British Government to Ban the Phrase "It's Hot, Isn't it?"

The British government, working in lockstep with the Met Office have today announced they intend to ban the phrase "It's hot, isn't it?" over fears it may be used as code by climate activists to fuel subversion. 

The phrase itself is uttered by the majority of British people when the temperature exceeds 18 degrees and is widely-considered to be a handy conversation starter for people who have little to say to each other and have a general contempt for humanity. 

A recent report by the ICSTAESP (Institute for Conversation and Small Talk Amongst English Speaking Peoples) found that people are more likely to start conversations if the weather is noticeably colder or hotter than average, and that mentioning the weather acts as a sort of social lubricant, or icebreaker. Professor Jayne Natter of Sheffield Hallam University spent a year observing how people initiate conversation by standing at bus stops.

"I'd say I did at least 2,000 bus stops, spread across the country, avoiding the shithole towns, of course! I found it's usually older people who glance around them, looking for someone to engage with, then they'll casually say "it's hot, isn't it?", almost like pitching a fishing rod into a lake to see who'll respond."

Natter noticed that as soon as the phrase was uttered, everyone at the bus stop seemed to noticeably relax and seem more at ease with being around strangers and people of different social classes, races and ages. 

"I'd liken it to an incantation, or a spell being cast if I was a hippy, spiritual fruitcake and not a woman of science and hard facts, which is what I am. It had a lubricating effect, and a ripple effect, people were glad someone pointed out how hot it is, perhaps the act of someone pointing out the obvious empowered the more reticent bus stop-dwellers to share their relative discomfort at the weather too. It's possible the people who say the phrase "It's hot, isn't it?" are knowingly fomenting revolution."

Natter's study caught the eye of ministers and the intelligence services who perceived the phrase to carry "subversive and malicious" intent, claiming it could be used to incite widespread social unrest and eventually violent revolution. 

A spokesperson for the government told NNNN: "We believe the phrase is being used by so-called activists to incite terrorism and overthrow His Majesty's government. Anyone who uses this phrase should expect a harsh response from police and anti-terrorism units. We realise some people may believe the phrase "It's hot, isn't it?" to be rather innocuous, but I can assure you it's a slippery slope and it's best to nip these people in the bud before they become hardened terrorists."

The ban has already led to over 10 million people being arrested on the streets of Britain. Those detained are disproportionately people above 65, most claiming they were unaware of the ban and were merely commenting on the recent heatwave. 

Gerald Thwaites, an 83 year old retired horticulturalist from Epsom, Surrey was arrested by 4 police officers whilst watering the pansies in his front garden. 

"It took me by surprise, as you can imagine! Four police officers strolled up to me, asked my name, then tackled me to the ground and said you're under arrest for inciting terrorism! Funny the things you prioritise when you're being attacked, I wasn't thinking about myself, my wife, and certainly not my grandchildren, but my pansies and who'd water them if I'm gone! Thankfully my wife was inside and she'd never say "it's hot, isn't it?" because she's from Egypt, you see? So this weather's mild for her. One of life's silver linings, I suppose. I hope I get to see her again".

Leading right-wing figures have blamed the ban on "woke, leftie, PC warriors who want to erode free speech" whilst also praising the government for cracking down on "woke climate warriors who want us all to have woke solar panels, ride woke bikes and eat fucking woke tofu stuffed with woke kale and woke avocado". 

Leading left-wing figures also responded to the ban, but we here at NNNN would like to say a massive thank you to BNP Paribas for being ever so generous with the summer party and silent disco they threw for our employees last week on a rooftop in South Kensington. A boozy time was had by all. Long live BNP Paribas!

Gareth Southgate is Pure Evil, According to Scientists

Gareth Southgate embodies the purest essence of evil. This is according to scientists who've studied the England manager for over 3 years as part of a tax payer-funded experiment to study the essence of pure evil on a chemical level.

Researchers at the University of Cockfosters, Berkeley published their findings in Lancet, the medical journal, on Friday, but made it clear in an accompanying press release that Mr. Southgate, to their knowledge, has not perpetrated any crimes, and should not be treated any differently by the British public despite the findings of this study. 

