There’s more empathy in these eyes than Matt Hancock’s
The UK has finally got a grip on the Covid-19 crisis as a bunch of stuffed oddballs created in the sixties and seventies are removed from their positions in government by the Wombles. Communicating through a shadowy figure known only as ‘Bernard Cribbins’, the Wombles have increased the number of coronavirus tests being carried out daily by more than 400% and also found the time to have a gently amusing mishap over an old umbrella then enjoy a slice or two of elmbark pie followed by double buttercup ice-cream. “The Wombles are the heroes we need right now,” Mr Cribbins told reporters at the Number Ten daily briefing. “Some may say they have no experience, no plan and are in fact fictional. To them I say this – they’re still a better bet than Boris Johnson.”
The aim of the delivery driver is to inform or delight, or to combine together, in what they say, both pleasure and applicability to life. Plus hand you chicken nuggets and gin.
Sharp-elbowed, braying culture thieves across the land are today congratulating themselves on making yet another thing a thousand percent more exclusive and complicated than it needs to be as delivery van driving becomes a graduate only profession. “It’s a majorly important job that’s getting a lot of attention right now,” said village incomer Oofy Eastof. “So naturally those of us who make Kirsty Allsop look like Sid Vicious are taking it for ourselves and our offspring.” “Lysander and I are hoping that Cassian will take a BSc (Vans) at Waitrose. We’d be happy with Sainsbury’s too obviously but he is very, very bright and I’m not sure they’d offer him enough of a challenge.” “My sister-in-law’s eldest has just scraped into Budgens and we’re trying to be supportive there but it’s now glaringly obvious what a hopeless underachiever that child is.” Asked what she expected people who have the practical skills to be delivery van drivers but can’t afford to study the subject for three years to do, Oofy replied that “They could always establish a lavatory paper delivery business and start from the bottom.”
Primal lurker beyond time* and Cabinet Office minister Michael Gove has been praised for improving the physical health of screen staring, stress eating Brits on lockdown by streaming a daily afternoon workout that sets pulses rising. “Like many people since lockdown I’ve been at risk of turning into an endgame Henry VIII but without all the fun of having had six wives and a big argument with the Pope first,” said villager Cassie Fine. “But now I’m getting some much needed daily exercise all thanks to Michael Gove. One look and I’m on my feet running from the room to get away from his wet-lipped cascade of mendacity.” “My wife stays in front of the TV and really works her muscles gesturing in disbelief at almost every word he says but she’s always been hardcore. Back in the day she could hold plank position all the way through a David Cameron speech on why it was necessary to fuck the NHS rigid without even a shiver of disgust.” Rumours that another Downing Street workout series ‘Sprinting Away with Dominic Cummings’ will soon be launched remain persistent but unconfirmed.
*August Derleth by which we really mean the Wikipedia page on Cthulhu
Animals the world over are happier than a Boris Johnson with two dicks now that they’ve got the planet back. “It’s ace and skill,” said Manky Kevin, a spokesbadger for Harold’s mustelidae community. “With you lot out of the way us animals can do our thing without being hunted, run over or getting Attenboroughed. We love Sir David really but he’s a lot. Okay, occasionally it’s fun to do something spectacular for the camera but sometimes one just wants to be left alone to groom one’s jumble-giblets or contemplate the infinite over a week old chicken carcass one dragged out of a bin.” “We’re hearing that some of you don’t like being shut away and are getting bored, maybe even a bit distressed,” added his colleague, Furry Rita. “I’ll be sure to mention that to my friends in the zoo once I’ve stopped laughing.” “We’re going to be launching a change.org petition soon for all animals to sign calling for it to be made law that humans are kept in their homes forever,” she said. “We anticipate it’ll be a great success as soon as one of us learns how to type.”
If only they all dressed like that, it’s a fierce look
The UK has decided to take one for the team and cheer everyone else up by sending its widespread moron population to form huge and in some cases quite violent queues outside McDonald’s restaurants before they all close. “Our first idea was to contribute to the global fight against the coronavirus by providing medical supplies and staff,” said a Number Ten spokesperson. “Then we realised that we don’t have any so instead thought we’d give other countries a giggle with footage of idiots ignoring social distancing and brawling just to buy a handful of sweaty mechanically recovered meat.” “The rest of the world will see the long lines and the emergency services being deployed to them and they’ll be tickled pink. Proving that laughter really is the best medicine. Which is handy because we’ve got bugger all medicine.” McDonald’s will close nationwide at 19:00 this evening. Let the games begin.
