Boris now only 18 inches tall

CONCERNED friends of Boris Johnson have confirmed that while he remains defiant about parliament’s witch hunt, he is now only one-and-a-half feet tall. 

The former prime minister’s statement, while a stirring rallying cry to Brexit loyalists, got rather squeaky towards the end as his now child-sized vocal cords outlined his high-pitched betrayal.

Johnson’s friend and hairdresser, now an OBE, said: “He lost about a foot when he left Downing Street last year, but we were able to disguise it with built-up shoes and clever angles.

“That’s going to be harder to do now he’s around the height of a newborn, bowling around everyone’s ankles chirping about his inevitable glorious comeback.

“We’ve all reassured him of what a marvellous statement it was, and so clever never mentioning parties once, but it’s hard to tell a tiny, tiny homunculus that he’ll soon return triumphant like Churchill without laughing.

“He keeps appearing from nowhere at your shoulder, piping ‘And just wait until the Covid inquiry sees my evidence Rishi, your goose is cooked!’ like a f**king Tellytubby.

“Nadine Dorries towers over him now. She cradles him like a little doll.”

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Beer garden holding Festival of Twats

YOUR local pub has announced it is holding a weekend-long Festival of Twats in its extensive beer garden.

The Festival, which kicked off straight after work on Friday evening, will see the outdoor area thronged with loud, drunken arseholes all day every day.

Tom Logan said: “I thought I’d pop by for one, what with the weather being so delightful, went through to sip in the sunshine and was confronted by a veritable plethora of twattery.

“From the lads on coke in bucket hats to the table of very middle-aged, very sunburned, very pissed men to the wrecked girls who’ve mistaken shrieking for fun, there were twats of every stripe. It was bell-end Glastonbury.

“They’d even put a few imported twats on: the lairy blokes openly pissing again the fence were Scottish, the guy trying to cadge fags was Irish and the bird with the out-of-control Alsatian was German.

“Whether you were uncomfortably near the Scousers smoking weed, in the way of a depressing second-marriage hen party or being confrontationally chatted up by someone’s pissed rough mum, it was a twat encounter session without equal. Marvellous.”

He added: “Let me neck six pints and I’ll join you.”