What Is Upwing Politics? NNNN Explains

Omaha, Nebraska. There's a sense of hayfevery optimism in the air, organisers, strategists, volunteers and voters are pregnant with anticipation, awaiting the arrival of their candidate, their guy. Some have camped out here for weeks, such is the unprecedented enthusiasm for this particular campaign. Edna Schultz and her 4 year old daughter Babs have been living in a small tent for over a fortnight, surviving on various insects and grubs. 

"You wouldn't see me doing this for Obama or Trump, not even Biden. I know they make people feel euphoric, especially Joe, those aviators could make even my gun-toting, Confederate flag-wearing father melt like a snowman meeting Timothee Chalamet in a sauna, but he doesn't have that effect on me, or Babs." 

The candidate in question is Omaha's own Vaughan Eagles, a state senator making quite a splash in Nebraska politics. A clip of Eagles went viral earlier this year showing the Senator launch into an impassioned speech decrying politicians from both sides of the aisle in the Nebraska State Senate chamber for what he called an 'embarrassing lack of compromise and imagination'. Eagles' rhetorical prowess and anarchic gesticulation was deemed 'highly refreshing' by the Nebraska Times. It also won plaudits from Buzzfeed, who had sent a 12 year old boy to cover the speech. 

"One can tire of the drab, rehearsed, unimaginative political speeches nowadays. Eagles is like a breath of fresh air, like a lonesome can of Pepsi nestled deep in a dollar store freezer on a warm August day."

Eagles is fast becoming one of the most popular politicians in the United States, even surpassing Biff from Back to the Future lookalike Madison Cawthorn from North Carolina. "He has something about him.." explains Edna Schultz, "something mercurial, something raw. I remember someone once said to be a popular politician in the US you have to look like someone who could shoot a buffalo and watch it bleed to death in the day, then be able to go on and host a talk show at night, smiling and talking about family values".

The crowd was bubbling away, Schultz was squealing with glee, it was almost time for Eagles to take to the stage and the atmosphere was bubbling away, not since Tony Robbins came to town has there been such a feeling of collective elation. The announcer's voice boomed through the tannoy system, "Ladies and gentlemen, the time is now come, please put your hands together for America's saviour, Nebraska's own, Vaughan Eagles!" Rapturous applause followed, Eagles walked out, dressed in a red, white and blue suit, holding a bald eagle on one arm and a bible in the other, all the while moon-walking with ease toward the microphone.

"Nebraska!" Eagles cried, the mere mention of their home state sent the crowd into foamy-mouthed spasms of delight, "I, am Vaughan, motherfucking, Eagles! And I.. am here.. to save you!" The crowd, manic and primal, ecstatically started chanting his name, a woman's bra hits Eagles' face, he picks it up, gives it to the eagle on his arm, the eagle flies off with the purple-sequined bra in his golden beak, high up into sky as a jet plane flies past with the American flag in tow. The eagle drops the bra onto the flag and the crowd let out a deafening, joyous roar. 

"Nebraska!" The second mention of this word delays Eagles' speech again for another two minutes as the crowd cannot get over the fact that they've just heard the name of the state where they're from. "I am here, to give you something new, to give you what you've been waiting for. Eagles then takes his blazer and shirt off, rolls the shirt up then tosses it into the audience. The audience scramble to catch it and in the process, tear each other apart limb from limb, gnaw at each other's faces like ravenous dogs, flesh and bones flying hither and thither, torturous howls of jealous anguish assaulting the ears of those who witness it. Eventually a lucky member of the audience prevails with the shirt in hand, by now soaked with mad, patriotic American blood, the woman wrings the blood out of it like a wash-cloth, stuffs it in her fanny-pack, then urges the audience to be silent for Eagles. 

"Nebraska!" Again the audience let out a sharp, piercing roar of appreciation for Eagles mentioning the man-made, historical boundary they happen to inhabit within a much larger man-made boundary. "I am here to tell you it don't have to be how it is, it don't have to be how it is, Nebraska, it don't have to be how it is. It don't have to be how it has always been, I am here to tell you how it could be, and let me tell you, it don't have to be how it has been, Nebraska, oh no, no, you betcha' it don't."

Eagles then pauses for a moment or two while two of his stage crew assist him into a jet-pack, before hurriedly leaving the stage for Eagles to continue, "I am here to tell you, it don't have to be left, right or centre, Nebraska, it don't, it don't have to be left, right centre, socialist, capitalist, libertarian, libertarian capitalist, libertarian socialist, anarcho-communist, anarcho-capitalist, or all that crap, it don't have to be left, it don't have to be right, i'm telling you, Nebraska, it can be... UP!" At this point Eagles ascends rapidly into the air, much to the crowd's delight, upward and upwards he soars, high into the Nebraska sky, the crowd reach fever pitch, they chant 'Eagles! Eagles! Eagles!' To them he appears a spec, so far up he appears, cries of 'wow!' fill the air, all eyes are on Eagles as he rises higher and higher, higher and higher, to impossible heights, until the propeller of the jet plane with the American flag in tow cuts him up and slashes him into a million pieces.