As 2020 sees the longest January since records began, calendar scientists are calling for a moratorium.
“Time seems to have come to a complete standstill,” said long-retired local horologist Mike Winterbourne, watching the Indoor Bowling. “It seems a very long time ago now, but I was a fit, young working man when I put the Christmas Tree away.”
Politically, the electorate are beginning to feel there is some sort of sleight of hand going on.
“We’ve been hoodwinked,” said Harold Brexiteer, Gavin Williams. “Boris said he’d get it done by the end of the month, but he never told us January would last longer than the whole of the previous four years added together.”
Thanks to a fly on the wall at Sandringham, with a tiny microphone in it, The Evening Harold is able to bring the full, unredacted transcript of The Royal Summit.
ACT 1. The guests arrive.
Sussex, entering left, courtseying : “You sent for me, Ma’am?”
Cornwall, whispering to HM: “See how he removes the Royal Cloak and hangs it on the peg? No son of mine…”
Cambridge: “Welcome, let us hug so that we may be Brothers in Arms.”
Sussex pushing him aside: “Fuck’st off, thou unchin-nosed fustelarian.”
ACT 2. The Queen’s Drawing Room.
HM: “So tell me Sussex – I’ll call you Harry – let’s speak of Meghan, whom thou didst marry.”
Sussex: “I love her Ma’am, with all my heart; I hear sweet music, tho’ she doth loudly fart.”
HM: “’Tis love for sure; I used to feel the same to hear my Edi snore.”
Edinburgh enters.
Edinburgh, aside to Cornwall: “It’s those Swan Down pillows, mate; they me do nightly suffocate.”
Cambridge, earwigging: “Suffolk Kate? Yet it is sworn by certificate: she’s Pangbourne born and no mistake.”
Edinburgh: “Sir Tiffy Kate? Is that her dad?”
Cornwall: “The hour – ’tis late – the sun glows red. Come on, father, let us get thee back a-bed.”
Edinburgh leaves.
HM: “To business, Harry, now, in verse, how willst thou manage without my Purse?”
Sussex: “I’ve thirty million in my account. I may not be Rees-Mogg, but ’tis still a good amount.”
HM: “But, in America, ’tis no wealth! Illness there comes free, one has to pay for health.”
Cambridge: “Bro, you married a beauty; but where’s thy sense of Royal Duty? Hast thou lost it?”
Sussex: “Go away, you pompous git.”
ACT 3. In the hallway.
A knock on the front door is heard. (‘Tis Andrew, delivering pizzas.)
HM: “Quick, let us in the garden walk. I know that knock. It’s that dork, York.”
ACT 4: At the back garden gate.
HM: “Oh bugger, there’s the Press! Butler, fetch one’s crown – one’s hair is such a mess!”
HM (to the assembled reporters): ”Summit’s aborted. Come back Wednesday.”
Sussex (to camera): “Sorted.”
[photo credit: By USDAgov – https://www.flickr.com/photos/usdagov/8674435033/sizes/o/in/photostream/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25727555]
i set trends dem man copy
A Harold woman and her imaginary partner have become the latest in a lengthening line of royal dropouts.
“We shall be working towards financial independence, apart from a small amount of Pension Credit and Housing Benefit,” said a statement on behalf of Doris Kettle (72) and her late husband.
“One’s time shall be split between the park and the care home,” Doris told the Evening Harold, adding “this will not impact upon one’s personal carbon footprint, before you ask.”
The move threw Royal Researchers a massive googly as they tried to keep the National Sequence of Succession website up to date.
“The last thing we need is a spate of copycat abdications,” said one royal commentator, while others are questioning whether ‘stepping down’ is an actual constitutional option available to common people.
Nevertheless, comrade Corbyn, who twice narrowly missed out on becoming Prime Minister, is now one step closer to becoming King.
In
one of the most unusual cases of mistaken identity of the decade,
Bake Off’s Paul Hollywood has been eliminated by a US drone strike,
while on a kebab tasting visit to Iraq.
“He was taken out when he went for a take out,” said Prue Leith, as she set about preparing a special cake to send to Donald Trump.
Rather than admit his mistake, Trump has continued to insist that Hollywood was a ruthless character assassin who was planning to make a lot of dough.
“What a great way to start the New Year,” he tweeted, “this really is the cherry on top of the icing on the cake.”
Sandy Toksvig was too upset to comment, but Noel Fielding was more philosophical about the situation.
“At least it was a swift end,” he said. “He wouldn’t have known anything about it, apart from hearing a mighty woosh.”