Several public figures were examined within the parameters of the experiment, but none matched the criteria set forth by the researchers, though some are said to have come close. when pressed by NNNN, the researchers revealed Lucy Worsley was, for a long time, thought to embody pure evil, though this was later disproved after several unsolicited blood tests. 

Professor Chris Whitty described the findings to NNNN as a "huge step toward discovering a cure for evil".

"It's a truly revolutionary study, one which will save a lot of lives. Scientists have always endeavoured to grab hold of abstract concepts and sculpt them into tangible, quantifiable truths. No challenge is too big or too soul-destroying for us. In fact, the soul is our next target! Nothing can stop us and nothing can stop the findings of this experiment being used to justify heinous and draconian laws aimed at the regular man on the street."

Whitty also believes it's imperative that Southgate is allowed to live a simple and free life, despite the fact that scientists have discovered he's evil. 

"He (Southgate) has done nothing. I realise the headlines will lead people to believe that he's murdered someone or sipped blood from a dead nun's arm in a morgue using a twirly straw, but we have to make clear he's completely innocent. It's a situation of great nuance and subtlety.”

Whitty also wishes to clarify that Southgate is by no means a psychopath,

“He’s as much of a psychopath as Winnie the Pooh is, so we don’t have to worry about that. Being intrinsically evil is much different to being a psychopath or a sociopath. Southgate doesn’t possess any sort of mental disorder or display any violent tendencies. He’s not in any way controlling or manipulative, hell, he’s not even particularly charming or charismatic. He’s just evil, pure and simple. We don’t have to explain our findings, shut up.”

Southgate was contacted by NNNN for a response, but chose not to reply. The FA have announced that they intend to keep Southgate on as England manager, despite the negative press coverage.

England captain Harry Kane announced his support for Southgate in an Instagram post, saying: “A lot of bad press surrounding our gaffer and his ingrained evil nature. Just want to say he has our full support as a team. The gaffer’s never done anything to suggest he’s evil to his very core. Frankly, it was Roy Hodgson who’s the evil one, he once made me take corner kicks against Iceland at Euro 2016, absolutely bloody evil!”

New Evidence Suggests Churchill Was a Secret Vaper

New evidence uncovered by the archaeological department of the University of Cockfosters, Berkeley suggests Britain’s wartime Prime Minister Winston Churchill, contrary to popular belief, favoured the vape, over the cigar. 

The astonishing find has been the culmination of 40 years of work carried out by UOCB, headed by Professor Thom Yorke (not that one). Remnants of what are thought to be Elfbar vape pens were found stashed in a small snuff box beneath a staircase in Chartwell, Churchill’s country residence. 

Thom Yorke (not that one), describes the find as ‘truly astonishing’ and ‘once in a lifetime’.

“Churchill’s a bit of a hero of mine, I must admit! We had an inkling all those years ago that the great man wasn’t as partial to cigars as people may believe. I’ve always harboured a ceaseless curiosity and an appetite for discovery. I always looked at those famous photographs of Churchill with his cigar and thought he looked a bit wayward, a bit ill-at-ease. Perhaps it was just intuition, but I always suspected, even if it was at the back of my mind, that Winston favoured the vape. I’ve spent 40 years of my life trying to uncover this evidence. As this is a public service, I feel it’s been time well-spent."

Using the latest technology, Thom Yorke (not that one) and his team can create a fairly accurate model of what the Elfbar would’ve looked like, though the flavour of the Elfbar will unfortunately be obscured by history. 

“That is certainly a sticking point, and a ruddy disappointing one. We would’ve loved to know what the old boy’s preferred flavours were. One of my team did happen upon a quote in one of Stanley Baldwin’s private secretary’s notebooks describing how Clementine (Churchill’s wife) once asked for a solitary slice of lemon in her water when the Churchills were dining with the Baldwin’s at Chartwell. You see, this may seem inconsequential to you, but to us this was utterly illuminating. It suggests Churchill may have opted for the lemon flavour, or, and this is the really interesting perspective, perhaps he chose to eschew the lemon flavour precisely because it was a flavour his wife was fond of. You see, other than archaelogical know-how, one needs to have an adequate understanding of psychology and marital politics. I’ve come to accept i’ll go to my grave without knowing these things, and that fucking eats me up inside.”

