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I will be taking eight fag breaks a day, says Starmer

AS well as clocking off at 6pm on Fridays, Keir Starmer has announced he will take hourly fag breaks in the garden of Downing Street. 

The prime minister has ringfenced a minimum of eight 15-minute cigarette breaks in the working day for him to focus, enjoy a Silk Cut and give one to Angela bloody Rayner when she comes out on the scrounge.

He said: “My Cabinet and I are ordinary Britons in touch with the common man, by which I mean we’re chemically addicted to nicotine.

“I won’t be doing a single work-related thing during those breaks. A warning of nuclear war wouldn’t drag me back to the desk. I’ll handle it better after I’ve had a fag.

“You need motivation to get through the day in this job, and I’ll concentrate better on Reeves banging on about greyfield sites if I’ve got a gasper to look forward to. Also speeds up making decisions.

“Some of my cabinet will be joining me out there in all weathers, some won’t. Yvette Cooper gets sniffy. Conversely Liz Kendall’s usually lighting one off the stub of her last.”

He added: “Vape? You didn’t elect the Lib f**king Dems.”

France to remain complete f**king mess with amazing wine and trains

A BRITON striving to understand the politics of France and the French people has admitted, after yesterday’s vote, he only really gets the wine and the trains. 

Julian Cook, a copywriter and Francophile, had spent ten days opining that the nation’s insularity and insistence its on cultural supremacy meant turning to fascism was inevitable only for the Gallic electorate to make him look a dick.

He said: “I had a reasoned, intelligent case for why they’d elect a blonde Hitler. It went great with coffee and croissants. And now they’ve elected a hard-left Corbyn?

“Also it’s a hung parliament where nobody has a majority or can govern, which compared to our nice, clear-cut election is as impossible to understand as Parisians pretend your French is when you’re buying a baguette.

“The land of liberty that’s deeply racist, cosmopolitan and yet horribly provincial, the world’s fashion capital but half the country’s in NafNaf sweaters, France is made up as it’s going along.

“You know those French films where a beautiful woman smoking a Gauloise makes a series of incomprehensible decisions, from starting an affair to working in a brothel to joining the Foreign Legion, and you’re nonplussed throughout? That’s this in political form.

“France is a mystery wrapped in an enigma safely on the other side of the Channel. Do try drinking a Burgundy on the HGV, though. It’s exquisite.”

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