Mark Francois's guide to respecting people

ANGRY balloon-faced Tory MP Mark Francois has called for more respect in public life, despite not having a spotless record himself. Here’s what he’s demanding.

Don’t use inflammatory language

Just don’t. I did say ‘We’re signing your death warrant’ to a Remain protester, but that was obviously a harmless metaphor and if you don’t understand that you’re clearly a thick-as-shit leftie or a humourless kraut Nazi.

Ban everyone from Twitter

Twitter is used to criticise MPs, so everyone must be banned from using this popular resource. Apart from politicians like me, who need it for important Poppy Day posts to shame unpatriotic traitors. 

Drop the aggressive body language

When I childishly tried to stare out Will Self like I was going to hit him and mimed cutting Theresa May’s throat that was ages ago so it doesn’t count. 

End online anonymity

The internet would be much safer if people had to use their real names. And give their address and phone number. Also it will be easier for MPs and right-wing journalists to hound insignificant members of the public and get them sacked. That’s obviously the right thing to do.

Stop undermining MPs

Anything at all that undermines MPs puts them at risk. This isn’t some dubious ‘slippery slope’ argument – think of the number of times you’ve said ‘That bloody cat!’ when it’s miaowing to be let in, and before you know it you’re drowning it in the canal.

World War 2 bantz is fine 

So what if I referred to ‘Juncker in the bunker’? Lighten up, Jean-Claude, and see the funny side of a legitimate democratic politician being compared to a brutal dictator with a murderous hatred of Jews.

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How to win at a buffet

YOU’RE at an event and there’s a buffet. How can you beat everyone else to hog the best stuff? Use these tactics:


Often a buffet follows some boring speech about how much we’ll all miss the deceased or whatever. Ignore that. Scope what’s there, plan your route, be ready for your turn on the tongs. Preparation is the difference between stuffed mushrooms and chicken Kievs on your plate.


If you’re serious about being the buffet GOAT, you’ve got to go in hungry. But not too hungry or you’ll make bad decisions and end up with a plate full of crisps. Drop a Lion bar around 30 minutes before kick off and you’ll be primed to bring the pain to those chili tiger prawns.


When it comes to fitting three days food on a nine-inch plate, architectural vision is key. A solid base of potato wedges, a finger-sandwich house of cards, chocolate truffles adeptly balanced on the slopes of a black rice salad. It can be beautiful.


Buffets favour the guzzler. Once you’ve loaded up get those mozzarella sticks rammed down your throat double-time so you can get your arse back in line, still chewing, for seconds. They might even still be bringing stuff out if they’re lazy, disorganised scum.


There’s one slice of gluten-free carrot cake left and the coeliac behind’s been on about it all queue. What do you do? Take it. You’re not here to make friends. Now kick that old man’s cane out from under him and knock that child’s head in the blinis to claim the last chicken satay skewers.


Everyone gets turned away by self-appointed buffet bouncers eventually. Simply tail, blackjack and swap clothes with a member of serving staff and clear the buffet into the back of your waiting car. Buffet’s more important than your brother’s wedding anyway.