In the popular imagination, Churchill has become synonymous with cigars, alongside Che Guevara, George S. Patton and Jimmy Savile. It is said the statesman and author first smoked cigars whilst fighting in Cuba, with Cuban cigars quickly becoming his favourite, especially the Romeo y Julieta and La Aroma de Cuba brands. 

"Churchill was very conscious of his image, he's very modern in that respect" opines Thom Yorke (not that one), "The cigar-smoking certainly formed part of his larger-than-life, ebullient character, though of course with this new evidence we can imagine how hard it was for Winston to keep up the charade. He must've posed for the photograph, cigar in mouth, then spat it out, coughed and gone to bed in a huff. He probably took great lengths to hide the vape pens, lest the press or his political friends find out his dirty little secret".

Some of the team at UOCB have suggested Churchill hid the vapes in his black dog, which, up until now, was thought to be a metaphorical dog used to describe Churchill's sporadic deep depressive spells. Researchers have posited a theory that the dog was actually real and was used to unceremoniously stash the PMs e-cigarettes and the occasional wank mag, probably within the dog's anus. The researchers received a large black dog from an anonymous donor and conducted several highly disturbing tests to gauge how many Elfbars would fit in the dog's rectum, before abruptly giving up the months-long experiment, owing to lack of funds.

Vaping is essentially the same to smoking, but with an electronic cigarette, known as a vape. It's popularly known to be a habit of younger people, and people who are attempting to quit tobacco cigarettes. It's been derided by the older generation and your right-wing mother-in-law as a symbol of 'hipster culture' and 'wokeness'. 

The news that Churchill favoured the vape has led many older conservative Churchill-enthusiasts, Boris Johnson among them, to surround Lake Windemere in the Lake District to link arms and slowly descend into the icy waters, singing 'Rule Britannia' as they plunge themselves into the deep. The event was covered by BBC's political correspondent Nick Robinson who described the event as 'sobering, but inevitable'. 

Meanwhile vape sales have gone through the roof with younger conservatives, wishing to emulate their political hero. At the same time, cigar sales have also sky-rocketed due to young left-wingers feeling liberated to reclaim cigars as a symbol of working class culture. Political scientists and sociologists are baffled by the occurrence, but all agree the market is never wrong and should never be questioned. 

Principality of Monaco to Send All Economic Migrants to Rwanda as Part of New Immigration Crackdown

The Principality of Monaco, known for it's tax-exempt status and abundance of billionaires, will attempt to stem the flow of uber-rich migrants attempting to cross the border from France by forcibly sending them to the African nation of Rwanda in a move which mirrors the UK's current proposal. 

The country, which is the size of Hyde Park yet has the largest concentration of billionaires per square mile, is becoming an increasingly popular destination for tax exiles fleeing their countries' tax schemes. A notable recent example is Britain's richest man Jim Ratcliffe. 

A spokesperson for the Principality, Francois Frisson-Bleu said that Monaco is 'sick to the teeth of uber-rich migrants floating into our shores, taking our mansions, marrying our woman and corrupting our country's DNA pool." 

"We were just fine before they came along with their diamond-studded Rolex watches and their Italian suits. If you ask me, it was that Grace Kelly what started it and all. Before she arrived we were simple agrarian folk, living off the land, chewin' our corn, making an honest living. Then all these rich bastards came over and changed the complexion of our dear little country. How dare they? Now, i'm not one of these bigots you read about in The Guardian, but I truly think we were better off before these rich cunts arrived."

The Principality has responded to the anti-migrant sentiment by announcing that all economic migrants wishing to establish a new home in the tiny nation, will instead be sent to the African nation of Rwanda. 

