Imagine the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps sitting around a table like:
“Right lads, MI5 is watching the airports, the ports, the embassies… So what’s the plan?”
“Small boats.”
“Small boats?”
“Yep. Blend in with Dave from Croydon who’s just trying to get back from Calais after a stag do gone wrong.”
Meanwhile, the smugglers in Calais are probably thinking:
“We signed up to move people, not accidentally run an international spy‑delivery service. This is not on the brochure.”
And MI5, upon hearing the allegation, collectively sighs:
“Brilliant. As if we didn’t have enough to do.”
The idea of a hostile state sending spies via dinghy is so bizarre it feels like a rejected EastEnders storyline:
“Tonight on EastEnders: Phil Mitchell discovers the bloke he rescued from a capsized boat is actually an Iranian intelligence officer.”
Why it feels funny even though it’s serious
Because the mental image is ridiculous — spies are supposed to rappel from helicopters, wear sunglasses indoors, and say things like “the package is secure.” Not queue for a foil blanket and a cup of tea on a Kent beach.
The British Government, according to the public
Picture it:
Border Force: “We’ve detected suspicious activity.” Government: “Right, let’s form a committee.” Committee: “We’ll deliver a report in 2029.” MI5: “We said urgent.” Government: “Yes, yes, but we’re very busy arguing about who left the milk out in the staff kitchen.”
Meanwhile, hostile states are apparently sending spies via dinghy like it’s Uber Eats, and Westminster is still trying to figure out how to turn the printer on.
Small‑boat spies? Of course. Why not.
At this point Britain has:
Spies arriving by boat
Criminal gangs running logistics
Politicians doing dramatic speeches about “taking back control”
And absolutely no control being taken back
It’s like watching someone shout “I’ve got this!” while dropping every single plate they’re holding.
Parliament’s reaction (imagined, but barely)
“We are deeply concerned.”
“We will look into this.”
“We will set up a taskforce.”
“We will appoint a minister for dinghy‑related espionage.”
“We will do absolutely nothing meaningful.”
And then they all go for lunch.
The British public:
“We just wanted competent adults. Instead we got a live‑action sitcom.”
“Assist them in every way possible” — The Whitehall Special
Spy arrives on a dinghy:
“Hello, I’m here to destabilise your institutions.”
UK Government:
“Brilliant. Here’s a hotel, a hot breakfast, and a leaflet explaining how to set up a direct debit.”
MI5:
“We literally told you this was a spy.”
Government:
“Yes, but he filled out the form very neatly.”
How Westminster would accidentally help a hostile operative
Lose their file
Lose the replacement file
Lose the backup file
Accidentally give them a job in the Home Office
Blame France
Go on recess
Honestly, if a spy turned up and said, “I’m here to infiltrate your government,” someone in Whitehall would probably reply:
“Lovely. Could you start Monday?”
Meanwhile, the spies
They’re probably messaging HQ like:
“We expected resistance. Instead we got free Wi‑Fi and a complimentary breakfast.”
The British public:
“We wanted competent leadership. We got a live‑action reboot of The Thick of It.”
Britain: Donald Ducked — The Feature Film
Opening scene: The UK waddles down a path labelled “National Stability”, but the sign has fallen over and now points directly toward a cliff.
EU (back in the day): “Here’s a map so you don’t fall off.”
UK politicians: “We don’t need your map!”
Current Parliament: “We’ve decided to continue walking in the same direction, but with more enthusiasm.”
Cliff: “Evening.”
Unelected EU officials? Unelected Westminster advisors?
It’s like Britain escaped one set of bureaucrats only to be immediately adopted by another set — except these come with:
A PowerPoint addiction
A fondness for meaningless slogans
A habit of resigning, un‑resigning, and re‑resigning
And the organisational skills of a dropped trifle
Again, that’s a reflection of public sentiment — not my own opinion.
THE MONTHLY MOSQUITO 