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How I'm feeding the kids while Kate's in hospital, by the Prince of Wales

WHILE the wife’s away, I have absolutely no idea how to feed the children. No matter how many times I say ‘Mummy will be back soon’ the little beasts keep demanding food.

I can’t ask the servants to do it, because I’m a modern future king who can do normal things and they’re nasty little gossips who’ll be straight onto the Mail. So this is how I’ve done it:

Tuesday lunch

Kate admitted to hospital. We’re saying it’s abdominal surgery. I assume it’s a six-pack transplant, I haven’t asked. I bung two pizzas in the oven, I’m not a complete amateur, and serve them on the cardboard plates helpfully provided in the box.

Tuesday dinner

Officially out of ideas. Call Kate but she’s ‘recovering from surgery’. Explain I’m heir to the throne. Still no. Ask the kids how they feel about pizza again and they’re fine with it. This is a doddle.

Wednesday lunch

There’s no pizza. Call Kate. Still recovering, though I notice she’s not too weak to imply I’m selfish. Call Anne, she’s practical, and get both barrels about how she’s ‘the only working Royal’ and I’m ‘a useless prick like my father’. Tell the kids they can have cereal as a treat.

Wednesday dinner

This is a f**king nightmare. George wants a burger, Charlotte wants ‘scrambly egg’, Louis wants sweets. The Queen calls, though she’s not my real Queen, and suggests I ‘do oven chips and nuggets’. ‘They’re bloody frozen!’ I scream. Apparently the oven fixes that.

Thursday lunch

Charlotte makes her own scrambled egg and cries when it’s ruined. George chanting ‘burger’ again and again. In desperation I copy something Ollie did once at uni and heat up tubs of something called beans and serve them with toast, which is scorched bread.

Thursday dinner

There’s nothing in the cupboards. There’s nothing in the freezer. Desperate, I scatter a family bag of crisps on the floor while the children snap at my outstretched hands.

Friday lunch

Absolute bloody brainwave. There is a place where Royals can eat and no one, not the public or the staff or the paparazzi, will ever notice. A short drive and I’m ushering the children into a safe space to fill our hungry bellies. Welcome to Pizza Express in Woking.

When I say 'will of the people' I mean about 60 twats sitting behind me, explains Sunak

RISHI Sunak has clarified that when he stated yesterday that his Rwanda bill was ‘the will of the people’, he did not mean the actual people.

The ‘people’ to whom the prime minister was referring were in fact a small but vociferous gaggle of timewasting, red-faced Tory backbench loons who he is too spineless to tell to f**k off.

Sunak said: “I was sending out a very clear message to the House of Lords that they would be making a grave mistake if they were to go against the will of Mark Francois, Suella Braverman and that monkey man from Stoke.

“It’s not that the Rwanda policy is good. It’s unworkable, illegal and completely irrelevant to the vast majority of Britons. Even dyed-in-the-wool racists realise it’s crap.

“But what sort of democracy would we be if we paid attention to every Tom, Dick and Harry, as opposed to every Mark, Lee and other halitosis-ridden halfwit who gets right up in my face in the House of Commons lobby?

“So yes, when I say ‘the people’, I don’t mean those funny little insects I can see on the ground from my helicopter. I mean my borderline fascist colleagues I have to fellate on a daily basis to keep this pointless Conservative shitshow going.

“Who the hell knows what the ‘will of the people’ is anyway? Probably troughs in every Greggs so they can go down on all fours to feed, like the disgusting pigs they are.”

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