“What a great time to be alive,” remarked Eddie Grudgingly, landlord of the Squirrel Lickers Arms. “It’s a Bank Holiday, the weather’s fair and PPI is coming to an end.”
“They said Austerity was over. Didn’t see anybody celebrating. They thought it was going to be like a War Is Over Lennon Ono anthem blaring out of the wireless and everybody dancing in the streets. Turned out damper than a squid that’s been dunked in a jar of tepid ale. Another pint?”
“But PPI, though. Nobody saw that coming and nobody saw it coming to an end either. And coinciding with a Bank Holiday. Last week, we had a couple of tourists in the Lickers. Spoke with a funny accent like that. I said ‘Who are you?’ and the bloke goes ‘Tourists’. I said ‘We don’t serve terrorists. Oh, you’re tourists. Are you both Taurus?’ Gin and tonic?”
“I’m putting on a Special on Thursday, which is when PPI ends, at midnight. Bit of a knees-up, Vera Lynn on the box. Miserable old git in the corner, going on about how he forgot to send his coupon in. He thinks it’s like the football pools. Then, when we get to midnight, it dawns on us – no more PPI phone calls! No more Angie’s Advice.”
“Boris up there, going ‘Oy, hold your horses, chaps, we haven’t finished Brexit yet.’ It’s not Brexit dividing the country, mate, it’s PPI. It’s those who claimed and those who didn’t. We all put up with the phone calls, but only 52% bothered to claim. The other 48% said, ‘No, we’re alright as we are, thanks.’ Now it’s over and nobody gives a toss one way or the other. Top up?”
“Anyway, you know what’s coming next, don’t you. Have you been mis-charged fees on your PPI claim?”
Feeling a bit sjösjuk
A Harold man has criticised Greta Thunberg for sailing to a climate conference, because ocean seasickness vomit levels are already at breaking point.
“A bit more aviation fuel pollution isn’t going to do any harm,” said local climatologist Mike Fairchild. “Compared to the amount of puke and poos she’s going to drop in the ocean, it would be a drop in the ocean. It wouldn’t even be in the ocean.”
“Birds have evolved to keep out of the way of planes. Now we have to start thinking about the whales and sharks who are traumatised when a massive shit comes their way after a ship passes.”
“Thunberg is famous for her green credentials,” he continued, “and it shows on her face the moment she steps on board a boat. Puke and diarrhoea are best stored in a sewer behind a fat-ball, not dumped on the seabed.”
“This whole eco-trip by boat malarkey is going to backfire and she’ll be left with egg on her face and ketchup running down her smock,” he added.
A beautiful antique table at the centre of a parliamentary row remained unpolished today after a Downing Street cleaner found a huge No Deal tome had been super-glued to it.
“No wonder she can’t take it off the table,” said domestic Rosa dela Marguerita, “I’ve tried everything, nothing will shift it.”
The No Deal is a far heftier work than The Deal, running to over 4000 blank pages.
“It’s lucky Jeremy didn’t fall for her invitation to talks,” said Diane Abbott.
“It’s obvious now she had this prank set up ready to tell him: Okay, there’s the No Deal, now let’s see you take it off the table. Then she’d do that laughing with her shoulders thing.”
A group of Oxford philosophers were relieved to learn that No Deal was an actual thing.
“We’ve been puzzling for ages over how something that was not a thing got put on the table in the first place. We made the mistake of thinking it was like No Cruet Set.”
A new poll has revealed that most people would back HM Queen to have the final say on Brexit.
“It seems obvious that when we’re talking Sovereignty, the Monarch should be the final arbiter,” said landlord Eddie on behalf of Harold’s informal polling group IMHO.
The group meets regularly to discuss global issues while drinking alcohol. At last night’s meeting in the Squirrel Lickers Arms, chaired by landlord Eddie Grudgingly, IMHO voted overwhelmingly to back a motion in support of a Royal Prerogative on Brexit.
“After all, there’s a fair bit of German in her blood and the Duke’s quite Greek,” said Eddie, “so they have a better understanding of Europe than far-right loudmouths in parts of Lincolnshire and the Tory Party.”
It was decided that a People’s Vote would be a waste of time, because everyone’s changed their minds, so the result would be the same as last time.
The group also supported a motion of praise for Prince Philip’s ability to survive an actual car crash much better than the Prime Minister fared in her metaphorical one.
“And the Duke,” said Eddie, winding up the debate, “is now single-handedly saving hundreds of jobs at Jaguar Land Rover with his recent order for a weekly fleet of new cars. He’s doing more for the British motor industry than Greg Clark and that’s a fact.”
