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I am outraged that the current government did this in 2022

By Norman Steele, ordinary hard-working Briton with certain sensible views

JUST when you thought it couldn’t get any worse for Starmer, we find out that before he even took office he cleared thousands of Afghans to enter the UK. 

This is a level of incompetence never seen before, even from the disastrous Labour governments of the 1970s. To be so inept that more than two years before you’re elected you manage to release a list of Taliban targets directly to them? Incredible.

But then to follow up that catastrophic error by orchestrating an airlift of thousands of Afghani immigrants to the UK, placing them in our British heartlands, sparking riots? Only under socialism.

Why didn’t we know about it? Because cunningly, protecting their polling lead ahead of the election they knew was coming, in 2023 they took out a superinjunction forbidding any mention of it in the press. We were legally barred from knowing.

That’s why Liz Truss, who was foreign secretary when the intelligence breach took place and prime minister not long after, knows nothing about it. Sunak too. Slick lawyer Starmer’s legal manoeuvres left them completely in the dark.

What are the British people to do? Post-date our riots? When this sympathiser with terrorists has deliberately sneaked in war-hardened families who shrug their shoulders disdainfully at honest racist Brits setting fire to a wheelie bin?

Well, if he can reach back and relitigate history without our permission, then we can do the same to him. I hereby declare the 2024 general election to have been won in a landslide – by the Tories.

And not by Rishi. By our one true prime minister who never resigned in 2022 like they lied he did. By Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson.

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Wet Leg, and other indie bands whose novelty wore off fast

JUST because your band appeals to 6Music listeners doesn’t mean you’re more than a one-hit wonder. These bands found their fans’ loyalty did not stretch to a second album: 

Jet

Australian rockers with the denim and boots of far more talented bands who politely asked someone out on their only hit. That’s lasted, unlike the rest of their 70s cosplay that wore thin at record pace, along with their constant regurgitation of the only chords they ever learned. It must hurt when your song’s played at an indie night and nobody knows it’s you.

Wet Leg

Not much happens in the Isle of Wight. You might as well form a band. But while Chaise Longue was a welcome break from the rest of Radio 1’s playlist, their re-emergence as a five-piece was perhaps unwise given how many more mouths that is to feed from dwindling streaming royalties. Sorry, Wet Leg. Britain bores easily.

The Automatic

Short-lived act who made their mark with a song that’s a bit like The Gruffalo for NME readers. Monster is as irritating as you’ll recall, which makes for a better memory than their Kanye West cover version. Nobody’s giving him the songwriting money, even second-hand.

The xx

Once the incidental music behind every BBC link, each member clearly got as bored of their whispery plucks as the public did and moved on to far better solo careers. There’s only so many dinner parties you can soundtrack before realising you’re making lift muzak for the tasteful.

Electric Six

Ah the 00s, when listeners could still be briefly entertained by knob gags and men with pseudonyms singing in Scooby Doo voices. This Detroit act rode the slipstream of the White Stripes and had a hit about a gay bar which seemed provocative back then. Still tour the UK regularly. Like, twice a year at least. It would make a good occasion to drink to oblivion.

The Fratellis

Like The Krankies and The Proclaimers before them, these Scots knew that cheesy family fun could be a ticket to stardom and it f**king worked. They weren’t related, but hammed up a vague ‘Fratelli’ lore which didn’t make any sense and was completely ignored by a population that only knew Chelsea Dagger and absolutely drove it into the ground.

Supergrass

While Britpop was in-fighting inside its own arsehole, three cheeky lads popped up pretending to be the Monkees. They liked cigarettes, light hooliganism and heavy sideburns. Everything was not alright in the end. Got to open Glastonbury this year, still wearing goofy hats.

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