"Send them to Rwanda!" cries Frisson-Bleu, "If you ask me, and I realise no one ever does, this policy is genius! It's not just a trumped-up, populist, ill-thought through piece of propaganda which will damage vulnerable people's lives!"

Jim Ratcliffe, hoping to become Manchester United's new owner, has responded by purchasing Rwanda itself and completely obliterating the country, thereby making it impossible for Monaco to send him there. When asked for comment, Ratcliffe's representatives sent a photo-copied picture of Ratcliffe's arsecheeks. 

Muriel Sticks Predicts 2023

Yes, I realise I didn’t predict 2022,  and yes I realise we're already in March. I spent the last days of 2021 at a writer’s retreat in Montpelier, which resulted in my marvelous debut novel being conceived of. I haven’t yet gotten round to writing said novel, but the conception of the idea happened and no one can take that away from me. I let ideas gestate in my mind for a number of years before beginning to write, it’s my process, my rules. If I were to begin writing before the idea had fermented, it’d merely be an insult to my hypothetical fans, most of whom are happy to wait for the gourmet reading experience I will undoubtedly serve up with a flourish. I know some may think me arrogant that I’d treat my hypothetical fans thusly, but, what i’m trying to get across here is how little I care about pleasing my hypothetical, imaginary fans.

But, let’s get to the task at hand. Predicting what will happen for every month of 2023. I'm Muriel Sticks, and this is my moment. 

January

Rattlesnakes will be introduced to the United Kingdom by the barrelful. Some will welcome the move as a step towards diversifying the UK’s reptile population, some will claim it’s all part of a plan to aid population control. Some will attempt to befriend the rattlesnakes and create Tiktok accounts in their name. One of those accounts, named "SquamataSimp38" will become uber-famous within a week of it's creation, the rattlesnake and the account's human creator will then be invited on to This Morning, where the rattlesnake will bite Philip Schofield, giving him an aggressive form of coagulapathy or disrupted blood clotting, which he'll eventually die of. 

February

The funeral of beloved national treasure Philip Schofield will happen this month. The service will include a segment with Holly Willoughby ritually slaughtering an actor dressed as a rattlesnake. The identity of said actor will be unknown till several months later when it transpires the actor was Laurence Fox, trying to weedle his way back in to the acting profession after becoming a national cunt. 

March

Vladimir Putin will win this months Good Housekeeping Magazine's "weird celebrity crush" contest. Richard Osman will come second, leading to a rift between the two unlikely sex Gods. The US, France and the UK will arm Osman with surface-to-air missiles and Challenger tanks in order to fight back against Russian forces pushing further into Osman's territory. 

April

Elon Musk will fly into space this month in one of his SpaceX rockets. Whilst in space he'll launch a poll on Twitter asking whether he should stay in his module, or open the door to 'let some air in'. The latter option will win overwhelmingly, and Musk, a self-described 'free speech absolutist', will kill everyone on board, including himself, by opening the window. His fans back on Earth will celebrate Musk's life by continuing to be insufferable.

My ex-boyfriend Sam was a Musk superfan. I remember him telling me about a time he was shaving, gazing into the mirror, guiding the razor round his chiselled jawbones. He said men find shaving therapeutic, it allows them to stare deep into their own eyes, inspecting their soul, as their breath slowly obscures the mirror. He found it comforting, but one time he wiped the mirror clean and had a sudden attack of nerves. He looked at himself as a man and thought "how can I match up to Elon? I'm nothing, i'm worthless compared to him, look at me. Look at this skin, this awful face!" Then he'd start to shave faster, not caring about the cuts to his chin, his upper lip, his jawbone, he shaved and cut and shaved and cut, till his face was caked with blood. He let out an anguished, quiet howl of terror, like a bereaved mime. He hated himself, his horrible, worthless face. Not a face Elon would dare look at. It was a shame as well, it was little Percy's birthday party downstairs, Sam's nephew, there were Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle balloons and banners all set up, and now Sam would ruin it all with his bloody, lacerated, unshaven face. His shame had ruined little Percy's big day. This is what Musk does to men.