The crowd are stunned silent, 'is this part of the act?', a moment or two passes, then stray body parts start to fall into the crowd, and a sudden gust of wind sprays blood into their faces. A leg lands on Edna Schultz's water cooler, a severed head lands on a barbecue, a torn bible lands on the bonnet of a Mustang. Suddenly the mood, as it so often does on occasions such as these, turns sour. Mothers are screaming, men are firing their pistols into the air, babies are crying, topless girls are praying in a prostrate position, dogs are rabidly fighting over this adored politician's haggard remains. 

A man, soaked in blood and wearing a glazed expression upon his face, picks up the severed head of State Senator Vaughan Eagles, walks onto the stage and up to the microphone, "howl! howl! howl!" he cries, "God is dead!" He places the head down on the stage, as the purple-sequined bra floats down and covers it. 

This is Upwing politics, a new brand of politics, and a particularly grizzly one if I may say so myself. Let us hope it doesn't make it's way across the Atlantic to Britain, but, then again, maybe it already has. 

Royal Shipping Forecast With NNNN's Royal Correspondent Lurpac De Moine

Sandringham, Norfolk

Queen, cyclonic, incensed, mad at her grandson, wants to impale his wife, 2 to 4. Wealth, obscene. 

Balmoral, Scotland

Prince Charles, becoming restless, 3 to 5, waiting for mother to bite the dust. Occasionally charming, prone to grandiosity. Becoming northwest 4 to 6. Coffee enemas becoming moderate, perhaps rough. Camilla administers them. Mental image, oh, so rough. 

Clarence House, London

Duchess of Cambridge, moving southerly, 3 to 5, despairing, husband's bald. Looks into eyes of son, 4 to 7, occasionally noisy, worrisome of fate, westerly, moderate, becoming like father, hair implants. 

Windsor Castle, Berkshire

Princess Anne, becoming thundery, owns horses, 5 to 7, stirrups need cleaning, moving westerly, mother calls, "Yes kweeeeeeeen?" Occasionally 7 later, moving North.

Highgrove House, Gloucestershire

Prince Andrew, gone south, 5 to 7, years in prison. Doesn't sweat. 

Gale Warnings

Beatrice and Eugenie, spending tax payers money on multiple holidays per year. Warning, broken institution, warning, abolish.

England Fans Engage in 'Skirmishes' With the Fake Crowd Noises

For over a year, football, this most raucous of sports, has fell silent. Not completely silent, the thwack and smash of the ball has become a soothing and almost therapeutic sound for fans watching at home, as has the impassioned bellowing of the manager on the touchline and the players barking orders to each other. Fans watching on the TV have witnessed football laid bare, skeletal and stripped down, with none of the pageantry and noise, none of the ebbing and flowing of emotions, the exhilarating highs followed by the slow petering out of the drama. 

But a lot of viewers at home couldn't handle the silence, the eerie, mundane, almost cold representation of the mechanical nature of the sport. The players walked onto the pitch, played 90 minutes of football, then were heard no more. For fans who just couldn't bear the lack of commotion, producers inserted crowd noises into the television broadcast to much avail. It had it's critics, some who decried it's superficiality and it's poorly-modulated and monotonous effect, but largely, the fake crowd noises did football fans a service by making the beautiful game feel just that little bit more normal. 

The noises had become a permanent fixture for fans tuning in to watch their team play in front of empty stadiums, so the news that a limited number of fans would be allowed to attend Wembley Stadium to watch England play at the delayed Euro 2020, was met with jubilation. For the first time in over a year, fans would be able to cheer on the England team, and the team would actually hear it. For the semi-final against Denmark on Wednesday night, 60,000 fans were packed into Wembley to watch history happen before their eyes as England advanced to the final of a major tournament for the first time since 1966. The atmosphere was electric, just as it had been against Ukraine in the quarter-finals and, of course, Germany in the last-16. 

BUT. 

Having English fans back in the stadium, drunk on pride, passion and merriment, dripping with sweat, red and white paint plastered over their mad faces, moobs, boobs and backsides bouncing, beer being bunged into the sweet midsummer barmy British air presents a few problems. After all this time caged like wild animals, fans needed to let off some steam, and let off some steam they did, good golly did they let off some steam.

