The Week
The moment Ukraine were declared Eurovision winners, thoughts naturally turned to wondering how a country under a violent Russian invasion could possibly host next year’s competition.
Although if Putin thinks the Ukrainian Armed Forces are a tough nut to crack, wait till he threatens the cancellation of millions of Eurovision house parties and has an entire continent of rabid, glamour-pop nutbars charging towards Moscow drenched in fabulous colours, wielding empty pink prosseco bottles like truncheons.
Even the nuke button wouldn’t stop them.
Brexit red tape continued to shoot across the UK like angry confetti but despite global trade with the UK nosediving like a urine-soaked paper airplane, Michael Gove showed us that imports from Colombia were thankfully still thriving by giving the most beaked-up TV appearance since Big Bird.
Channelling Harry Enfield and Spud from Trainspotting, the Minister for Housing gave a performance so unhinged it was reminiscent of the early rounds of Britain’s Got Talent back when we used to laugh at the mentally unsound.
Rebecca Vardy and Coleen Rooney continued their libel battle in the courtroom with poor old Peter Andre’s trouser snake unfortunately getting more airtime than his latest single.
High profile cases are defined by soundbites. ’If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit’ takes us back to the OJ trial.
In future years, none of us will be able to look at a ‘small chiplata’ without wistfully reminiscing to our grandkids about Rebecca Vardy’s evocative description of the former pop star’s diminutive peepee.
As the chipolata industry distanced its
elf from the Insania singer, the nation collectively chortled at courtroom drawings that depicted Wayne Rooney as a piece of Shredded Wheat with ears.
A black Doctor Who was announced, causing gammon-faced non-fans to lose their shit quicker than a portaloo on a waltzer, not grasping the premise that Doctor Who is a shapeshifting, alien timelord who fights robots with a sonic screwdriver.
They can be whatever they want.
Oh yeah, and he’s FICTIONAL. So give your heads a wobble.
The next Doctor Who should be a non-binary Tamagotchi.
Prince Charles stood in for the Queen at the opening of parliament, with the Prince of Wales celebrating the price of living crisis by wearing all his bling at once and looking a bit like Mr T. trying to reduce his cabin luggage weight at a Ryan Air check-in.
Charles then plonked his chosen-by-God buttocks on a solid gold throne and told us that we’re ‘all in this together.’
Thank fuck for that. I was starting to think this was the Hunger Games.
And speaking of unity, food banks continued to open up across the UK like puss-ridden hives on the face of society.
The UK now has twice as many food banks as McDonalds, a stat grubbier than a Maccies toilet seat.
And not a cause for celebration.
Unfortunately nobody told the entourage of Dartford council leader Jeremy Kite who smiled their Tory tits off for photos as they cut the ribbon to open the latest tangible indicator that our system is well and truly broken.
Maybe reserve those shit-eating grins for when you close the fucking things, yeah?
Conservative MP for Ashfield Lee Anderson claimed it wasn’t poverty that was causing 2.4 million people a day to go without food. It was simply a lack of cooking skills.
How about we scrap food banks altogether and just put Ainsley Harriet back on the telly?
Lee Anderson reckons you can make meals for 30p a day.
What glue-sniffing planet of bollock-speak does this man come from?
Even Freddos cost about four quid these days.
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