Thank you British films and British actresses. Thank you Lily James and Felicity Jones and Kate Winslet and Emma Watson and Keira Knightley and you too, Audrey Hepburn (born in Belgium, but British to me).
Here’s my burning question for Theresa May: Where are your balls? You’re an outgoing Prime Minister with absolutely nothing to lose and absolutely everything to gain, including your dignity. And you do nothing!
Podcast: Donald Trump. Bloody hell. Is he the Best Ever, like he says? Or the Worst? Whatever. Are there keys to his tiny mind in his childlike Twitter feed? Is his milk being adulterated? Can he rival the Mr Men for literary complexity? Robin and Sean inspect the White House shitehouse. Contains stone-cold losers.
Nobody wants to go on record about this, but I’m fed up and I’m taking a stand. There’s a pattern of British bands coming here, stealing our blues, taking our women, and criticizing America in their lyrics.
We are in a UK comedy drought. We know your political system has fallen to shit. So has ours. Neither situation is funny. Where are the stories on politicians defending Muslim women’s rights and in the same breath calling them letter boxes? That’s funny stuff!
So you’re getting divorced. That European chick, huh? She was never right for you. She didn’t speak your language and she didn’t share your values. She didn’t like your bitter beer, your shepherd’s pie, or your Led Zeppelin.