The Archbishop of Canterbury on… Nadine Dorries, an asset in what way exactly?

12th September 2025

WAKING with a hangover so intense I shat out both my kidneys and an auxiliary third one I had transplanted, my mind turned to strangely relevant historical events.

Recent current affairs prompted a memory from the 1940s, when one Kerr Stormer (no relation), a leading light in the Labour Party, issued the following statement by way of tribute to Benito Mussolini, who had perished at the hands of Italian partisans, suspended by his ankles alongside his mistress.

‘I am desperately sad about the passing of Senor Mussolini. There is no place for violence in World War II. Though he may have held robust views with which others may have differed, it is right and proper that we debate these views in an open, civil manner, even if we are at war with those who hold them, though at all times abiding by the rules of conflict, of course.’

I was a young cleric at the time and sent him the following telegram: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? STOP HE WAS A FUCKING FASCIST YOU LUDICROUSLY INSIPID STREAK OF CUNT! STOP

I regret to report that despite the premium he placed on civility, I did not receive the courtesy of a reply. Mr Stormer’s political career later fizzled out ignominiously, evaporating due to his sheer insubstantiality.

With a wry smile, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein, I read that Keir Starmer has sacked Peter Mandelson after more details emerged of his relationship with Jeffrey Epstein. Starmer said he had no idea of the full extent of their friendship.

Fuck me with a German sausage in a fucking sock, how many times has this Transylvanian, sleazy fucking ghoul been sacked from the fucking government? Who’s to say he won’t come oiling back into office in six months’ time to work his Hammer Horror malignancy on the Labour Party? He’s the classic film vampire who’s comically fucking obvious to everyone except that flabby-faced, glassy-eyed fuckwit Starmer, who still can’t work out why people have got fucking bite marks in their necks an hour into the film!

Boris Johnson has paid tribute to the murdered American far-right figure Charlie Kirk: ‘Charlie Kirk has been killed not for espousing extremist views – because he didn’t. He has been killed for saying things that used to be simple common sense.’

Fuck me, you corrupt, fact-averse, nauseating, shambling fucking moral fatberg, ‘simple common sense’? He believed black women were intellectually inferior to white men. He believed trans people were disproportionately disposed to mass shootings! In a particularly pleasant discussion he said he would not allow his 10-year-old daughter, should she become pregnant from rape, to have an abortion! I don’t know if this is what passed for ‘simple common sense’ in your Famous Five Go On A Fascist March childhood but for the rest of us he was a horrible, far-right influencer cunt! And worst of all you know it, you smirking, relentlessly odious fucker!

Nadine Dorries has defected to Reform UK, prompting Nigel Farage and other party leaders to call her an ‘asset’ and a ‘great boost’ to the party.

Fuck me, talk about rats boarding the soon-to-be-fucking-sinking ship! Which is weighed down with monumentally incoherent fuckwits like Dorries! I know it’s all a grift to you, and you’re gifted popularity by the BBC’s stupid infatuation, but at some point you’re gonna have to demonstrate some fucking competence! Let’s just nail down how Mad Nad is going to be an asset. When you need someone to do an interview while pissed? When you desperately need a Lucy Letby conspiracy theorist? When you’ve got some fucking ostrich anuses in the fridge that need using up?

Finally, it has been agreed that Lachlan Murdoch will take over his 94-year-old father’s media empire, having reached a financial agreement with his less right-wing siblings.

Well, that’s the lease on the world being fucked renewed for the next 40 years, isn’t it? That fucking hideous reptile Rupert shows every sign of outliving a fucking Galápagos tortoise, but at some point you’ll take over and continue his evil work. Who’d have thought someone with a lovely Scottish name like Lachlan would be prolonging the right-wing immiseration of mankind until the last fucking iceberg melts! Nice fucking work, mate!

Arthur or Martha, make your f**king minds up: The gammon food critic's fusion experience

11th September 2025

Restaurant reviews by Justin Tanner, our retired food critic, who feels cheated there are no asylum seeker hotels nearby for him to get angry about.

NOTHING can be as nature intended these days. Women who think they’re men. Men who think they’re women. The ‘gender neutral’ lot who claim to be neither when a quick look in their pants would clear it up once and for all.

Now, to my horror, this unfathomable love of confusion has spread into the sacred world of global cuisine. Like the latest culinary craze, Indo-Chinese.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good curry as much as I adore a decent Chinky. But are they really suitable bedfellows? Would you try and cross a cat with a bloody dog? Exactly. Although it’s only a matter of time before some woke idiot decides we should have hybrid pets who self-identify as ‘cadogs’.

One such restaurant recently opened nearby, so I decide to see for myself. They’re very welcoming, and tell me one of their chefs is actually Mongolian. Didn’t think you were allowed to call people that nowadays, but maybe I’m just more politically correct than the average Joe.

Apparently it all started with Indians crossing into China and imposing their own culinary styles on the locals. At least it’s not just Britain that has to put up with foreigners ruining our traditions. That’s some consolation.

But as expected, the menu is a load of dithering fence-sitting which won’t decide what it is. Take the confused starters. Peri-peri chicken wings. I thought peri-peri was from Portugal? Nepalese bhuteko masu, which is baby lamb cooked with onion, tomato, mustard seeds and curry leaves. A whole baby lamb for starters? Who’s the target clientele here, werewolves?

I’ve no idea why you’d want tandoori salmon, so I wisely skip to the ‘Chef’s Special Indo-Chinese’ section. There’s Manchurian chicken, so it looks like Manchester is another culinary influence. The idea of crispy fried chicken in soy and chilli sauce briefly appeals, but I continue to explore.

Not that I should have bothered. There’s pork momo, minced pork with a sesame tomato dip. Whatever. And special Manchurian noodles, which I think is just noodles in curry sauce. They’ve clearly not done their homework because Golden Wonder have already nailed that market over here. Typical lazy foreigners.

Then there’s a variety of dishes called ‘Hakka’, which are again cooked with chilli and soy sauce, and, most bizarre of all, sheek kebab puree, which sounds like Indian baby food.

Finally I opt for ‘Chicken Tak-A-Tak’, marinated chicken breast in tomato and ginger sauce which, reassuringly, comes with plain boiled rice. It’s not too bad to be fair, even if sounds like a game you used to play at school in break time.

I finish my meal and leave for the sanity of the Spoons down the road. As I sup my first Stella I wish I’d avoided all that faff and and come here for a straightforward burger or pizza. Proof, if it were needed, that when it comes to food, you can’t beat British.