Alan Barnes of Burnham-On-Crouch told NNNN that he realised something was wrong as the game reached the 89th minute. Some fans situated in the stand near him were become increasingly rowdy, but Barnes thought it was just the usual wrong uns', getting up to no good, "I saw them fighting, but they weren't fighting each other, they were almost possessed, It was quite disturbing." 

Barnes later found out that the 230 or so fans had been spooked by the fake crowd noises, "I found it incredibly odd, I mean, even when there were crowd noises, only people watching the telly could hear them, so, how on God's green Earth did these knuckleheads get spooked by it? If you ask me, it's these vaccines, I follow Matt Le Tissier on the ol' Twitter, and he's a prominent anti-vaxxer, the lad's a respected voice in the media, so he must be talking some sense, I mean, come on, the guy's a multi-millionaire, what does he have to lose from pushing these views? Money talks, remember that, he he! Money talks, bitches, money talks".

Psychologists are baffled at how the fans could have not only heard, but have been triggered by these imaginary noises. Prof. Yan Dexter of the University of Cockfosters, Berkeley opined that the noises might've become so ingrained in many football fans over the last year, that they might have unconsciously hypnotised a large portion of them, causing them to react with distress when a real crowd reaches a certain decibel level.

"I'm certainly leaning towards this theory at the moment", Weary told us, "I don't know how those fake crowd noises were recorded, but perhaps certain rhythms were specially calibrated and repeated to create a hypnotic effect. Maybe it wouldn't of worked on 99.9% of the population, but it just so happened that some of the other 0.1% somehow were in Wembley stadium. I'm not here to provide an explanation or propagate conspiracy theories, but perhaps this was all some sort of sick experiment by the government, like the Russian sleep experiment, or herd immunity, but what would I know? I teach Latin, for God's sake. Why am I even here? Discede et numquam redito!"

All of the 230 fans have since been taken in for questioning, which has raised concerns over their safety. Barbara Partland, whose husband Geoff is in custody, is concerned about the incident and what it might mean for the group of fans. "My poor Geoff, he was so confused, and so angry. One moment he was silent and just being a normal fan, then the next minute he's throwing punches at the air like someone's attacking him. I don't know what happened, it was like a switch had suddenly been flicked. Boris was in the stadium, laughing his head off at what was happening to us. I wouldn't be surprised if he was in on this. This is what Etonians get off on, booking a huge recording studio to record 50,000 fans individually making noise, then deliberately distorting the sounds so as to induce hypnosis and violent mania with the help of leading experts in psychological warfare, then using this sound in every football broadcast for 10 months, then seeing fans inside a stadium fall prey to the hypnosis, then imprison those fans and experiment on their brains, fucking Etonian scumbags."

One of these men is destined to become a future prime minister, or a crook, or both

Other scientists think the fans may have just been letting off some steam, and that the crowd noises were somehow buried deep within their subconscious, provoking them to lash out. "I watched a lot of football matches with those crowd noises inserted in" Prof. Marilyn De Arrivederci of Swansea University told us, "and, even I have to admit, some of the voices I heard were awful, I mean, they were utter jerks, I ended up muting the telly because I kept hearing this one guy singing out of tune, that's enough to provoke violence, in my opinion. But what do I know? I teach Arabic, for God's sake. اتركوا مكتبي ، أيها الأوغاد!"

One theory has come forward that England fans in general are prone to violence, and the non-existence of any recognisable foe isn't going to stop that. "We love a good skirmish" thinks Partland, "Geoff often comes home from a match bloody and wounded, high on adrenaline, and that's just after watching a school game. He's a very passionate and involved parent, you've got to understand. Or, at least he would be, if we had a child."

England fans have a long and illustrious history of violence, at home and abroad. Fans were involved in street violence back at the last Euros in 2016 in France, and back in the 1980s and 90s, towns on the continent feared the arrival of the English like one might fear Piers Morgan entering a swimming pool full of Tom Daleys. 

"I don't really care what the press think, those fake crowd noises had it coming, you may not see why it upsets us so much, but it does, we have to let this energy out, Geoff works his fingers to the bone week in, week out, and is paid a pittance for it, his boss is an arsehole and his wife is a massive nag! ha, ha! He needs the release, no matter how primal and chaotic it must look to the more refined viewers, who'd want to be refined anyway? If it means being unable to experience the rich and glorious pallet of emotions one is infinitely blessed with, why should one try to hide it? England are back, and we're gonna win this damn tournament". *

Researchers have warned against broadcasters, including BBC and ITV, using fake crowd noises again in the event of another national lockdown. "The number of fans who engage in violence with these imaginary noises could rise threefold, we strongly advise broadcasters to cover the matches in silence, as the inclusion of fake crowd noises could lead to social unrest and ultimately anarchy". 

