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Index
Mother knows all the best games On your marks for a village Olympics We’re all going on a celebrity holiday The worst word in the language McEton, a clever English franchise Rock school sees off drone school Flogging absolute rubbish is a gift My kingdom for a horse hitman Where all the TV viewers went It takes immense skill to waste time An Oscar-winning village hall bash The secret life of handbags Bad-hair days on the local news The lost people of outer Britain Cut me in on the hedge fund, boys Flying with the baby from hell With the gypsies in junk heaven Listen to me, I’m the drought buster Trust me, work is more fun than fun Pot-Porritt wants me eliminated Simon Cowell ate our strawberries The united states of total paranoia Arrested just for looking weird School reports are agony for parents How to make a man of a mummy’s boy My near-death toilet experience When I am the Mayor of London How to blow up a dead seal The Royals, a soap made in heaven I’m calling time on silly watches Amazing what you can dig up in Africa If you’re homeless find a hedgerow There’s a literary future in the iLav Life’s ultimate short straw My new career as a rock god My designer dog is a hellhound The ideal pet? Here, nice ratty The conspiracy not to cure the cold Real men don’t go home at 7 p.m. Schools are trying to break children That Henry II, he was dead right Making a meal of Sunday lunch Nice jet, shame about abroad It’s English as a foreign language I didn’t drop the dead donkey Let’s all stay with Lord Manilow Brought down by bouncing bangers TV heaven is an upside-down skier No pain no gain (and no point) The end is nigh, see it on YouTube Robbie and I know about pills Drip-drip-drip of a revolution Fear and loathing in Las Manchester Bullseye! The pub is dying You can’t kill me, I’m the drummer What the hell are we saying here? Hell is a tent zip in the snow If you’re ugly you’ve got to be funny Why Brits make the best tourists Save the planet, eat a vegan Stuff the tiger – long live extinction I went to London and it had gone Playing the fool at Glastonbury Kick the fans out of Wimbledon Hands off 007 or I’ll shoot you Get back in your stockings, girls Save rural Britain – sell it to the rich Dunked by dippy floating voters The hell of being a British expat Binge drinking is good for you Public school is the hell we need Dial M for a mobile I can actually work Biggles, you’re a crashing bore The kids are all right with lousy TV It’s a man’s game being a rugby ref Feed the world – eat blue whales It’s lies that make TV interesting A Met Office severe bossiness warning Make my day, sir, shoot a hoodie Enough, I’m gonna torch my antiques Our poor bloody backroom boys Unhand my patio heater, archbishop page 148
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