“They couldn’t even get that right”, said Ms A Chen from North London. “Pissed as a truckload of second-hand double-colostomy bags and they couldn’t even give the electorate the little bit of pleasure of a very apt metaphor.”
Described by some as “embarrassingly awful“, at first it looked like the revellers were speaking an unknown language but then viewers realised that if they put their TVs onto the “drunk as skunk” setting, they could make out every second word.
Tory and Labour grandees and their minions took up the mantra, “You’re my mate, you are” whenever the Lib-Dems hove into view.
Our most popular starry slebs such as Piers Morgan, Joan Collins, Martin Amis, Bruce Forsyth, Maureen Lipman, Fern Britton and Sir Ben Kingsley added the glamour befitting their enormous stature in the culture, showing the rest of us how to have a good time when civilisation as we know it draws to a close. Joan Collins mooned the TV cameras. Or did I imagine it? She might as well have done for all the respect we were shown.
A frighteningly orange-haired elderly gentleman with Botox Freeze, going by the name of Andrew Neil, demonstrated his popularity with his high-falutin’ chums. Michael Portillo, Ian Hislop, Alistair Campbell and Michael Ashcroft, not short of a bob or two (where’s our £120 million?!!!), had a high ol’ time at our expense, thus demonstrating how they mean to carry on.
The only thing missing was Conrad Black and his missus dressed up as Richelieu and Marie-Antoinette. It all made me nostalgic for tumbrils and Workers Councils. Or at least pitchforks and torches.
Anna’s food blog here: