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One year on from Liz Truss becoming prime minister, is it time to admit she killed the Queen?

IT is a year since Liz Truss became prime minister, and Britain can no longer hide from the obvious truth: she killed the Queen. 

Analysis of Britain’s shortest-serving prime minister has tended to focus on her disastrous economic policies. But, with 12 months distance, we can no longer ignore that she ended the reign of Britain’s longest-serving monarch, fatally.

Let us examine the facts. At the beginning of September last year, Queen Elizabeth II was elderly but in stable health. On September 6th, Liz Truss visited her at Balmoral. Immediately, and not coincidentally, Her Majesty’s health plunged into irreversible decline.

Within 48 hours of her meeting with Truss – or the Reaper’s Harbinger, as she should henceforward be known – the nation had lost its ruler.

And while such questions were taboo while we mourned, and were set aside in the aftermath when Truss resigned for unrelated issues, we must now admit what we all know: Liz Truss killed Queen Elizabeth II.

The death touch of this cursed monster took our monarch’s life as certainly as if she had stabbed her through the heart. Whether Truss herself is extravagantly toxic, or the Queen’s profound humiliation at appointing an obvious moron finished her off, it was undoubtedly Truss’s fault.

She murdered her and she had the nerve to speak at her funeral. Stood up in front of the whole world and woodely read from the Bible while everyone in the Abbey and watching at home thought ‘you did this. She would be alive now if not for you.’

It was not happenstance. Her Majesty met Truss and she died, and the second was a direct consequence of the first. Liz Truss committed regicide. She executed the Queen as sure as an axeman killed Charles I.

Let it go down in history. Let future generations know the truth. Liz Truss killed the Queen.

How to survive your first day of primary school, by a lifer in maximum security at HMP Belmarsh

HEY, fresh meat. Yeah I’m talking to you. About to start your first five-stretch in the learning slammer? Here’s how to get through it:

Adjust to life on the inside

Accept it: you’re never getting out. Sure, after five years they’ll move you to a bigger, tougher prison, and you’ll work to get GCSEs and A-levels on the promise of sweet, sweet freedom. Don’t believe it. Whether you’re in the open prison of university or the D-wing of office work, you’re banged up for life. Hope ain’t on your side in here.

The black market

This place runs on grease, so bring in contraband. Popping candy, scented stickers, conkers; everyone has their price. But make sure you know who runs the joint. If the year threes have the trade in Pokémon cards sewn up, don’t tread on their turf. That can end in an eight-year-old stamping on your Space Raiders.

Gaining respect

Heard about going up to the biggest kid in the yard and punching him? Bullshit. Instead find a weak, trusting kid in glasses and beat the crap out of him. Encourage others to join in. You’ll coast through the rest of your 11 years safe in your reputation as a violent psychopath.

Know your rights

You get 60 minutes exercise a day. If the screws try to fob you off with indoor play, even if it’s only spitting outside, that’s bullshit. Stage a dirty protest by crapping yourself.

Food

Yeah, it’s as bad as they say. Basic, prepared by violent thugs with few cookery skills, remember, these ‘dinner ladies’ are just as much prisoners as you are. They did some heinous shit.

Uniform

The standard issue is ugly and designed to alert the police if they see you wandering about outside. It can and should be customised. If you’re in the Aryan Nation, sew on patches showing your affiliation and rank to deter would-be attackers; otherwise, just fasten your tie real short and refuse to tuck your shirt in.

Escape

You might be lucky. The walls of your cell could be made of reinforced autoclaved aerated concrete. A smuggled spoon, or even the corner of a Dairylea triangle, and that shit crumbles away. Dig a tunnel behind a poster of Dora the Explorer and you could be out in 19 years or so. Though once you’re out you’ll start wishing you were back in.

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