Several anarchist figures have claimed the noises could come in useful though, in overthrowing the capitalist status quo, abolishing the monarchy and mounting Jacob Rees-Mogg's body, top hat and all, on a makeshift gallows on Parliament Square. "If they want to provoke unrest, we will show them unrest, we're not comfortable with the system, and we, the people, have the power to resist it. Rees-Mogg, we're coming for you!"

* England went on to lose the final to Italy, no incidences of England fan/fake crowd noise violence have been reported, though Sir Keir Starmer was present in the crowd, and could be seen wearing an earpiece and fingering a mysterious device in his pocket. 

Sir Keir Starmer is a supporter of Arsenal Football Club, and will reportedly swap jobs with manager Mikel Arteta if neither's job goes to plan. 

Desert Island Discs to End 79-Year Stint On BBC Radio After Island Becomes Inhospitable to Human Life

29th January 1942: Vic Oliver, actor and comedian, becomes the first 'castaway' on a new BBC radio show called 'Desert Island Discs'. Roy Plumley, the first of many presenters whose voices have become instantly recognisable to John Bull and his middle-class equivalent Jonathan Cattle, asks Mr. Oliver to choose eight pieces of music, a book and a luxury item he would want with him were he to be cast away on a hypothetical desert island. 

I think it's safe to say the concept caught on. The show has been an ever present on BBC radio for over eight decades, inviting the cream of the crop of British public figures, having broadcast over 3,000 episodes. The show's longevity is a testament to it's subtle yet endlessly intriguing pulling power, and the sheer inventiveness and ingenuity of it's premise. 

"One can get bored of straight-down-the-line celebrity interviews" opines Wallace Worsley, deadbeat uncle of BBC regular Lucy, "but if one adds a spicy and offbeat premise such as being marooned on a fictional desert island, and needing to pick which pieces of music, which book and which luxury item one would want to take, it adds a certain thrill to an otherwise banal interview. One sits in suspense, pregnant with anticipation, wondering which book notorious book-worm Gyles Brandreth will choose to take. There's a certain degree of unbridled sexual relish which comes with knowing what music celebrities enjoy and guessing what their strategy will be! They are just like us after all! I would know, my niece is a celebrity, but she doesn't speak to me anymore. Lucy, this is your uncle, i'm sorry it has to be this way, I know how this looks, speaking to News, News, News, News in the desperate hope of reaching out to you, but I miss you dearly, I miss you boundlessly, you're breaking my heart and I'm running out of time. I need financial support, no, please don't stop reading! I need it, not only for myself, but for my partner, Elaine. She's a recovering alcoholic, Lucy, and she needs a liver transplant, I know that this may not seem sympathetic, but she's a good person, an honest person, she wouldn't ask this of anyone, so I feel it's my duty to speak up for her. She's in a terrible state and your support would really help us. Please do not ignore me, I know NNNN will probably edit this out of their finished article, but on the off chance they don't, help me. Help me, oh, dear lord above, help me!"

The show has had five presenters over the years and is currently presented by Lauren Laverne. The BBC have always regarded it as a steady and stable hit over the years, the prestige around the show has made it untouchable. Until now. 

Actor Sir Mark Rylance was due to appear on the show on the 5th July, he was sent a limousine by the BBC to his home in Lambeth. "I was looking forward to it!" Rylance told us, "I grew up listening to DID, a lot of us did, it's sort of the holy grail of interviews. I don't give many interviews but DID is different, I think there's a lot of joy in it, a lot of excitement. I've been deliberating for weeks over what pieces of music I should pick. It's a serious thing. But it's also a great amount of fun"

Rylance then received a call from the BBC explaining that due to unforeseen circumstances, the show will not go ahead. "I was a little taken aback, but I understood, I didn't really question it because I thought there must have been a straightforward reason. When I found out the real reason whilst watching BBC News at Six, I just bellowed out the words 'Christ's marauding cock! What in God's great taint is happening here?' I don't usually swear like that, but the news was so bizarre, it just spilled out of me."

The BBC announced that the eponymous island in Desert Island Discs had become inhospitable to humans and the show had to immediately be cancelled. The news was greeted with what one Daily Telegraph columnist called 'a subdued middle-class hysteria which manifests itself in frenzied letter writing". 