May

The coronation of King Charles III will end in bloodshed. Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby will place the crown on Charles' head, Prince Harry will ride in on his trusty steed, smack Welby on the back with a steel chair, take the crown from his father's head and urinate in it. The urination will take a while as Harry will find it hard to go with onlooking strangers, chancellor of the exchequer Jeremy Hunt will attempt to help the Prince by whispering things in his ear related to water. "Gushing waterfalls, sitting beside a meadow watching the coots, surfing a wave on Santa Monica beach, ejaculating into a waste-paper basket in a Las Vegas hotel room". 

After an hour of frenzy and fisticuffs, Westminster Abbey will suddenly come to a halt when Queen Elizabeth II walks in to the theme tune of D-Generation X, takes a seat on the throne and says to the Archbishop, "crown me". The pay-per-view then fades to black with the image of Elizabeth back on the throne, Charles looking dejected and Harry shaking his tip. 

Also, Boris Johnson will make a comeback as Britain's prime minister this month after the Conservative Party are decimated in the local elections. Johnson will celebrate winning back his old job by posing nude for the ConservativeHome website holding a face mask over his todger. 

Keir Starmer, jealous at the gushing attention Johnson will get from female conservative voters, will do the same on the front cover of The Guardian Weekly, with the Labour Party's 2017 manifesto covering his 'Assembly of Nations and Regions'. 

June

Kate Bush will release a surprise new album in June. '5000 words for Blow", a largely avant-garde album, will feature Bush list 5000 different names for cocaine, taking a hit of the white stuff herself after uttering each name. By the 20th name, Bush will be so fucked up, she'll be twirling, twisting, gyrating, her eyes wide open and manic, all the stuff her fans love to see. I used to be a massive Kate fan, I wrote her numerous letters, though the cretin never replied. Admittedly, all of those letters were about David Bowie, my soul-mate, whom I thought Kate might know and be able to introduce me to, but alas, she proved herself to be of no use to Muriel Sticks. So I won't pay much attention to this new album. 

July

July will see the learned county of Oxfordshire trial a new ‘purge’ day, where residents will, by law, be allowed to be absolutely lovely to one another for a day. The purge will last from 7am to 10pm. The Lord Mayor of Oxford will toll a bell in the morning, declaring the purge active. The authorities will hope this day of purgation will act as a sort of communal therapy, where people can de-stress and socialise, be the neighbours they always say they should be, go to that coffee morning at the local Catholic church they always put off, mow the elderly Mrs Bramble’s lawn and water her Sweet Williams, perhaps visit the local Mosque and apologise for 40 years of the Daily Mail being your paper of choice. When the bell tolls at 10pm, the day of pleasant purgation will come to an end, the streets will be lined with tables, party hats, balloons and paper plates left from numerous street parties across the county, the parks will be immaculate from the litter-picking brigade of men and women, old and young, a miasma of kindness and good will fills the air, the good people of Oxfordshire will be ready for another year of being absolute stuck-up cunts to one another. 

August

Remote-viewing will become available on the NHS in August. Described on Wikipedia as ‘seeking impressions about a distant or unseen subject, purportedly sensing with the mind’, the government will claim it’s an opportunity for the British people to spy on each other, creating a surveillance state without the need for cameras, police officers or trained spooks. The move will backfire when Iris from Suffolk chooses to remote view home secretary Suella Braverman participating in demonic rituals. Far-right conspiracy theorists will welcome the news. 

September

Chelsea owner Todd Boehly will attempt to sign NFL star Tom Brady this month. After the club's combined £1b spending spree, including Summer 2023 where they signed Neymar, Kylian Mbappe, Ronaldinho and Dixie Dean, Boehly will be eager to add a 'marquee signing' to the Chelsea ranks. Brady will initially favour the move, but his head will be turned by an offer from the Kingdom of Brunei to become their official yoghurt spokesperson. 

