The Archbishop of Canterbury on… great work Lisa, they'll be watching Kneecap now

WAKING with a hangover the size of Yorkshire, but mercifully not causing me to adopt a tiresome ‘bluff’ persona, I reflect on another tumultuous week in matters ecclesiastical. 

After a few libations with the Bishop of York we thought it would be fun to break into a nearby RAF base in the dead of night with tins of yellow paint and daub thought-provoking slogans on the aircraft, such as: ‘MAYBE STOP DOING FUCKING GENOCIDE?’ We were caught in the act, spent the night in the cells and in the morning I readily paid an on-the-spot fine.

That, albeit with a spot of publicity, was that, I assumed. However, later that day I learned that due to our intrusion home secretary Yvette Cooper had announced plans to list the Church of England as a proscribed terrorist organisation.

The only marked effect this has had on church attendances is to treble them up and down the country. There is word of a climbdown from the Home Office, but for now it seems a great many of us peaceable sorts are terrorists. 

Reflecting on my new status, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that culture secretary Lisa Nandy, speaking to the BBC, said of Kneecap’s Glastonbury appearance this weekend: ‘Personally I don’t want to see that on TV screens.’

Fuck me at right angles, 377,000 Palestinians unaccounted for, shot or starved to death and you’re angry about fucking Kneecap? Tell you what, everyone will be fucking well watching them now, with a hilariously uncomfortable, pompous fucking liar like you saying we shouldn’t! One of my predecessors, I won’t name names, had a side hustle taking backhanders from publishers to denounce their latest books from the pulpit as salacious and immoral! Worked every fucking time! But you didn’t have the sense to take a fucking backhander from Kneecap did you, you gormless fuck?

Donald Trump has spoken triumphantly of the US bombing campaign against Iran, claiming to have ‘obliterated’ its nuclear sites and comparing it to Hiroshima.

Sure, Bone Spurs, your personal fleet of hard-ons by proxy managed to kill a few hundred poor innocent sods, but as for the nuclear facilities, you may as well have dropped fucking water balloons on them! They weren’t about to build a bomb, which your own fucking intelligence told you, but somehow I get the feeling they will now, you silly cunt!

The FIFA Club World Cup continues apace, with group stage fixtures having included Juventus vs Manchester City, Wydad AC vs Al Ain, Urawa Red Diamonds vs Monterrey and Mamelodi Sundowns vs Fluminense.

We don’t fucking care! Do you fucking understand? No cunt is interested! We’d rather eat handfuls of desert sand than invest one second of fucking curiosity in your jumped-up, self-glorifying tournament imposed on a bored world by a junta of criminals who ought to be sitting in some weird footballing equivalent of The fucking Hague!

Finally, Laura Ingraham of Fox News has expressed her horror at the success of Zohran Mamdani, now in a position to be elected mayor of New York. ‘This guy makes Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez look like a moderate,’ she said. ‘He wants government-run grocery stores, plans to make public buses free. Pledging to freeze rent prices and wants to borrow $70 billion for more affordable housing.

Does he now? Well, good. Seriously, this is your idea of a fucking scare story? Ordinary people being able to afford to live somewhere, subsidised public transport rather than polluting automobiles stinking up the freeways, decent food regulation? You might be making a decent living out of the hellscape that is modern America led by a geriatric fucking fiend, but the country is getting utterly fucked off with rip-off private healthcare, nothing fucking working and being led by a thick-as-shit national humiliation! Hence the fucking landslide! Does that make it less baffling, you screeching blonde fascism foghorn?

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The Whites-Only Healing Field and a Spitfire flypast: My dream of a right-wing Glastonbury

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who believes we can kill two birds with one stone by making Starmer the Shah of Iran

THE crowd before the Pyramid Stage is in a frenzy. Then He strides on stage and they lose it. The whole attendance of Pilton Farm, chanting ‘Oh, Nigel Farage’…

I’m not sure what tune they’d chant it to. Something with five notes in a descending motif. That’s not important. Our national shame is this could never, ever happen.

It should. Eavis is a farmer, for Christ’s sake. He should be so right-wing he gasses badgers to get himself off. But due to the pernicious influence of West Country weed, the Somerset Sinsemilla, he’s a leftie and so’s his f**king festival.

Imagine if he was sensible and gave over his fields to the right: to the rioters, to the Reform voters, to those who dedicate their lives to going through video footage frame-by-frame to prove a migrant did it. It could be like this.

Ignore what’s on at the Pyramid Stage. That’s not the real Glastonbury, as Guardianistas irritatingly tell you when you hadn’t asked, and anyway we’ve had a real dearth of top-tier artists this past 60 years. Tony Hadley’s not convincing in the legends slot.

No, dance past Jacob Rees-Mogg’s Puppet & Skiffle Performance Theatre, through the arms fair and anti-insurgency interrogation techniques live demonstration, and to our own personal Shangri-La: the Whites-Only healing field. You’ve never breathed so free.

Take in a Leni Riefenstahl classic, enjoy a turnip cider, meditate on monetarism or simply get off with a hedge fund manager. It’s up to you. Visit Quornhenge, buy cocaine from one of the roaming Michael Goves or join a traditional fox hunt.

You’d be energised, invigorated, indoctrinated. Late nights discussing your favourite South American military juntas, long days of flash-mob goosestepping. All building up to that magical moment the headliner takes the stage, and the crowd sings ‘Oh, Nigel Farage…’

I’ve got it. You can sing it to the ‘So Sally can wait’ bit from Don’t Look Back In Anger. That’s all we needed for 100 hours of fascism live on the BBC. Go.