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Index
Cover Title Page Copyright Page Contents Dedication How Hard Can It Be?
Clear off, nitwit – I’ll rebuild this hospital This has been my perfect week It seems it ain’t art if it ain’t ethnic – Opinion First, fairy cakes – then welding, kids – Opinion Oi, state birdbrains – leave our land alone Give it up, Hamza – you’re too ugly Skiing through the pain barrier Bleep off, you’re driving me mad Oi, shoppers – that’s my petrol Join me in a saucy oath to Britain Ruck off, you nancy Aussies Time to save the world again, lads Potato heads are talking rot on food I’d rather hire a dog than a prostitute Pricking science’s silly sausages Feed them, or they’ll slash all the seats A vicious Japanese loo ruined my ah so Argh! I’ve fallen into a speed trap It’s just a dumb animal, Mr Oddie Swim with sharks – it’s easy money Oi, get your hands off my lap dancers Dante’s new hell: my work canteen Look, Mr McChap – you’re part of Britain, so just get over it Now we’re for it: we’ve stopped behaving badly Working while on holiday is … wow, just look at that By ’eck, our funny accents are the envy of the world Peep in my wife’s knicker drawer and see what you get Miss Street-Porter, I have a job for you in Cambodia Hey, let’s live fast and die when ministers tell us to Don’t let banks lose your money – do it yourself Fingers on buzzers, you bunch of ignorant twerps Play it my way, kids, and you’ll save rock’n’roll Ditch the laptop and suit if you wanna stay alive, Mr Corporate Take in a prisoner as a lodger and that’s two problems solved Wake up and smell the coffee – tea is for morons Into the breach, normal people, and sod the polar bears The daddy of all idiots at your child’s school sports day I’m a Tigger, he’s a Piglet, and you must be a Pooh Sorry, worms, you won’t be getting a piece of me The BBC’s letting loonies gag me with mink knickers Ambulance, quick – some idiot’s had a brainwave Save the high street – ditch bad service and ugly sales girls Ring a ring o’ clipboards – we all fall down The world will never be safe until Scrabble is banned Run for cover – Pooh the Dark Knight is coming Get another round in, lads – we’ve got some pubs to save Come quick, Nurse – the NHS is going frightfully green I dare you to visit Johannesburg, the city for softies Class-A cocoa, the powder of choice on my crock’n’roll tour I’m starting divorce proceedings in this special relationship You’re a bunch of overpaid nancies – and I love you Stand still, wimp – only failures run off to be expats It’s pure hell in the mountainous Cotswold region What a difference now I’ve stopped drinking fish fingers Gordon the ass is stomping over everyone’s pets Change fast, before we all gag on the fabric of British life Okay, you’ve got me bang to rights – I’m a secret green I’ll be right there, Sir Ranulph – must conquer the sofa first Letting beavers loose in Scotland is a dam-fool idea Say cheese, darling – I’ll stick on your horse’s ears later Now there’s a first – my elephant has just exploded No, I won’t wear a tiara, if it’s all the same to you I’m not superstitious, Officer, but it’s bad karma to harry a druid After three brushes with death in planes I want a parachute Just one word and my T-shirt offends the whole of Japan Stop, you’re digging an early grave with that garden trowel The conquerors are coming, Pierre – we Brits need more land Soaking up the raw emotion of the best beetroot contest Nurse! The OAP mods are bashing the wrinkly rockers Dr Useless, what’s the Canadian word for ‘lousy care’? It’s just not fair – donkeys get all the breaks Forget Antigua, 007 – all the real action is in Acacia Avenue Mad Johnny Baa Lamb is here to save the pit bulls Up to the waist in Brown’s slurry on my new farm Help, quick – I’ve unscrewed the top on a ticking bomb Cleverness is no more. It has ceased to be. This is a dumb Britain I’ve got a solution for the rainforest: napalm the lot Get me a rope before Mandelson wipes us all out Stop the game, ref. We’re all too cross to play by the rules Call me a spoilsport but I’m glad my dad wasn’t a lesbian I’m so dead – shot by both sides in the website war Sing about the fat man again and I’ll shoot Tiny Tim The BA strike is off – so that’s many a Christmas ruined So, Piggy, Buttocks and Rat – what shall we call Gordon?
Footnote
Soaking up the raw emotion of the best beetroot contest
Page 265
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