The latest Steve N Allen (almost) Daily is up, and it is the usual mix of the important, the royal and the slightly unhinged. In this one: the UK pension is failing, a prince saves Dartmoor, Tom Cruise knows he is annoying, and AI needs a kill switch. Plus the other news nuggets that would not sit still long enough for a newspaper column.
If you have ever watched a Mission: Impossible press tour and thought, yes, that man is aware of the effect he is having, this episode is for you. If you would rather rewind to when he was merely hanging off a plane, Amazon still has Top Gun: Maverick.
Have a listen below. If the player misbehaves, the same episode is on Spotify, Apple and the usual suspects. Watch on YouTube, read the Substack, email me@mrstevenallen.co.uk, or tip the host on Ko-fi if the pension news left you feeling generous.
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There are certain things you expect a British village to vote on. The colour of the new benches. Whether the fete tombola can include homemade gin. What you don’t expect is a referendum on leaving the United Kingdom. And yet here we are, in a place called Piddington, which has just declared itself a principality with the sort of confidence normally reserved for people who’ve had two pints and found a laminator.
Residents of the Oxfordshire village, population about 350, were invited to post a slip in a box outside the village hall. The question was whether Piddington should secede from the UK. Of 312 votes, 285 said yes, 26 said no, and one person spoiled the paper, which is the most British form of diplomacy available when you can’t decide between rage and a sit-down.
The spark is a Home Office plan to house up to 1,256 male asylum seekers at nearby MoD Bicester. That’s roughly four proposed residents for every villager, or, if you prefer the official version, a site “designed to be largely self-sufficient to minimise any impact on the local community.” Which is government-speak for “please stop looking at the numbers.”
There is, of course, no legal mechanism for a parish council to leave the country. You can’t opt out of Britain the way you opt out of a gym membership, though plenty of us have tried both and still get the emails. The vote is symbolic. That hasn’t stopped a “Principality of Piddington” sign appearing on the boundary, which is how all the best micronations start: with laminated card and a very firm tone of voice.
That hasn’t stopped a “Principality of Piddington” sign appearing on the boundary, which is how all the best micronations start: with laminated card and a very firm tone of voice. If you are founding a breakaway state before tea, Amazon will sell you the laminator.
Culture Secretary Lisa Nandy told breakfast television the government would not reconsider. Fair enough. If every village that objected to a planning decision got its own foreign office, we’d have more ambassadors than buses, and the buses still wouldn’t come.
Still, you have to admire the commitment. They’ve got a campaign song. They’ve got a pennant. They’re “the village that roars,” apparently, which is a lot to live up to when the next item on the parish agenda is probably the grit bin. Britain has always been good at this: when the official process feels deaf, we invent a smaller, louder one and give it a flag.
I don’t expect the UN to be taking calls from Piddington this afternoon. But in a week of inflation figures and “challenging” budgets, there is something very us about a village-hall box, a 92 per cent turnout, and the quiet hope that if you print the word Principality big enough, someone in Whitehall might finally look up.
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