But We Hate Ourselves, Britain Tells Brown

GORDON Brown's claim to be an ordinary, middle class Briton backfired last night as millions of ordinary middle class Britons stressed just how much they hate themselves.

The prime minister kicked-off Labour's campaign by contrasting his spite-filled ordinariness with the rich and happy background of Tory leader David Cameron.

Reminding voters of the way David Cameron swaggers around with his riding crop while deciding which scullery maid to impregnate, Mr Brown said: "He's all smiles and fancy boots, while I, on the other hand, am chronically self-conscious, scared of French food and have horrible furniture.

"I have half a dozen everyday ties and two special ties, while the trousers I'm wearing don't really fit properly because they're from a department store.

"And unlike my opponent I do not walk between the raindrops. I stand there in the rain getting soaked and being disappointed in life."

He added: "I want to help build a country where everyone, no matter where they come from, can be filled with exactly the same amount of squirming awkwardness and debilitating resentment."

Tom Logan, a voter from Finsbury Park, said: "I watched Gordon Brown give his speech yesterday and thought, 'he is like me – and I fucking hate me'.

"I use workplace aggression as a substitute for genuine self-confidence, I've never added fish to scrambled eggs and I waste a huge amount of time obsessing about why Billie Piper's husband obviously thinks he's better than me."

He added: "I want to be like David Cameron or Richard Branson or one of those actors that went to Eton and now play detectives on American television. I want their easy charm and their excellent trousers that were obviously made by the same man who measured their legs."

The Tory leader shrugged off Mr Brown's attack during a campaign trip to Yorkshire and the Midlands where he slapped lots of poor people on the back and laughed at whatever it was they were saying.

Bill McKay, a disabled pensioner from Wolverhampton, said: "I was explaining to him how I had lost my foot to diabetes and that I was still waiting for a mobility scooter and that I keep falling over in the kitchen, and he just kept laughing and saying 'that's brilliant'. I thought he was very charming."

Meanwhile Lib Dem leader Nick Clegg said something about 'fees' or possibly 'cheese', as if it matters in the slightest.


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My Big Gap Year: Hips Don't Lie, Usually

Dispatches from Poppy Spalding

Tuesday: Bogota

AFTER being a total communist and gorging myself on kolbasa for almost two weeks, I decided to embark on the famous 'Trotsky trail' and jump on the next Aeroflot to South America. I'm sure if he'd been around today, he would never have gone to stinky Mexico and had communism with moustachioed artists. Like me, he would have come straight to Columbia to undulate frantically like the artist who gets her Ladyshave out once in a while: Shakira!

When I was 12, me and my mate Tiffany spent many evenings learning how to do Shakira's hip shaking moves so we could impress everyone at our end of term disco. It has to be said, we blew all the other girls away – they just couldn't match our pelvic skills. And when Mr Donaldson tapped us on the shoulders and told us to stop, it wasn't because, as he claimed, we were going to fall off the Tuck Shop table – it was because he was so turned on he thought his wife would batter him, the manky old pervert.

But now, here in Bogota, I could finally put my turbo arse-vibrations to proper use on sexy Latino men who looked all earnest and macho, like in a Madonna video. The old lady at my hostel was so excited when I told her I could dance like Shakira. She said Shakira was like Maria Mother of God because of her humanitarian work and lovely blonde hair. I gave her a quick look at my moves and she suggested I might want to marry her son. He looked pretty hot in his photo, but I just don't know if I’m ready to settle down. She told me I might want to go to the Pepino Caliente club down the street to showcase my buttock arrangement. 

Pepino Caliente started off pretty quiet, but then people started getting up to dance and by midnight and a tanker full of tequila, it turned into this massive frottage bonanza with everyone doing Shakira moves up against other's bums. It was so much fun and I could really feel Shakira's humanitarian vibes rattling all over my booty.  Plus, I kept my clothes on so I'm probably not pregnant. Bonus!

I ended up having to leave before the action was over though as sadly, my pelvic floor wasn't up to snuff and eventually a little bit of pee came out. I went to the loo to check if it could be disguised as a shadow on my jeans, but alas, I had obviously pissed myself. Fail!

I came to Columbia to be just like Shakira, but I ended up more like Fergie – drenched in my own urine and singing Copa Cabana at the top of my voice in the taco queue. But happily, everyone was too drunk to notice. And that's what makes Columbia the greatest country in the world!