“Are you sure this isn’t theft? Because this definitely sounds like theft”, say Cypriots

Residents of the tiny nation of Cyprus have begun to question whether somebody taking 10% of their money without asking might be a bit thefty.

News broke late last week that the EU, also known as Germany, had decided that a key step on the road to economic recovery was to stand at the side of that road, possibly in a cape, and rob passers-by blind, with Cyprus the first weary traveller to be accosted by Dietrich Turpin.

For years the EU has been searching desperately for ways to generate more cash – trying methods from austerity to…well, just austerity then. Last week, however, they realised that there’s actually shitloads of cash just sitting in people’s bank accounts, and they’ll just nab that instead.

“We all know that austerity works. All these cuts and the subsequent decimation of public services across the Eurozone have made people incredibly happy and definitely almost dragged us out of recession,” said an EU official. “However, we felt we needed just one more big push to really send the people of Europe into a delirium built on strong consumer confidence and burgeoning personal wealth. It was then that we found stacks of cash sitting, unused for many years, in people’s savings accounts.

“So we’re going to have it. I can imagine the people of Cyprus will be delighted to have some of their money liberated for the greater good. They’d probably only spend it poorly anyway.”

Germany embraces Cyprus in a friendly, knifepoint headlock

Germany embraces Cyprus in a friendly, knifepoint headlock

The Germans backed up this statement with their usual tact, adding: “Well, Cyprus is mostly Russian crooks anyway so we’re really a bit like Robin Hood. Except instead of stealing from the rich we’re stealing from everyone, and instead of giving to the poor we’re just sort of keeping it.”

Cypriots themselves have reacted surprisingly calmly, with only one reported incident of a man threatening to bulldoze a bank.

One Cypriot summed up the bemusement and seething fury felt by the nation: “This is bullshit”, he said.

“It’s a bit like coming home from work, and my girlfriend going, “How was your day”, and me going, “It was good, I got a loan from the bank. The interest rates are quite punitive, but hey, needs must. Oh yeah then the bank manager followed me down an alley and mugged me and assaulted me quite badly.

How was your day?””

Angela Merkel, meanwhile, has defended the action, which she is spearheading, in a completely objective manner. She (genuinely) said: “I think it’s a good step which will certainly make it easier for us to approve the help for Cyprus.”

Which is a basically a politician’s re-wording of the Melian dialogue. Which, loosely translated, means “Fuck you, we make the rules now bitches”.

You do understand the concept of March, don’t you?

Spring has sprung.

Spring has sprung.

Ah yes, March.

The first wafts of Spring. Winter receding into a memory of warm fires and mulled wine. Sunshine. Lambs. Buds on the trees. Thoughts of Summer, the promise of heat.

These are some of the more accepted traits of March.

Unfortunately, Britain appears to have eschewed the classical approach to March with a fresh, edgy look based on howling winds and arse-clenchingly low temperatures.

A bit of my face nearly fell off on the walk to work today. I had to stumble the last 20 yards trying to keep my nose in its normal position after it lost circulation and decided to try and jump ship. I’m genuinely amazed that both of my ears are still here.

It’s also started snowing aggressively. Snow is meant to be a graceful, meandering weather event; if it made a noise it would sound like tinkling glass in slow motion. Pretty.

Today I had to fend off a coordinated attack from what felt like a hail of frozen wasps, angrily buzzing around my head. A bit like the snow had been out all night on Jagerbombs and Stella and was feeling a bit fighty.

This is absolutely unacceptable. I was in the Alps last week. It was 11 degrees. To be honest, I found that a little unusual but I most certainly did not expect to come back home only to crave the sweet, warm embrace of the Aiguille Grive.

I really crave the sweet, warm embrace of the Aiguille Grive.

Around this time of year, I (being, at heart, a man in his mid-sixties) like to start referring to things as ‘mad as a March hare’. Well I can tell you, the March hare is mad this year. He’s absolutely fucking livid. He wants to be out frolicking around, gambolling and doing other things that March hares generally do to indicate the scale of their madness. But he can’t. He’s trapped under four feet of ice in his burrow just outside Chester. The March hare is not just mad, he’s completely livid.

Weather, sort it out. This is ridiculous.

In other news, am I the only one who physically shudders every time I see either Chris Huhne or Vicky Pryce?