Bring some Toilet Duck: Your guide to surviving Britain's shit-filled rivers and beaches

BRITAIN’S excellent water companies have decided to fill our waterways with raw sewage. Here’s how not to get a hideous disease next time you go for an outdoor swim.

Watch out for floaters

Goggles are handy to see the wonders of aquatic life. However, with the UK’s waters full of chunks of shit, goggles are now are an absolute necessity. They’ll give you a better chance of avoiding massive turds bobbing toward you like some menacing faecal jellyfish. 

Bring some Toilet-Duck

With water treatment companies treating the UK as one giant toilet, you’ll need to as well. Chucking a few bottles of bleach into the water should kill most of the germs, leaving you to splash about in bits of used bog paper. It’s gross, but disinfected, like chlorinated chicken. But a billion trillion times worse.

Know your area

If you don’t know where your sewage is processed, for the love of Christ find out. You don’t want to be rubbing shoulders with your own turds – although to be honest it’ll be hard to identify a glob of that jalfrezi from last night. Far worse is the thought of swimming in an entire town’s-worth of poo, which is quite a good incentive to take up jogging instead.

Bring toilet paper

Ever marvel at how quickly you manage to get through toilet paper at home? After a dip in effluent, you’ll need to wipe shit off your entire body and not just your anus. So bring numerous rolls of the stuff in case you run out. Nothing screams ‘fun-filled day at the beach’ like returning home with a binbag of soiled toilet paper to flush down your own toilet.

Every cloud

With our ecological safe havens and places of leisure befouled by excrement, make the most of the opportunity. Got ‘one in the bomb bay’ while out for a dip? Simply lower your trunks and let fly. After all, what’s one more turd bobbing about in the Channel?

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A winter without food is just what obese Britain needs. By The Daily Telegraph

THERE’S talk of a cost of living crisis. Of spiralling inflation. Of families being forced to choose between heating or eating. Well, as that great statesman Jacob Rees-Mogg would say, ‘Hallelujah!’

As a country, it would do us the power of good to go a few months without food. Not Telegraph staff like me personally, although I would relish the challenge faced by our World War II forebears forced to eat nothing but iron railings during the character-building winter of 1939.

We need to remember our history. Only the aristocracy and royal family regularly ate food up until the late 19th century, and rightly so.

Peasants might be treated to a hearty stew of giblets and turnips, one bucket per village, on festivals such as St Swithin’s Day, but they got 18 hours of exercise a day working in the fields. Later they ate a sensibly frugal diet with the help of their slave wages at factories and mills.

But then, thanks to champagne socialist Charles Dickens, we were spoiled by high-calorie Christmas turkeys for all, paid for by benevolent wealth-creators.

Worse still, the horrendous welfare state of 1945 aimed to make sure no child went hungry. In an unbelievably irresponsible act, Bevan’s woke do-gooders gave full-fat milk to small children.

We are still living with the results of this sentimental nonsense. 20-stone blob-people on mobility scooters clogging up the pavements as they trundle to grab their handouts at the benefits office. Fat nurses in hospitals when they should all be thin and pretty. My daughter’s class photo ruined by an unsightly plump child. 

If ordinary Britons are priced out of the food market, it is all to the good. It will make us leaner, hungrier, and yes, in many cases, deader. But there’d be no disgusting fatsos blocking the aisles when I’m filling my trolley in Waitrose.