Jacob Rees-Mogg tells heartbroken brood they will only have a 12-bird roast this Christmas

JACOB Rees-Mogg has informed his wife and six children that shortages mean their Christmas feast will be a mere 12-bird roast instead of the usual 17. 

Issues in the supply chain, which the patriarch assured them had no connection to ‘God’s own blessed Brexit’, have left the family five birds short of their traditional dinner and the children bereft.

Rees-Mogg said: “Telling Mary, Thomas, Peter, Alfred, Anselm and little Sextus that we would not be dining as our Regency forebears did was heartbreaking. I hate to think of them going without.

“But tragically we’ve been unable to secure several birds including the lapwing, Ortolan bunting and lark. If I was not owner of half Somerset we may struggle for the rest, but fortunately we bag our own pigeons, partridges, ducks, geese and pheasants.

“Her Majesty has granted me leave to strangle one of her swans, which I plan to do in Regent’s Park later today, and I have dispatched my batman – on foot – to Paris to purchase a turkey.

“We will not stoop to incude a chicken. Their flesh is serf’s food.”

A bereft Anselm Mogg said: “Pater has told us we may still tour the asylums to laugh at the deranged on Boxing Day, so the season is not lost.”

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Man who just got the hang of his boiler says heat pumps can get f**ked

A MAN who spent three years learning how to make his gas boiler turn on at the right time says the government can shove their heat pumps up their arses. 

Oliver O’Connor appreciates that the pumps are better for the environment, but after three years trying to stop his radiators coming on at 3am in August, he believes the environment needs to cut him a f**king break.

O’Connor said: “I’m fully behind a low-carbon net zero future, but it’s going to have to happen without me until 2031 because I’ve finally cracked this copper bastard.

“I moved into this flat in 2018 and this autumn is the first time I’ve made sense of the cryptic symbols on the thermostat and made it talk to the boiler. I feel like that bloke out of The Da Vinci Code.

“So if the government think I’m swapping this baby for some baffling heat pump they can get f**ked. I’ve spent too many winters Googling ‘how does my f**king boiler work’ under two duvets to give it up now.

“They’d pay me five grand? Then maybe. The noises this thing’s making, it’s probably on the way out.”