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Foreign cane toads are replacing our indigenous celebrity culture. By Nigel Farage

I’VE noticed a disturbing trend here in the I’m A Celebrity camp. Cane toads are coming here in their millions, replacing traditional British culture with their alien amphibian ways.

It is no exaggeration to call it an invasion. How can it be right that toads with no experience of being on TV should get a free ride thanks to hardworking A-list celebrities like myself, Marvin Humes and Big Brother 11’s hugely respected Josie Gibson?

Britain’s beloved celebrity culture, once the envy of the world, is being destroyed by toads. Soon there will be no Celebrity Strictly Come Dancing or Celebrity Love Island, just endless programmes about ponds.

What attracts the toads to our camp? Flies and insects mainly, but who’s to say they haven’t heard of Britain’s generous benefits system? Who wants to eat dragonflies when you can get free pizza and spending money delivered to your four-star toad hotel?

It is our women I fear for most. I’ve warned my lovely young campmate Danielle Harold about sexual advances from gangs of young male toads, but she just looks at me strangely. Sadly, like so many young people today, she has been brainwashed by woke.

Of course, liberals will deny there’s a problem, and I expect numerous run-ins with the Guardian’s Grace Dent, who will probably be insisting we all eat worms and beetles in the name of ‘multiculturalism’.

Mark my words, once cane toads have got their webbed feet under the table they’ll start demanding wetlands on every street corner. You’ll go into your traditional English chippie and traditional cod and mushy peas will be off the menu, replaced by deep-fried dead flies.

Let’s face facts. Toads are slimy, give you warts, and are responsible for a disproportionate amount of crime. The woke establishment hates me for telling the truth, but if that makes me a ‘toadist’, I’m proud to be one.

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Six ways street food is far worse than regular food

EATING from little huts is cool and trendy, but at what financial and emotional cost? These once-exhilarating outlets are now worse than an Asda ready meal: 

Costs shitloads

Want a small wrap or even just a plate of loaded fries? Squint to avoid seeing the cost and losing your appetite, because it’s more than a week’s shopping at Aldi. As you watch a teenager slap it together in seconds, you wonder how much the overheads of a painted van can possibly be. Your burrito tastes like ashes as you smart from payment.

Small portions

Unless you’ve savvily watched other market goers, you’re expecting a tray groaning with dumplings for your £14. Walking away, you lift garnishes and realise you’ve got the equivalent of small fries from McDonald’s. The irony of then having to buy large fries from McDonald’s because you’re still f**king hungry does not bring you mirth.

Useless tableware

Whether it’s paper tubs or endless wrapping, your hard-earned bounty will be presented in a manner detrimental to consumption.  Armed with flimsy wooden cutlery, you’ll expend most of the calories of the meal trying to hack it into sensible pieces. For the eager punter who goes straight in, the pinoy pork skewers’ artistic presentation will ruin your shirt.

Probably bad for you

Much street food is genuinely delicious, due to being fried like a Glasgow Mars Bar then drowned in every sugared condiment known to man. The vendor’s cheery on-the-go-vibe and vague exoticism mask that you’ve inhaled the amount of fat recommended in a month.

Awkward waiting period

Restaurants bring you your food. Street food makes you live life on the edge as you hover or watch your defective buzzer until the food gods deign to summon you. Having to weave through crowds to track down and protect your precious chilli dog takes you back to the hunter-gatherer days, when everyone ate outside in the pissing rain.

Influencers ruin everything

When a genuine gem pops up, you can rely on TikTok twats to ruin it. Your breezy, spontaneous lunch becomes the Hunger Games as you’re herded into the crowd of followers who must be pictured with the deep-fried bean curd clusters you discovered on Tuesday. You’re served after 45 minutes and eat in the only free spot, by the bins.

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