The Archbishop of Canterbury on... throwing the BBC's chair through the BBC's window

WAKING on a beach on the east coast, surrounded by rum bottles and an empty can of petrol, I recall the events of the evening prior. 

Invited, in my ecclesiastical capacity, for an informal night swim with immigration minister Robert Jenrick to improve relations between church and government, I had brought the rum along to ward off cold.

Returning to shore for a restorative tot, I heard rushing liquid and saw a blast from an outflow that was unmistakably raw sewage. The faecal torrent hit Jenrick square in the face and, screaming and flailing, he was propelled away from land.

He cried out to me for help but I could not, in all conscience, interfere with the poetic justice dispensed by the Almighty and instead watched him drown in his government’s own excrement.

Luckily a boat of migrants took pity and allowed him to cling to the side of their craft. In celebration I finished the rum, drained the petrol and passed into unconsciousness. I take breakfast at a seafront cafe, where I learn that Richard Sharp has resigned as BBC chairman after failing to declare his connection to a £800,000 loan to Boris Johnson.

Douse my arse in aniseed and set the fucking Alsatians on me, first up what the fuck does that fucking fuck Johnson need £800,000 for, given that there are mugs lining up to lob bundles at him just to turn up and make plummy hee-hawing noises for half an hour? And what the fuck is the Chair of the BBC doing acting as some sort of runner for the cunt? Jesus, on the continent they’ve pulled up chairs along the coastline facing the UK to laugh their bollocks off at the never-ending, never-cancelled, season-in-season-out spectacle of erupting cesspit this country has become! Britain is rank with the smell of rotten bananas gobbled up and shat out by pigs in top fucking hats!

American TV pundit Tucker Carlson has been sacked by Fox News following the Dominion defamation case.

Oh noo! The colossus of modern broadcasting, gone! To whom will old, Caucasian, pig-ignorant, racist America turn to now? How will they know to keep their automatic rifles loaded because an army of woke, trans, ethnic, foreign drag queens is gathering ready to storm your suburbs and pull up your fucking picket fences for being too white? Ha! Bet you never thought of all the people out to get you it’d be that senile, turtle-faced boss of yours, did you Carlson?

Environment secretary Thérèse Coffey has come under fire for the illegally high levels of E-Coli in a river in her own constituency.

Tell you what, putting a disgusting lump of unkempt toxin on legs like Coffey in charge of the environment just shows what a cackling bunch of sadists are running the country right now! If she turned up in parliament wearing a gravy-stained t-shirt with the words FUCK THE ENVIRONMENT on it she couldn’t make it more obvious how tiny a toss she gives about her job! The reason her rivers are in such an appalling fucking state is probably because she’s been swimming in them!

Finally, British TV presenter and comedian James Corden has left his US talk show, concluding with a speech urging America to address its “divisions”.

Funny you say that, Corden, because if there’s one thing that unites people in the otherwise riven and fractious UK, it’s that you’re a gurning, noxious, suck up, punch-down, porky prime mass of grade-A twat! No doubt you seemed like the fucking height of suave sophistication to American audiences, a latterday David Niven, but back here we have absolutely got your card marked for the prick that you are! It’s your fucking facial hair for a start! Either have the balls to grow a beard or fucking shave, don’t leave it in that in-between state where it looks like you’ve dipped your sticky hands in a bowl of pubes and smeared them all over your face! Thinking of coming back to the UK and making a career here? Fuck off! The last thing we need is you stinking out the schedules like your bathroom after one of your Boxing Day shits!

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I waved Italy's prime minister off with a big smile. There's nothing like a real fascist to put a spring in your step

From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Europe’s least populist prime minister

I’VE been feeling pretty right-wing lately, and not in a good way. A tawdry, failed way. But there’s nothing like four hours with a proper fascist to set you right. 

Giorgia Meloni, she was called, and I’m glad Raab’s not here to leer over that name. Presentable and friendly but oh Lord, her opinions. The translator was wincing.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It must be difficult, translating such hateful nonsense.’ Unfortunately he translated it. She didn’t realise, unsurprisingly; I haven’t met anyone with listen mode so firmly turned off since Theresa in the Brexit days.

‘You have the invaders seeking to steal the soul of your country?’ she said. ‘We call them migrants,’ I replied. ‘I call them… the closest approximation is ‘cursed vermin’,’ her translator said on her behalf.

‘So the boats keep coming. We destroy them but they are rescued. So we are destroying the rescue boats, but that is temporary. To stem the tide at its source we will retake North Africa.’

‘Sorry?’ I said. ‘No apology needed,’ she said. ‘You are Hindu not Muslim. I checked. But yes, annexe the African coast and waters and make them Italian territory as in Il Duce’s day. Then camps, executions, etcetra. You could do the same with France?’

‘It’s EU territory,’ I explained. ‘Exactly. We will have them in a pincer movement. I know you are exotic from foreign lands, but so was Emperor Hirohito. I can work with it.’

Honestly, an afternoon with her, and I felt like a virtuous, reality-based, caring leader. I bounced out of Downing Street feeling as light-footed as the 24 Met officers jogging alongside my car. Though I made a mental note never to introduce her to Braverman.