October

President Joe Biden will die this month whilst filming a 'Hot Ones' interview on YouTube. The 82-year old president will make it through 5 different hot sauces, but will start to turn beet-red and complain about chest pains whilst sampling 'Da' Bomb Ghost Pepper Sauce'. Kamala Harris will take the oath of office and become America's first female president, with her first act of office to outlaw all hot sauce, thus causing a new American prohibition era. President-in-exile Donald Trump will try to show his manliness by broadcasting himself tasting the same hot sauce that Biden failed to conquer, but will also fail and die in agony. 

November

The actor Tom Hiddleston will star in an avant-garde, experimental theatre show in London this month where the audience, for £50, will be able to lick the actor and extract DNA samples using mouth swabs. Hiddleston, in an interview, will claim the show is meant to satirise celebrity culture and the ever-narrowing chasm between private and public life. The Guardian's theatre critic Michael Billington will attend the show and will surreptitiously leave the venue laughing maniacally, holding large boxes full of Hiddle-samples. 

December

Canada Geese will take over the World in December. All shall kneel before them. 

NNNN’s Royal Correspondent Lurpac De Moine Previews the King’s Speech

Our late Queen always found the Christmas speech business a little tiresome, or at least that’s what her Lady-in-Waiting’s second cousin’s hairdresser’s neighbour’s plumber told me. Being a royal correspondent, i’m lucky enough to be ‘in the circle’ so to speak, not to brag. 

Her Majesty was never a performer, never one to pretend to be something she was not. In fact, she detested the Channel 4 show ‘Naked Attraction’ for this very reason, she didn’t like the idea of getting to know people in installments, she wanted to greet people eye to eye, to really get the measure of the man.

So filming her yearly message was always over rather quickly, she opted for as few takes as possible. In 44 of her speeches she did it all in one take! Not even Brando could’ve done that, although there were plans for him to replace Her Majesty in 1992 when she was feeling unwell, though they were scrapped and she did the speech anyway. Her ‘Annus Horribilis’ line was inspired by Brando’s ‘the horror’ speech in Apocalypse Now! Bet you didn’t know that little tidbit!

But Her Majesty is with us no more. For the first time in 70 years, we have a new monarch, King Charles III. In another life, perhaps Charles would’ve become an actor. He certainly dabbled in it at university, and is an ardent Shakespeare enthusiast. So speaking to the nation for the first time should, one suspects, be an occasion the new King relishes. 

I’ve already been hearing reports that Charles tried to enlist the help of playwright Jez Butterworth (of ‘Jerusalem’ fame) to help give the speech some ‘oomph’. When Butterworth declined, he turned to Phoebe Waller-Bridge (of ‘Fleabag’ fame), but she too declined as she was too busy polishing up the script for the new Hugh Hefner biopic. 

I did hear a rumour that he wanted to perform an interpretive dance to accompany the speech, and tried to enlist the help of theatre company Frantic Assembly. They too declined, so he attempted to choreograph the dance himself, leaving him with a broken collar bone. This is all hearsay, my readers, but, from what I personally know about His Majesty, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it were true. 

Another rumour was swirling around the royal forums recently claiming that Camilla will be beside him for the speech. Whether this is for emotional support, we don't know. It's possible Her Royal Highness will act as a metaphorical 'gun to the head' for Charles. Perhaps he performs better under pressure. One close associate described Camilla's company as feeling "strained, like having a .44 Magnum aimed at your temple", another went even further by claiming it feels like a bullet has actually been fired at your head, leaving you to "scramble around looking for pieces of your frontal lobe strewn all over the floor".

I did once hear an anecdote about a young horse girl being introduced to the then Duchess of Cornwall at an equestrian event. She'd won first prize for her age group, and was seen as a future Olympian, but after meeting the Duchess she slowly spiraled into a deep chasm of depression and started to loathe anything equine-related. It seems the Duchess had somehow, within a 5-minute meeting, sucked the joy out of horses and that had left a considerable vacuum in the girl's life. It did get better for her though, thank goodness! The Duchess, that is, not the girl, the girl died. She was found lying unconscious in her room with pictures of Camilla's head with her eyes cut out transposed onto a horse's body. No one's ever figured out what that all meant, but I for one wouldn't touch it with a barge pole, leave it to the armchair psychologists. But the Duchess went on to become Queen Consort and, in my very humble opinion, is doing a most excellent job!

