts which means they came from Europe.”

“We bought them in IKEA!”

“Which is Swedish according to your Dad.”

“No more meatballs then? Or Dime bars?”

“Dad says we can buy from Morrison’s, Sainsburys, Tesco and Asda but we have to read the labels of everything we buy to make sure it all comes from Great Britain.”

“No Aldi or Lidl either?”

“Not on my list of approved shops.  Dad says that this isn’t the final list but if we are going to get our country free from Europe we have to make sure that we stop buying any of their rubbish and support Great Britain instead.”

“So you and Dad are going to take this ridiculous idea even further then?  What’s next? No Chinese or Indian takeaways? Are we going to live on fish and chips?”

“Only if we get them from Morrison’s or from the chippie opposite.”

“What about our local chippie?  We’ve been going there for  years.”

“Owned by a Greek family. I know they’ve owned it for over twenty-five years.  I remember the celebrations but Dad says we only buy from proper British people, not immigrants.”

“Oh, here’s Dad now.  No car though and no dog either.  Has he really gone out wearing that awful Union Flag tee-shirt?”

“You won’t believe what they said to me at the dog shelter! They’ve taken our dog but they won’t let me take another one because they don’t think my reasons for giving up the dog are ‘ethical’.  Do-gooders! This country has been ruined by EU political correctness!”

“What about the car Dad?”

“They took the old Citroen off my hands but I’ve had to go on a waiting list if I want a Vauxhall because they’re closing the plant down. I had a look at the list.  Not many British names on it either.  I told them, I wasn’t going to take second place to any immigrants.”

“I bet that went down well Dad.”

“The salesman looked Chinese, although he spoke with a proper British accent. You can’t tell with these people.”

“What people Dad? We’re doing an ancestry project at school, and so far it looks as if most of us have relatives who weren’t born in this country.”

“That’s enough of that commie claptrap.  I don’t know what rubbish they teach you at school.  I’m off to meet my mates for a Great Britain meeting down the Working Men’s club. Make sure you’ve put up something tasty for my supper when I get back.”

“Okay.  Dad’s gone now. What are we going to eat?”

“I’ve had to throw a lot of stuff out but there’s some Hovis bread,  Cheshire butter, Wensleydale cheese and Branston pickle.  You can make yourselves some sandwiches.  Dad says that is okay because sandwiches are named after a British earl or something. They are going to put a more definitive shopping list together at the meeting tonight.”

“A shopping list put together by a bunch of blokes who leave their wives to do all the shopping. That will be fascinating!”

“Why does Dad still go to the Working Men’s club when he lost his job three years ago?”

“Don’t you ever say that sort of thing in front of your Father!  He’s a very proud man; proud of his heritage and his country.  It wasn’t his fault that the company he worked for decided to shut the plant and move to France.”

“Because of Brexit?”

“No!  And don’t say that in front of your father either.  The company moved because they could get cheaper labour in France, nothing to do with the fact that they couldn’t get the people to do the work in this country.”

“My letter’s arrived.  Why didn’t you tell me Mum?”

“Oh, all this fuss about the car and the dog and what we can and can’t eat; it must have slipped my mind. What is it?”

“DNA results.  I used some of Dad’s spit for my school project because I’m not old enough.  Guess what?”

“Tell us! Tell us!”

“Are you ready for this – because I don’t think Dad will be.  Did we ever find out anything about his father?”

“Your Dad was brought up by your grandma.  We never knew who his Dad was, and his Mum had run off long before I met him.  What does it say?”

“According to this he is 88% Southern European and 12% British but some of the British bit is Irish as well, and it describes the Southern European section as being 55% Iberian, which is like Spain and Portugal, but those areas also have cultures of Africa and the Mediterranean.  Don’t look at me like that Mum.  I’m just reading what it says in the report.”

“This will kill your father; his blood pressure is high enough as it is, and I haven’t been able to get his prescription from the chemists because it’s run by an Asian man and there was a big sign in the window with a list of popular medication saying what we’ve run out of in this country. Your Dad’s drugs were on the list; I can go to Boots apparently but I haven’t had a chance to get into town.”

“By the way Mum, we know what Dad voted for but what about you?”

“I voted the way I always have done.  I did what your Dad told me to. He knows what’s best for all of us.”