David Dimbleby refusing to ask or answer any questions for rest of life

DAVID Dimbleby has confirmed that he will not be asking or answering any questions for the rest of his life.

The outgoing Question Time presenter, who chaired the show for 25 years, says he will only offer and respond to statements of fact from now on.

He said: “Questions, questions, fucking questions. I’ve been dealing with questions for a quarter of a century and I’m sick of them.

“So I will simply not be posing them or acknowledging them. If I never hear an upward inflection at the end of a sentence again, so much the better.”

Instead, he continued, he is in the process of training friends and family to alter their vernacular to suit his new requirements.

He explained: “I will not, for example, respond when people ask me if I want a cup of tea.

“Instead, I would like to be informed that a cup of tea is about to be made, at which point I can inform the maker that I would or would not like a cup of tea.”

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Fathers at sports days watching their dreams die

DADS at school sports days across the UK are watching their dreams of raising a wealthy athlete wither and die. 

Fathers of primary-aged children are fighting back tears as their beloved sons and daughters fall in the sack race, miss every shot in rounders and entirely fail to grasp the point of the relay.

Tom Booker of Northampton said: “I’m not some loser wanting to vicariously succeed through my son. I’m hugely disappointed with my daughter, too.

“She was going to be the next Steffi Graf. My son was going to be the next Steven Gerrard. Instead I’ve got a pair of uncoordinated stumbling zombies who are only vaguely aware that balls are spherical.

“Come on, even Championship footballers earn loads these days. Even cyclists are making out. Can’t one of you just be naturally brilliant at something?

“Still, I suppose at least they’re not Olympians. Fucking freeloaders.”

The fathers later showed off the natural sporting prowess they hoped had passed to their children by wheezing their way through a Dad’s Race then collapsing purple-faced into the grass, clutching their chests.