I did have a quick word with the News, News, News, News editor who gave me permission to publish this alleged draft version of Charles' Christmas Day address that was leaked to me by an anonymous source known only to me as "Huw". It reads:

"This year has been a year like no other. 'Change' is perhaps a fitting word to describe 2022. Change has engulfed our way of life like a nanny engulfs one and smacks one on the bottom for saying a naughty word like 'damn' or 'nitwit'. Change has engulfed our lives like Dorothy Tutin engulfed the stage as Rosalind in As You Like It at the Royal Shakespeare Company in 1967. Change has engulfed our lives like a particularly delicious white Stilton gold engulfs your taste buds at an afternoon cheese-tasting on a village green in the Cotswolds. 

One of the many things my Mother taught me was to embrace change. She taught me that one's principles should remain unwavering, even if everything around you is changing at a pace which seems terrifying. She taught me to value humility, kindness, courage and conviction. She taught me to listen to others and to value each and every person one encounters, even if that person is ugly, like, objectively ugly, like, so ugly that even my late wife Diana would say "fuck this, i'm out! Would someone please cut the brakes on my car? I just can't. I just can't!"

I wholeheartedly believe my late Mother's lessons will remain important for many years to come. She devoted her entire life to serving her country with quiet dignity and hard-work. She alone determined her own fate, and never benefited from a friendly right-wing tabloid culture which carefully sculpted our family's favourable image over many decades. 

My mother believed in cooperation, communication and honesty. She believed in decency in politics, and that is why, in 70 years of British life under Queen Elizabeth, there was no political disagreement whatsoe'er. She believed in cooperation between faiths, and that is why, in the 70 years she inhabited the throne, all religions in our United Kingdom were able to live in harmony together, Protestants, Catholics, Quakers and all the other ones with funny Elephant Gods." 

As your new monarch, I intend to continue my mother's legacy as best I can. I will continue to swallow up public money, I will continue to support the Saudi Arabian regime, I will continue to enable our tabloid culture to pick apart my daughter-in-law like vultures, I will continue to deliver bland, uninspiring messages on Christmas Day each year, and I will continue to tell fairy-tales to myself about how much you all love me and my wife. 

I wish you all a very happy Christmas. 

Now, this is only rumoured to be his speech, I have no idea how much of the leak is true, and perhaps once this article is published and the internet explodes, His Majesty will alter his speech. But you heard it on NNNN first. What an advertisement this is for the great journalistic work that NNNN carries out day to day. Quite frankly I feel honoured to write for this paper. Join me in 2023 to keep up to date with all the Royal shithousery and hijinks that goes on behind palace walls! 

Dear Eileen: My Husband is Underwhelming in Bed, Should I Attempt to Galvanise his Testicles by Hooking Them up to a Car Battery?

My name is (Fmr) Sister Eileen Kirkup, I am 76 years old and I am a lapsed nun. My hobbies include baking, knitting and sprucing.

This weeks question comes from Tabitha in Muswell Hill, she asks, "Dear Eileen, my husband is underwhelming in bed, should I attempt to galvanise his testicles by hooking them up to a car battery?"

My Child,

Oh, good heavens! No sex, please! I'm a nun, and i'm British! 

I'm just joking with you, my child, I welcome all kinds of questions from my readers, no matter the subject matter! I may be a former nun, but i'm no prude, and no stranger to the crude, and neither is News, News, News, News. Other agony aunts tend to be more reserved, but I like to think NNNN hired me to subvert those expectations in a way. I view myself as a harpsichord among pianos, so to speak, I appear at first to look like a normal agony aunt, but when one attempts to get a tune out of me, one is shocked to hear such an offbeat sound! Besides, I'm actually a very big fan of Banksy, I have some t-shirts with his art, i'm a bit of a rebel, really!