As the meeting adjourned, members of the political focus group thanked Eddie for another well-organised piss-up in his pub, which everyone agreed was a rare talent these days.
A séance held by the UK Brexit team has called upon Schrödinger’s ghost to help resolve the Irish border issue.
“What we need,” said Mrs May, “is a border that exists in the EU’s mind, but which is invisible to the DUP.”
The séance was delayed while HM Stationery Office searched their cupboard for an umlaut to go over the ‘o’ in Schrödinger. But the search was fruitless, despite a senior civil servant swearing blind he’d seen one in there only last week. Continue reading →
‘Mrs May as a child, reaching for Dreams’ isn’t the title.
A brand new Brexit Deal, drawn up by Banksy, will self-destruct as soon as it is signed.
The framework for the Deal is being kept a closely guarded secret, but insiders say it satisfies the demands of Leavers, Remainers and the EU.
“At first glance, the work lacks detail,” said Harold artist Beryl Blythe who was granted access to the piece, “but, when you step back, you see he has managed to stencil-in a solution to the Irish Border issue, draw up a workable plan for continuing trade and solve the question of free movement, all with lovely flowing lines and soft forms.”
With a no-deal exit from the EU looming, the BBC is preparing to switch back to analogue signals, broadcasting on a UHF channel in 625 lines, to help soften the harsh reality.
“We’ve still got a 1940s valve microphone which has a rich, warm tone. Coupled with the low image resolution of analogue broadcasting, we are ready to take the edge off the hardest of Brexits,” the BBC reassured Mrs May.
“You’ll need a Cathode Ray TV set and an X-shaped aerial,” says our media correspondent, “or you can download the app, Bygone Replicator, to turn your digital device off for you.” Continue reading →
Boris Johnson’s wife Marina Wheeler has triggered Article 50. They have been in a union for 25 years but Marina now insists it’s time to take back control of her borders.
“He thinks he’s Big Daddy,”‘she said, “but in truth he’s just a Giant Haystack.”
Dubbed ‘Bojexit’, the divorce is already proving controversial, with Boris withdrawing his earlier complaint that Marina was costing him £350 million a week.
“Surely, marriage means marriage,” said Harold pensioner Doris Kettle. “How come they get another vote on it?”
When ‘A’ was rescued from a B&Q orphanage, he thought a loving family was taking him into their home and their hearts.
“The kids seemed very excited on the way home in the 4×4,” recalled A, “singing ‘Daddy got a ladder’ to the tune of ‘If I had a hammer’. I thought I would soon be enjoying a bowl of homemade soup in a warm kitchen and then the kids would show me where I was sleeping. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
To his horror, the jeep pulled up the gravel path to the detached double garage. While the children ran into the house to tell mummy about their outing with daddy, A was slid out of the tailgate, had his packaging stripped from him and was roughly shaken before being hung on a pair of hooks inside the garage.
“Yeah, reckon you’ll do,” said the man before switching off the light and shutting the garage door.
In the darkness, a large spider crawled and A heard the familiar creak of aluminium on aluminium.
“Who’s there?” asked A.
“I’m Triple Extension,” said a deep voice in reply, “and this is my wife, Roof. Get to sleep, Steps. There’s work to be done, first thing in the morning.”
“Don’t call me Steps,” cried A.”My name’s A. It’s short for A-Frame. You’re not my real ladder.”
NASA has confirmed that its current Solar mission is a trial run for a planned trip to Piers Morgan’s face. The probe is named the Kardashian in honour of the lady who called him a gaseous windbag in 1958.
“First, we need to test the probe’s shield in the sun’s atmosphere to find out whether it will withstand the extremely high levels of smugness radiating off his enormous face,” said Ms Kardashian. “It won’t, of course, so it’ll burn up on his face and make his head explode, I hope.”
“The original idea,” said NASA, “was to make yesterday’s launch a manned flight, using Piers Morgan as the man. But the risk assessment came out bad. No one knows the effect of smashing a massive ball of molten fury into the sun.”Continue reading →
While scientists are over the moon with their discovery of a water lake on Mars, residents of North West England have expressed disappointment that their hosepipe ban will not be cancelled.
“Water on Mars isn’t really going to help with the regional water shortage,” said a spokesman for United Utilities.
“Our job is to manage the water here in Lancashire and we’re not very good at that, so you can’t honestly think, as some have suggested, that we may as well try to run a pipeline from Mars. Not without a feasibility study anyway.”
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