"If i'm being totally honest with you, I thought it was a hypothetical island." thought Rylance. According to polls, 97% of the British public thought the same, the other 3% were flat-Earthers, Jehovah's Witnesses, paranoid schizophrenics and GB News viewers. It turns out, the Island is real. Geographers have labored hard to pinpoint exactly where the island is, but to no avail. "You'd think in this age of satellites and submarines that you'd be able to find any island if you have enough resources and man-power, but we've just not been able to locate the Island in Desert Island Discs", explained Larkin Mann, a pseudo-geographer who searches for fictional islands. "Over the years, i've shook hands with Robinson Crusoe, been given a tour of Atlantis on the back of a dolphin, been an extra on Lost and been molested by a hoard of sex-starved Mermen. Locating this particular island is my only failure, but we all fail, even Lucy Worsley's uncle."

The new BBC Director-General Tim Davie made a statement saying that global warming was the culprit behind the evacuation of the island. Davie explained that the BBC had managed to locate almost all of the celebrities the company had marooned on the island, but that a few were still missing. "I am sure the public will have been shocked to learn of the developments on the island on Desert Island Discs. Let me assure you that we are doing our utmost to rescue the celebrities, including John Cleese, still marooned on the island."

Several commentators have noted that most of the celebrities who've appeared on the show are safe and well, and will attest to never having beeen aware of an actual island, but the BBC insists a timely and costly rescue operation is needed. An appeal is currently being aired every week night after The One Show asking for funds to search for Trevor Nunn's haggard, sand-shocked corpse strewn awkwardly in a shallow rock-pool being gnawed at by crustaceans. Mary Berry and several other notable guests have protested the 'blatant intrusion' and 'scare-mongering' carried out by the corporation. "We are perfectly fine, I am absolutely aghast at the way this very costly public campaign has been carried out. I appeared on the show years ago and never visited any island, and now I keep receiving texts from my friends and Paul Hollywood asking if i'm OK because they've seen some emotional appeal on the London Underground. This needs to stop!" Berry exclaimed. 

However, a handful of former guests have expressed delight that the BBC are finally taking notice of their plight and think the issue needs to be brought to the fore. Naturalist Chris Packham is 'in two minds' over the existence of the island, but thinks the wider issue of climate change should be the focus. "The truth is, in the next 50 years or so, there will be areas on our planet which are now heavily populated that will become too hot for Human civilisation. The politicians do not seem to understand this and even if they did, I fear it is too late, what's happened on the island from Desert Island Discs is terrifying, utterly terrifying, but it is merely foreshadowing a much larger problem that may come to define the 21st century. Think of the migrant crises of the last 10 years, people fleeing violence and terrorism which then gives rise to far-right nationalism and xenophobia. Think of that but ten times worst, people will be forced to leave their own countries with their families because they are simply unsustainable to live in, they'll be unable to grow food, unable to have access to water. This is a crisis, a slow-burning, no pun intended, crisis, and the Desert Island Discs island is just chapter one."

Labour leader Keir Starmer has said he supports Packham's message, but is bewildered by the existence of an actual island. "I've listened to DID for years, and rather enjoyed it, but I would have enjoyed it far less if I knew the guests actually had to be cast away. I think, among other things, this crisis shows the extent to which the Tory austerity of the last ten years has stripped away the BBC's capacity to safely handle a hypothetical concept without resorting to literal-minded programming. Under a Labour government, concepts such as these will be backed consistently, and metaphors won't be forced to somehow flourish into reality. This is fucking ridiculous. Just make me prime minister already."

Andrew Neil of GB News has called the situation a 'scathing indictment of BBC scare-mongering and climate change virtue-signalling', but footage recently released showed Neil being lifted from treacherous waters into a dinghy full of former DID guests, which may serve as a smoking gun with which to silence critics calling the crisis 'fake'. 

The general public are unsure whether to believe that this is a BBC propaganda campaign, or a genuine cry for help from hundreds of beloved British public figures. Martha Hills of Guildford doesn't know what to believe. "When celebrities are involved, the water becomes murky, murky I tells' ya'! I have no idea what to believe, are there people out there who need our help escaping from an island too hot for Human habitation? Or is this some elaborate metaphor with an underlying cynicism? Or maybe it's satire? Is this satire? Is that what this is? What's the deal with Lucy Worsley's uncle? Why is he included in this?  I don't know. Honestly, i'm not all that bothered personally, i'm just glad England are in the final of a major tournament, and that we can hug our family again."

Daily Mail Reader Blames Pothole Problem On ' Local Council Culture'.

The Daily Mail, Britain's leading newspaper, and a bastion of free speech, debate, and fervent anti-censorship has received a strongly-worded letter from a regular reader complaining of a lack of investment in local infrastructure, particularly potholes, blaming the problem on the much-feared 'council culture'.

