Three-field crop rotation and the other dull-as-shit British history you got taught at school

OTHER countries have interesting history. In Britain, the best you get is a man in a crown dying in a muddy field in Leicestershire. And these greatest hits: 

The Great Fire of London

Sounds exciting, but in reality all anyone can remember from the teacher’s drone is that it started at a bakery and Samuel Pepys buried a cheese. Why would you remember anything else when the lesson was a wordsearch for ‘thatched roof’ and a dot-to-dot of a ruined family home?

Henry VIII’s wives

We get it, the guy shagged. A lot, including sisters. But that’s hardly thrilling to teenagers raised on the good seasons of Love Island. And what else did he do? Ah, a fortnight of lessons examining the power structure of the Catholic church. At which point, like when they endlessly dissect it in Love Island, even the shagging’s dull.

The Corn Laws

Pivotal in making British democracy subservient to the will of the people rather than an aristocratic few, the repeal of the Corn Laws was an epochal moment for our country. Except even the thickest GCSE student is well aware we’re still ruled for the benefit of an aristocratic few, so it’s clearly history not worth f**king learning.

The Gunpowder Plot

Exciting hypothetically. Largely about what could have happened and why – religion again – before a brief and gratifyingly graphic discussion of Stuart-era tortures and where the various plotters’ heads ended up. Asking a class of nine-year-olds about capital punishment for terrorists certainly sparks lively drawings.

The origins of World War I

There’s a valuable lesson in here somewhere about how we can avoid escalation to violence, but the endless listing of alliances and back-and-forths and the September Memorandum makes it as fascinating as a teenager’s TikTok account of the drama about what Ashleigh said to Jenna at lunch.

Three-field crop rotation

The pièce de résistance. Not a hint of violence or shagging, just different types of soil and beige crops over and over again, like a particularly unsexy episode of Countryfile. There’s not even any chance of the creaky telly being wheeled out for this one. Just remember wheat, beans, fallow, whatever.

How the vote of no confidence has already been unanimously won: Nadine Dorries explains

TODAY’S vote of no confidence called by the biased media was won with the prime minister receiving 100 per cent of the vote before it even took place. Here’s how: 

8am

Vote of no confidence officially announced, after diehard Johnson loyalists write letters to 1922 Committee so the prime minister can prove himself in an incredible show of strength.

9.30am

Conservative MPs, fortified by a weekend of hardcore patriotism, come to their senses. Dazedly wondering how they could even consider betraying the most successful leader of all time, they swear undying allegiance.

11.30am

Emails flood in from constituents horrified that a vote of no confidence could be held against Johnson, a virile stallion of a man who single-handedly created the vaccine, Brexited and won the war for Ukraine.

3pm

Johnson, entirely secure in his position, makes a few casual phone calls to friends who happen to be MPs discussing a Cabinet reshuffle. This is in no way bribery or desperation, in fact he’s entirely forgotten the vote thing’s even going on. And I know because I, as ever, am sitting by his feet.

5pm

With an hour to go before the vote, Johnson’s benevolence and eye for detail cause him to remember those Tory MPs who would love to vote for him but are currently without the whip due to ‘sex offences’. Munificently restores the whip to them just to get an full house.

6pm

Vote takes place. Johnson so unworried he takes a nap. I adoringly watch him sleep.

8pm

Result is announced. Every member in the house, including Labour and the Lib Dems, has backed Boris. Nation agrees this counts as a general election. The BBC reports some untrue seditious nonsense which is rightly ignored. Rejoicing goes on long into the night.