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The Archbishop of Canterbury on… who's for Ramsay's Kitchen Staff's Revenge?

WAKING up with a hangover so intense its menacing presence is causing all the dogs within a mile’s radius to bark incessantly, I look back at the week and one annual event in particular. 

It so happens that I have certain information pertaining to former prime minister David Cameron that, were I to publish, would prove humiliating and considerably damaging to his reputation. I withhold it on one condition: that once a year, on 16th February, he reports to my chambers to have his backside kicked by my good self. He always does so. 

This year was no exception. I motioned him in and bade him remove his trousers and bend over. I took my time, strode slowly backwards across the room for a decent run-up and then, rushing forward, booted his rear end with vigour and emphasis. 

He let out a pained ‘Yarroooooohh!’. Not as good a shot as 2013 when I lifted him clean off his feet and pitched him face-first onto the carpet, but a good effort nonetheless. ‘See you next year,’ he muttered, smarting, and sloped off. 

With a wry smile, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor was taken into custody on a charge of misconduct in office. His brother Charles has commented that ‘the law should take its course’.

Hahahahaha, about fucking time! This is like when they got fucking Al Capone on taxes but it’ll have to fucking do! I hope they treat you as nicely in the fucking cells as they do the rest of the nonces! You know, my one regret about all this is that your mother, the Paedophile Protector-in-Chief, isn’t around to see all this, but you can’t have everything! Seriously, you’ve done so much damage to the monarchy it wouldn’t surprise me if in five years time it’s the Sex Pistols’ God Save The Queen that’s the fucking national anthem!

Gordon Ramsay is the subject of a new Netflix documentary series, Being Gordon Ramsay. It promises an intimate look at the TV chef’s domestic life as well as his commercial ventures.

Seriously? We’re supposed to gawp fondly at someone who built his reputation on being an insufferable, overbearing, copper-bottomed cunt? Unless it features a disgruntled employee burning down his fucking restaurant after he’s behaved like an absolute fucking cock to him once too often, I’m not fucking interested! But I’d definitely watch a pissed-off sous chef chasing him down Bishopsgate brandishing a steak knife screaming: ‘I’m gonna slice your balls off, you bullying fucking shithead!’ Testing his catchphrase ‘Put a rocket up your arse!’ on Gordon himself, a la MythBusters, would get fucking record viewing figures!

Meanwhile Channel 4 are streaming a documentary series about ex-PM Tony Blair, who appears to be in the frame for a major role in the administration of peacetime Gaza.

Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen! Peace in Gaza, I mean, not Blair having another fucking calamitous meddling role in the fucking Middle East! Again, unless this documentary features Gordon Brown reminiscing truthfully about Blair – ‘I always thought he was a pseudo-messianic, swivel-eyed, lying, swotty-voiced, conniving little shit…’ – then I’m not interested! Unless the last scene is of him sharing a cell with Prince Andrew while he waits to be deported to the fucking Hague. Go on, Channel 4, do a fictional reconstruction and give the viewers what they want!

Finally, Nigel Farage this week held an ‘emergency’ press conference announcing ‘shadow’ cabinet appointments including Robert Jenrick as chancellor and Suella Braverman as education and equalities minister. She immediately vowed to scrap the Equalities Act.

You know, I hope the BBC goes to Hell for its fucking tumescent over-promotion of Farage over the years, but now that the cunt’s out of the bag I think the more we see of the fucker and his brazen, bigoted losers the better! Every time you appear on TV you reinforce the fucking truth about yourself, so keep appearing and hammer home the fact that you’re a tiresome, braying, Trump-arselicking, racist, swindling, moneygrubbing, parasitical, misogynistic, sadly-plane-crash-surviving, streak of ultra-toxic white dogshit whose persona is a fucking parody of a bad EastEnders villain, Nasty Nigel! Except he would have been rejected by the producers as too on the fucking nose!

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Make it a bank holiday, Charlie, and let's all celebrate a Royal Execution

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who agrees with whatever Trump’s current position on the Chagos Island is

NOBODY does pageantry better than Britain. But there’s one bit of pomp and ceremony we’ve not indulged in for a while, and it would draw one hell of a crowd. 

We’ve had Platty Joobs. We’ve had the funeral. We’ve had the coronation. And never has the public needed its faith in the innate marvellousness of the Royals renewing so much as now.

Imagine it. The hushed tones of Clive Myrie, commenting: ‘I think we’re seeing some movement and yes, there he is, Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor has stepped onto the scaffold! Such a roar from the crowd.

‘There he is, in a traditional knitted silk vest, and he’s approaching the executioner’s block. The executioner who normally works in a slaughterhouse in Ayrshire and told us earlier how honoured he is to play his part in this none more historic occasion.

‘Raising his axe high and – yes – the head is off! A beautifully clean blow. We’ll see that again in slo-mo, but let’s just zoom in on the basket and oh, just look at his expression. Makes it all worthwhile.’

What an occasion. Crowds waving Union Jacks lining the streets to see the tumbril cart pass by. Andrew gamely smiling. The King himself turning down one final request for clemency. Kate, resplendent in a crimson Alessandra Rich coat dress.

The Americans would love it. They’d be block-booking London hotels. The other so-called crowned heads of Europe? As ever, we’d be setting them an example. Got the balls to execute your princess’s errant son, Norway? We have.

And of course, as on those other great occasions, the British public would respond enthusiastically to being given a day off. We’d be buying plates and mugs commemorating the moment while getting legless in our millions.

It’s what Andrew deserves and what the country needs. Diana cheated us out of our chance in the 90s; let’s not miss it again. Come on Charlie. We’ve had a Royal Knockout, now give us a Royal Execution.

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