Gentle, dim readership, it is fair to say that woe hath descended upon the land like a ten-inch blanket of slush upon the rightfully neglected Principality of Wales (Welsh complaints c/o Dafydd Bryn, Gwallgofdy, Gwent). Even long-time Brown-noser Ed Balls has broken ranks with the famously cheery Gordo to declare threescore years of plague and pestilence of a sort otherwise known only to regular customers of Wavy Line. I'm not sure what sort of prime ministerial roasting that the Children's Secretary is in for, but I rather suspect his unparliamentary nickname of Balls-Ed is going to be applied in a rather tangible way.
These are strange times indeed. Even as the piranhas of Wapping descend upon the weary bankers of the City, we learn that an extraordinary 7% of the British public have complete faith in what we read in the papers. Astonishing. How could so many people still be so gullible? I suppose it's not surprising in one way, given the continuing propensity of the BRC to publish fairy stories like this week's 3.2% rise in total high-street sales.
Now, as the 98.7% of Britons who rate this column above the Bible in terms of veracity (source: BRC) will tell you, that is what statisticians refer to as "a load of old bollocks". A quick amble through the identikit malls of any inbred UK clone town will reveal little more than tumbleweed and yellow cones sticking out of six inches of floodwater, informing you the floor may be damp.
But we British thrive on misery, hence Robert Peston. Tucking into my morning Duchy Originals Organic Rosehip and Quince Pop-Tarts I was distressed to read that HRH Prince Chuck has been force to apply the royal boot to seven serfs at the Twickenham headquarters of his smug flapjack empire. Who'd have thought a man who owns whole countries and whose social conscience is the envy of his own mind couldn't afford a few quid to save a couple of jobs. Bugger. There goes my OBE.
These are strange times indeed. Even as the piranhas of Wapping descend upon the weary bankers of the City, we learn that an extraordinary 7% of the British public have complete faith in what we read in the papers. Astonishing. How could so many people still be so gullible? I suppose it's not surprising in one way, given the continuing propensity of the BRC to publish fairy stories like this week's 3.2% rise in total high-street sales.
Now, as the 98.7% of Britons who rate this column above the Bible in terms of veracity (source: BRC) will tell you, that is what statisticians refer to as "a load of old bollocks". A quick amble through the identikit malls of any inbred UK clone town will reveal little more than tumbleweed and yellow cones sticking out of six inches of floodwater, informing you the floor may be damp.
But we British thrive on misery, hence Robert Peston. Tucking into my morning Duchy Originals Organic Rosehip and Quince Pop-Tarts I was distressed to read that HRH Prince Chuck has been force to apply the royal boot to seven serfs at the Twickenham headquarters of his smug flapjack empire. Who'd have thought a man who owns whole countries and whose social conscience is the envy of his own mind couldn't afford a few quid to save a couple of jobs. Bugger. There goes my OBE.
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