On Tuesday morning I woke in Liverpool with a start, my heart hammering after a night of the most wretched thoughts. The last thing I had seen before I lurched into a fitful sleep had been a foul thing – that Rishi Sunak and Piers Morgan summit – and the day had begun in the Welsh Marches, where I encountered a haunting vision of doom. But wait, old friend. I am getting ahead of myself. Pass me those statins and that Nespresso ™ ® and I’ll begin at the beginning.
Somehow, he said he had been “taken by surprise”, Sunak had accepted a £1,000 bet off Piers Morgan. We need greater self-control from the man who has the full might of the depleted British armed forces at his command, currently six crates of old Lee-Enfields, four 25p boxes of Fun Snaps ™ ® and a camouflaged milk float! God help us if there’s a war! Oh! Hang on! There is.
