The Belgians having just turned the Yetties' old muckspreader song into reality, perhaps there's space for how to fight a modern political campaign

Westminster MPs are right up to date,
Farm mechanization's the byword of late.
For every task, there's a gadget to match,
But their new muck-spreader's the best of the batch.

Fling it here, Fling it there,
If you're standing by then you'll all get your share.

Now young Nigel Farage, he brought back a load
Of liquid manure from the farm up the road.
He hummed to himself as he drove up the street,
And the Directives all hummmmmmmmmmmed in the afternoon heat.

The muck-spreader had a mechanical fault,
And a bump in the road turned in on with a jolt.
An odorous spray of manure it let fly
Without fear or favour on all who passed by.

The cats and the dogs stank to high kingdom come,
And the kiddies, browned off, ran home screaming to Mum.
The trail of sheer havoc were terrible grim,
A political party were filled up to the brim.

The vicarage windows were all open wide,
When a generous helping descended inside.
Tony Blair, at table, intoned "Let us pray"
When manure from heaven came flying his way.

In't garden, Treez May was quite scandalized.
"Good gracious!" she cried, "I've been fertilized."
While the Methodist minister's teetotal wife
Were plastered for the very first time in her life.

And all of this time Nigel trundled along,
He was quite unaware there was anything wrong,
Till a vision of woe flagged him down - what a sight!
A policeman all covered in . . . you've got it right.