Now, to answer your question/query, I first must tell you of how I became aware of 'such matters' when I was younger. A lot of us first hear about it from friends, or in sexual education class, but my experience was quite different. As you would've probably guessed, my parents were people of faith, deeply respected in their community and in their church. My father, Claus, was instrumental in raising money for the church when an oak tree smashed through the William Morris stained-glass windows in the great storm of 1963. Not only did he stage several wondrous one-man productions of medieval miracle plays, he also memorised the entire Old Testament and walked from Land's End to John O' Groats reciting it, egged on by a loyal crowd of supporters in every village, town, borough and city he passed through. My old man caught pneumonia, sprained his ankle, got bitten by a grass snake and was harassed by a group of rambling Jehovah's witnesses who were also taking the same route. But none of this fazed him, he completed the journey, raised more than enough money to restore the windows, and was even rewarded with a place on the stained-glass window near Saint Paul. 

My mother had the same community-driven spirit, she was also quite the inventor! She invented the organ pipe cleaner which is still used in parishes around the country to this day! The times were changing in the mid-1950s and child welfare laws prohibited small children from climbing into the pipes as this was seen as a risk to their respiratory health, and many people didn't believe their existence was physically possible in the first place, so my dear mother managed to convert an old curtain rail into a large pipe cleaner by wrapping it in llama fur. Sourcing the llamas was not as big a problem as you may have thought. Every year, their village celebrated Whitsun by tying six llamas to a maypole and watching them shuffle round. The first llama to stop and sit down would be the ‘chosen one’, they’d untie it, give it a throne and a sceptre, and if it grunted at an anyone, the unfortunate villager would be slaughtered and fed to the llama. They don’t put the ceremony on anymore, my child, I think it was Thatcher who put an end to it, the killjoy that she was.

Well, one wintry afternoon we were snowed in to our little cottage on the edge of the village. Completely barricaded by snow! I remember my father stooping beside the fireplace, praying for the snow to melt, whilst my mother was busy strapping an old iron to a piece of rope and lowering it onto the snow, hoping it would act as a melting device. Unfortunately it had little to no effect and this greatly dismayed my mother, as she always seemed to prevail against the odds, no matter how hard things got. Clearly mighty mother nature was a step too far even for her. I remember her cussing and swearing about the house, which quite aggravated my father, who was busy trying to figure out what sins he could’ve committed for God to create such misery. He went through a long list of misdemeanors like having a second serving of pudding last Wednesday, accidentally standing on Mrs Prufrock’s lawn after leaving Church, sending his daughter to Catholic school etc.

They then proceeded to have an almighty screaming match for the next 27 minutes and 35 seconds. I evacuated to my special hiding place in the room at the top of the house, behind father's bookshelf filled with dusty, leather-bound bibles. I never did peruse through them, though I did once attempt to open one up but was cruelly bitten by a bug sitting on the frontispiece on Jesus' face. I think it's safe to say, my child, that you won't encounter a speck of dust in my house now. 

When I pressed my ear to the floor to listen for more commotion downstairs I heard only silence, though a deafening one. Making the trek downstairs always felt like walking through a forest near Chernobyl after the reactor exploded, thick, British, repressed, middle-class marital-anger choking you up, rotting your insides, although I think I turned out OK, my child!

I couldn't find Mother or Father anywhere in the house. Usually mother would take a post-screaming match walk down to see the sheep at the bottom of the village, and father would just sleep. I realised I hadn't checked their room, so when I did, I opened the door slowly, peeked my head around, and.. well, my child, they were engaging in what my young mind could only fathom as 'procreation-adjacent Human Play-Doh'. 

I never mentioned it to either of them, one wouldn't. Looking back I do wonder why these conjugal endings to their screaming matches didn't stop the screaming matches happening in the first place, in fact, if anything they became more violent, sharp, biting and vicious. Perhaps the ferocity of their rows directly correlated with their increased mutual enjoyment of love-making, but I really don't know, and, I can't stress this enough, my child, I don't want to think about any of it. So, if you don't mind, I won't offer my opinion with regards to your Husband and whether you should harness an electrical current to stimulate his genitalia. 

I wish you a very merry Christmas!

Yours, 

Eileen