“….and when he pulled it out, he found it was quite wet……and now over to Tim for the weather….Tim?”
“Thank you, Samantha. Well, what can I say that you have not heard before? Look at it…just look at the feckin’ map. What do you see, eh? Yep…you got it….wall to wall feckin’ sunshine…. again. Not a cloud in the sky for over a thousand miles. Look all around, nothing but blue sky…look all around, nothing but blooooo sky….I can see clearly now the rain has gone, and has been gone for feckin’ months. If you have an allotment you are screwed unless you water it three times a day with a fire hydrant, and good luck with that if you work in an office, because by the time you get home the water will have evaporated quicker than a politicians’s promise of a free school meal to a hungry child. There is more chance of you brokering peace in Palestine than you have of needing an umbrella. George Harrison’s ‘here comes the sun’ is a feckin’ joke here…only an inhabitant of a desperately overcast, rain sodden cesspit of city like Liverpool could write such shite…try coming here and singing about the bloody sun as if it’s anything other than an unmitigated bloody disaster for those who enjoy a bit of outdoor action involving a soapy flannel and the internet…..Samantha.”
“Thank you Tim, always a pleasure. And now, the Prime Minister revealed today that any relationship between himself and a young lady calling herself ‘Fifi Trixie-Belle’ is, in his words, “a foul calumny, as I’ve never been to Redditch on a Wednesday evening let alone engaged in a proper good spanking”.
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