Stick to these New Year resolutions, Rishi, and you'll win the greatest victory since the sinking of the Belgrano

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who believes hanging’s too good for junior doctors.

SO Rishi has called an election in precisely six to 11 months. I smell a landslide Tory victory in the air, or it might just be the £450 panini press I got for Christmas. 

Yes, another 13 glorious years of Conservative rule is within our grasp if we just give the electorate even more of the successful Tory policies they’ve come to love.

Luckily I’ve compiled a list – call them New Year resolutions if you will – that guarantee victory over Starmer and his hard-left fanatics. You might find them ‘controversial’. You might find them ‘harsh’. You might find them ‘mentally ill’. But this is what you must do, Rishi. 

Bring back Boris

Your first act should be to bring back Boris as PM, for he is the blond ubermensch with the common touch every true Conservative loves. That’s not to say that you, Rishi, should be tossed aside like a used condom. You could still perform a vital role for the Tories, perhaps taking Boris’ lunch orders or acting as a foot stool. 

And Liz Truss

The only problem with Liz was that we didn’t give her visionary free-market economics a chance. As the new chancellor she could oversee genuinely radical, popular policies like privatising air. I’ll be first in line for my pay-as-you-breathe mask, I can tell you!

Close down the transgender factories

Or ‘schools’ as people sometimes call them. It’s now on the National Curriculum that there are 500 genders and it’s normal to marry a cat. Let’s have a traditional education bill where children are taught to memorise the square root of every number up to 1,000 and use a bayonet for their six years of mandatory ‘Imperial Service’.

No more Mr Nice Guy over Rwanda

I think we’ve all had enough of asylum seekers living the life of Riley at our expense, with their free institutional food and luxurious detention centres. We need to get tough with these layabouts, by which I mean kneecapping them. If they want to proceed with their asylum claim, fine, but they’ll have their hands cut off with a circular saw. It’s just the sort of firm, sensible action that Home Counties Tory voters want to see.

Stop being so wishy-washy about Gaza

It’s time to get off the fence and show the brave Israeli bomber pilots and artillerymen we back them 210 per cent with a late Christmas gift of chemical weapons to flush the Hamas vermin out of their tunnels. My idea was warmly received by members of my husband’s golf club, so let’s get the mustard gas factories running again!

And that is just the beginning. I foresee even more radical steps, such as daily televised hangings of Remain traitors still holding Brexit back. Prison sentences for anyone suspected of gender crimes, such as men who wear pink shirts. The final destruction of the NHS, by RAF cluster bombs if necessary.

I’m confident every last one of my readers will be voting Conservative, along with at least 95 per cent of the general population. Rejoice, as our greatest leader once said, because tomorrow belongs to us. I’m not sure who said the second bit, but I’m sure it was someone I’d agree with.

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How to dispose of a body without getting caught, by Claudia Winkleman

THE Traitors host Claudia Winkleman brings the show back this week – but when it comes to secrets of her own, she’s literally getting away with murder. She explains: 

You don’t get to the top of British television without getting your hands dirty. But unlike Holly, Phil and Neil Buchanan, I’m not stupid enough to get caught. This is why those who cross me are never found.

Use your celebrity contacts

You’ve been slighted on Twitter. Geezer slagged off the sequinned trouser suit you were wearing on Strictly Blackpool week. Your blood’s up and he has to die. But CCTV of your famous fringe buying saws, a woodchipper and rolls of plastic sheeting would put you in the frame, so get Kevin Clifton to do it. He’s anonymous. Chuck the chunks off the end of the pier. Nobody swims at Blackpool because the sea never stopped being full of shit.

Don’t use a BBC car

Temptingly convenient, but don’t. The tabloids make ever such a fuss about licence fee money being misused, devoting up to 80 per cent of their reporting resources to it, and riding to Southend with a corpse propped up next to you could be the next Sachsgate.

Rope in the most horrible bastard you know

In my case Tess Daly. The received wisdom is to keep your murders to yourself, but nothing could anger Tess more. And she knows what I’ve got on her and that Anton Du Beke will take her out at the crook of my finger, so she joins in the dismemberment with a radiant smile on her face, wishing it was Vern.

Dress as a builder

Nobody sees hi-viz, not properly. They assume you’re doing something important while smoking a Lambert & Butler and listening for your shout-out on Radio 1. Fill half a skip with bodies and they’ll never notice. But don’t get caught up in the exuberance of the role and fly-tip them in a layby.

Blame Lineker

Severed arm fallen out of your bag on the bus? ‘Lineker!’ you shrug, and the passenger opposite rolls his eyes and goes back to his Standard. Smell of decomposition bothering the neighbours? ‘Lineker,’ you explain, and they accept it without question. The public will forgive that man anything. Why he kills so rarely I’ll never know.

Write a series of best-selling books about the murders you’ve committed

Not my tip, to be fair, I got it off Richard Osman. Who got it from JK Rowling. Who apparently got it from Jeffery Archer, the dark horse.