The term 'council culture'* first originated in the 16th century in a letter between Henry VIII and Thomas Cromwell. The king claims that Thomas More is attempting to 'council' him by standing firm against Henry's separation from the Catholic church. 

"Methinks the fellow is a most abhorrent snowflake. He Councilleth me, I am sure of it. This Culture of Councilling is preposterous and it demeans our sacred rights to free speech. I want to abide in a land where a beggar may call the king a fat, farting, bloated waste of God's infinite material and only suffer minimal execution and not be councilled, for it is better to be hung, drawn and quartered than to be councilled. I wouldst not wish my worst enemy be councilled, good sir, and I hope thou wilt make sure Andrew Neil gets really stuck in to the issue. Like, really stuck into it, like a good juicy fillet of steak. Really stuck into it". 

It is alleged that the term then entered common parlance and was used by Hugh Faringdon, the last abbot to preside over Reading Abbey before Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, before he was hung, drawn and quartered in 1539.

"Let God be my witness! This culture of council doth shackle our very souls! I go to my death as a martyr for the right to free speech! Our judges and our ministers are woketh beyond belief! My dying wish is that Laurence Fox fights for us on Twitter by retweeting Roger Scruton quotes, and that Katie Hopkins becometh the star attraction of Parler."

Leaping forward a couple centuries, Samuel Johnson authored a piece in The Rambler deriding what he called the 'spinning frame generation', i.e those who had been born after Richard Arkwright's invention of the spinning frame, for their entitled nature and their lack of appreciation for the hard work and toil  previous generations had undergone. 

"This entire generation is vacuous beyond belief! Their styles and their customs grate on me in the most unpleasant fashion. They seem to expect the world to be catered towards them and have little to no idea of other people's lives outside of their own liberal, metropolitan, PC, woke, Depop, Yo! Sushi! bubbles. In fact, I hate them, I cannot work with them. I will not work with anyone under the age of 35 because I know they'll belong to the spinning frame generation. Our only hope is that Count Dankula will continue to fight political correctness by teaching pelicans to imitate Josef Mengele or by teaching narwhals to racially abuse Raheem Sterling on Twitter".

Johnson and a handful of other 18th century writers advocated for a 'Council Culture Eradication Council' for the "councilling of councellatory beliefs by an all-powerful, all-seeing council made up of councilled councillors". Such a council was never formed, but commentators have recently raised the possibility of such a council being formed by an independent counsel. 

The term has become common parlance once again in the last decade or so, and Dorothy Oates of Tunbridge Wells, Kent's letter to her local council is only the tip of the iceberg.

"I'm sick of it, to be honest with you. I have to take my four children to school every morning and dodge all these blasted potholes. I'm even more careful than usual now because my last car was written off due to the constant damage done to the suspension. I have very kindly asked my local council for help, but they just reply 'we're sorry, but the issue is very difficult to fix', it's total council culture of the most malicious kind. so I decided to council my bin collection and we have, these past seven weeks, been living in rubbish. I hope NNNN takes a photo of my four young children reading discarded 'World According to Clarkson' books, I hope the world sees the horrors we have to put up with."

Oates, 45, is a regular reader of The Daily Mail and has praised the publication for bringing council culture to the attention of ordinary British citizens.

"I think it used to be quite a niche term, but The Mail and The Sun have really brought them into public consciousness, even to the point where my Mum and Dad know what 'woke' means. Isn't it amazing that a word which originated in African-American communities and which used to mean something, is now used by little old us in the home counties? Good ol' Mail, I say, good ol' Mail, they ain't taking any of it, they'll strip any word or concept of meaning and humanity, they'll stamp on those woke hearts and impale them on a wooden stake, burning them alongside the last morsels of human kindness and compassion, they ain't afraid to do that, and that's why we love reading it". 

Oates subscribes to a YouTube channel known as 'Scalp the Wokes' (STW) which aims to protect free speech, statues, the monarchy and the right to deny children life-saving vaccines. Their YouTube show 'Gammonunition' features a plethora of different voices from Anglican bishops to Catholic priests. Oates recently called into the host Alex Shaffer, who used to clean tripods in the military, to complain about council culture and 5G controlling our minds. Shaffer then launched into a tirade during which he burst a blood vessel, then suffered what one Mumsnet user called 'a massive fuck-off heart attack'. Oates has been blamed by other STW viewers for Shaffer's heart attack, and, according to sources, is being sued by the channel for overwhelming the host with too many infuriating council culture stories. 

No one knows exactly how this council culture debacle is going to end, or whom is going swoop in and save the day. All we know is, council culture has become it's own theatre of war in the so called 'culture wars', and we all have our allegiances and enemies. War is raging. "Daddy, what did you do in the culture war?" Would you want your children to ask you this? I think not. 

