'We fought the British 75 years ago and beat them as we will beat Hamas,' Netanyahu growls. 'I have notes,' I say

19th October 2023

From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Britain’s most pro-Semitic prime minister

‘ISRAEL wins, whether against Hamas, Egypt, Lebanon or Britain,’ says Netanyahu. ‘Let’s reframe Britain’s contribution positively,’ I say.

Obviously we both know I’m here for the photograph, same as Biden yesterday. We stand with Israel, Israel gets all the aid it needs, I take home a me-and-Bibi shot to enrage the lefties. But he’s very keen on doing a little talk.

‘We need to represent our history with Britain,’ he says, ‘and the British respect the use of force. Like when we bombed your army at the King David Hotel in ’47. The foundation of our state.’

‘How about redirecting that energy,’ I say, just as I did with Boris in lockdown when he invented the £100 Covid Survivor Bonus to encourage its spread, ‘because ’47, British Palestine, you’d think they’d remember but they don’t. Bloody colonials!

‘But you know what they do remember? World War Two. Can we squeeze a reference in to that? Bit of moral equivalence?’

‘Fine,’ he snaps. ‘Personally I think Nazis are hackneyed, but if that’s the audience. And monstrously evil, Isis, all of that. Who else do you people hate? The Irish?’

‘Not currently,’ I say. It’s only been six minutes, but being locked in a room with a resentful man of an alien religion makes it impossible to relax. Now I realise why my daughters hate seeing Father Christmas.

‘Okay,’ Bibi says. ‘We get your selfie, you go home. Invoice to follow. Now sit on my knee.’

Fish is for taking a picture with and throwing back: The gammon food critic visits a seafood restaurant

18th October 2023

Restaurant reviews by Justin Tanner, our retired food critic who reckons the BBC knew about Savile the whole time, but Thatcher and the Queen didn’t

THE sea’s full of weird shit. That doesn’t mean you have to eat it, and somebody should tell the Spaniards that.

No, there’s one way to eat fish and that’s deep-fried in lard with a massive pile of chips. And mushy peas. On a Friday night after the pub. People knock British cuisine, but show me the chef who’s come up with anything to beat that.

Still, gastronomes do persist. They’ll serve up prawns like they’re not an oversized aquatic flea. And there’s a new swanky seafood pleace in the centre I’ve blagged a freebie at by neglecting to mention I’m retired.

I breeze past the complementary caviar brushetta – nobody in their right mind eats eggs scooped out of a sturgeon’s fanny – and sit down only to discover this place is so up itself the menu’s in French and doesn’t have pound signs on. If I tried to pay in fucking euros they’d realise the exchange rate bloody quick.

There’s no beer, only overpriced wine with a note saying what wine partners what fish. It’s like Strictly under the sea. Still I’m not paying so I order a bottle that apparently steps out nicely with roe.

Starters? Mussels, oysters, other molluscs that lie on beaches eating raw sewage. Fuck that. ‘Are the scallops in batter?’ I inquire, at which the waiter looks at me like I’m a shit-eating mollusc myself.

I briefly consider the smoked salmon before deciding, as usual, it looks too much like skin grafts, and go for the lobster consomme instead, which seems to be the water a lobster was being boiled in before he got bored and pissed off. For ’13’.

Mains? Catch of the Day, like I’m dumb enough not to know it’s been in the deep freeze for months. Skate with black butter. It’s political correctness gone mad. I opt for the pan-fried sea bass wrapped in pancetta, and it’s passable. For fish.

I get up to leave – a fish restaurant’s idea of the sweet trolley is not something I want to face, it’s probably chocolate-dipped crab claws – and the maitre d’ asks when to expect my review. ‘Bloody soon,’ I tell him, slightly pissed.

‘In fact I’ll get it to the paper tomorrow,’ I continue, which is true. I don’t mention I retired in 2010 and they won’t even publish my letters after a post-Brexit correspondence turned particularly ugly.

Duplicituous and deceiving? Well, he’s the one running a restaurant that only serves fucking fish.