* For the purposes of this article, we have had to use the phrase 'council culture' instead of 'cancel culture', as the latter has been trademarked by News Corp. 

News, News, News, News, DINES!, DINES!, DINES!, DINES! With AA Gill Jr.: 'Pasta Sottovoce' in Cromer, Norfolk

My father always wanted me to get on the straight and narrow and make something of myself. With this new column, I think i've just about got there. 

NNNNDDDD will basically be a standard food critic's column, but with a twist, every restaurant I visit and review will have ear-splitting music blaring from the speakers above. Recent studies at the University of Cockfosters, Berkeley have shown that our taste buds react to piercingly loud noises by becoming more sensitive and responsive to flavour. Scientists conducted an experiment in which Nigella Lawson, Gordon Ramsay and Ainsley Harriot underwent brain scans whilst dining on a 5 star meal from a Michelin star restaurant. As they dined, 'I Spit On Your Clavicle' by Unctuous Pirate Stigmata is played on repeat at a horrendously loud volume. 

The scientists found that the three chefs responded far more positively neurologically to the food they had eaten when the music was playing. Of course, they could have just asked the three award-winning chefs what they thought of the food, instead of forcing them to undergo brain scans, but the scientists thought it necessary. 

The results, anyway, showed that the only way Humans can fully enjoy and savour the food we eat is to eat it whilst subjected to at least 120 decibels of noise. With that in mind, I visited 'Pasta Sottovoce' in beautiful Cromer, Norfolk, a new Italian restaurant opened by Alessandro Miadini and his wife Isabella from Bologna. 

Pasta Sottovoce, Cromer, Norfolk

AS ONE WALKS INTO ISABELLA AND ALESSANDRO MIADINI'S NEW RESTAURANT ON NEWMARKET STREET, ONE IS STRUCK BY THE AUTHENTICITY OF THE PLACE. MANY SO CALLED 'ITALIAN' RISTORANTES IN THE UK ARE SHAMEFULLY SUPERFICIAL AND FULL OF PETTY STEREOTYPES, BUT THIS FEELS FRESH AND REAL, LIKE ONE IS TRANSPORTED INTO A GENUINE BOLOGNESE EATERY, EVERY SIGHT, SOUND AND SMELL MEANT TO ENHANCE ONE'S CULINARY EXPERIENCE. 

EXPERIENCE IS CERTAINLY A KEY WORD HERE, THE MIADINIS TAKE GREAT CARE IN DESIGNING THEIR RISTORANTES IN SUCH A WAY AS TO MAXIMISE THEIR DINER'S JOY, THOSE WORKING IN THE SERVICE INDUSTRY PRACTICE A DELICATE AND HUGELY UNDERRATED ART FORM. ONE IS MADE TO FEEL SPECIAL, AS IF ONE IS THE ONLY CUSTOMER IN THE WORLD. AS I WAS LED THROUGH TO THE DINING AREA, PASSING THROUGH A RUSTIC CONCRETE ARCHWAY ADORNED WITH VINE LEAVES AND FRESH LEMONS, I FELT LIKE AN ADORED MEMBER OF THE LOCAL COMMUNITY, LIKE A FEARED MAFIOSO ENTERING HIS RISTORANTE WITH AN ESTEEMED LOCAL BUSINESSMAN HE'S TRYING TO ASSOCIATE WITH IN HOPE OF GAINING MORE INFLUENCE IN THE FINANCIAL STRATA OF THE CITY. 

FOR STARTERS I ORDERED SOME BRUSCHIETTA AND A SMALL DISH OF CROUTONS. I RECEIVED A FEW BAFFLED LOOKS WHEN I TOSSED A CROUTON INTO THE AIR AND TRIED TO CATCH IT IN MY MOUTH, BUT THE WAITERS SOON LEARNED TO TOLERATE MY UNCOUTH BEHAVIOUR, EVEN EGGING ME ON TO TRY AGAIN WHEN IT FAILED TO ENTER THE ORIFICE. I THEN HAD A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE WHEN I ALMOST CHOKED ON A FIDDLEHEAD WHICH GIACOMO, ONE OF THE DISHWASHERS, CATAPULTED FROM ACROSS THE ROOM. A BAFFLED PASSER-BY PERFORMED THE HEINLICH MANEUVER AMIDST THE PIERCINGLY-LOUD MUSIC STILL PULSATING FROM ABOVE. WHEN THE MEDICAL EMERGENCY WAS OVER, WE HAD A RATHER CRUDE BUT INTENSELY SPIRITED TOURNAMENT BETWEEN ALL THE WAITERS AND KITCHEN STAFF. THE TOURNAMENT DELAYED THE ARRIVAL OF MY MAIN COURSE, WHICH, WITHOUT TRYING TO BE A KILLJOY, WAS RATHER INCONVENIENT, BUT I'LL LET IT SLIDE AS I ADMIRE UNBRIDLED, RAUCOUS, SAVAGE MERRIMENT WHICH DELAYS IMPORTANT BUSINESS, IT'S WHY I WATCH PRIME MINISTER'S QUESTIONS EVERY WEDNESDAY. 

MY MAIN COURSE OF MUSHROOM RAVIOLI DID EVENTUALLY ARRIVE, AND WAS POSITIVELY MOUTH-WATERING. THERE WAS JUST THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF SPINACH.. THE PASTA WAS WELL-CRAFTED, THE PLATE WAS SQUARE AND FANCY. I FIND THE SQUARE PLATES, FOR SOME REASON, IMPROVE THE QUALITY OF THE FOOD. 

I MUST LEVEL WITH YOU, NNNN FAITHFUL, I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT FOOD. I'VE DINED AT MANY A REPUTABLE ESTABLISHMENT, BEING THE SON OF A RENOWNED FOOD CRITIC, BUT I PICKED UP VERY LITTLE. I'M NOT ENTIRELY SURE WHY, MAYBE IT'S A REBELLIOUS THING, I WANTED TO BE A SPOKEN WORD POET, OR A NORSE GOD, BUT FATHER HAD OTHER PLANS, THEY OFTEN DO. HE WOULD MAKE ME SIT AT A TYPEWRITER FOR HOURS ON END, TEDIOUSLY TYPING OUT HIS RESTAURANT REVIEWS AS HE DICTATED THEM TO ME WHILST ENGAGED IN RIGOROUS LOVE-MAKING. HE BECAME LAUDED FOR HIS WIT, EBULLIENCE AND SHARPNESS, BUT NO ONE REALISES THAT IT WAS ME WHO ADDED THIS INSATIABLE PANACHE TO THE ARTICLES. THE 1992 REVIEW OF SIR LOIN'S STEAKS IN MARYLEBONE? ME! THE 2001 REVIEW OF TOFFS AND SCOFFS IN NEWCASTLE UNDER-LYME? ME! 2003, JAMIE'S IN OXFORD? ME! 2005, ALAIN DUCASSE AT THE DORCHESTER HOTEL? ME! ME! ME! ALL OF IT WAS ME!

SO WHEN I WAS APPROACHED BY THE NNNN EDITOR TO DO A FOOD COLUMN IN MEMORY OF MY FATHER, I WAS ONLY TOO HAPPY TO OBLIGE, ON THE CONDITION THAT I COULD EXPERIMENT WITH A NEW AND INNOVATIVE FORM OF FOOD CRITICISM. NNNN, BEING AN OPEN-MINDED PUBLICATION, LET ME TRY OUT THE 'BURST EARDRUM/TASTEBUD THEORY', WHICH ORIGINATED AT UNIVERSITY OF COCKFOSTERS, BERKELEY. AFTER FINISHING MY MEAL AT 'PASTA SOTTOVOCE', I CAN REVEAL THAT IT'S ALL TRUE. THE FLAVOUR IN THE FOOD IS BLISSFULLY ACCENTUATED BY THE DISGUSTING DEATH METAL RAGING FROM ABOVE LIKE A HANGRY THOR. IT IS WORTH THE DEAFNESS, IT IS WORTH THE CLUSTER HEADACHES, IT IS WORTH THE BLOOD ON MY PILLOWS, IT IS WORTH THE SHELL-SHOCK. AND THAT IS THE HIGHEST COMPLIMENT ONE CAN GIVE A RESTAURANT. GRAZIE, ALESSANDRO E ISABELLA!

JOIN ME NEXT TIME WHEN I VISIT 'HUSH! HUSH! SUSHI!' IN BETHNAL GREEN. 

GB News Will Feature a Show Called 'Wokewatch'- Muriel Sticks

This is not a parody article, they're actually doing that. 

The demand for 'anti-woke' content will prove very lucrative to Andrew Neil and co. $$$

I would include a joke, but comedy is dead, it's been euthanised.

They'll be lapping it up. 

We'll be reading the wonderful works of James Baldwin, Maya Angelou & Toni Morrison. 

Nothing will change, the so-called 'culture war' will whimper on. 

I'm Muriel Sticks, may the Duke of Edinburgh rest in peace or whatever. 

Betting Odds for Wokewatch Presenter

Laurence Fox 2/1 

Another Fucking Cunt 10/1