Clarkson doesn’t grow the apples, brew the cider, bottle it or distribute it. He simply has a label slapped on featuring his name. It’s just corporate piss. Proper cider needs protecting.

Nationalising British Steel is a start, but I want EVERY-FUCKING-THING nationalised.

I’m sick of seeing that mimsy little shit Chris Mason on the news. He takes far too much pleasure in parliamentary machination than is healthy for our democracy. Anyone that pleased to be doing the job he’s got shouldn’t be allowed to do it.

My pee smells of popcorn. I can’t remember if that means I’m going to have a stroke, my blood sugar is too high or I’ve got to stop licking cinema seats.

The only time I ever met Andy Kershaw, he was carrying (literally carrying) a completely wankered John Peel around Glastonbury. He was pretty pissed himself yet they were apparently both presenting the BBC TV coverage later that day. Impressive constitutions, both.

I see there’s a new Red Hot Chilli Peppers documentary on Netflix. So I’ve cancelled my subscription and, just to be on the safe side, buried my iPad in a large, lead-filled hole in my garden.

Absolute bollocks. ‘Would you like a straight pier, a square pier, a t-shaped pier or no pier’ is the most pathetic public consultation ever. This patronising shite makes it clear @hullcitycouncil.bsky.social have no intention whatsoever of replacing the pier. yoursay.hull.gov.uk/victoria-pie...

Images that should be on our 5, 10, 20 and 50 pound notes:

Am I understanding the situation correctly? Because a useless gobshite sociopath American wants to distract from his kiddy fiddling, my household bills are about to go through the fucking roof? We should just decide, as a species, to fucking not.

Delighted to discover that my kids don’t know who Noel Edmonds is. I envy them. But then again, perhaps he should be taught in schools. As a sort of warning from history.

Breaking news forcing me to take Iran’s side.

Just seen a butterfly in my garden. Optimistic little fucker.

‘Thank god the queen didn’t live to see any of this.’ Like she didn’t fucking know. The royal family are surrounded day and night by security forces. They report what they see. The reports will get kicked upstairs is anything untoward happens. She fucking knew. She helped hide it.

Old Red Eyes Is Back.

If Charles pays us all £12 million, maybe we’d drop the charges against Andrew. Worth a try.

This may be the closest we’ve ever been in my lifetime to hoying the monarchy. It won’t happen, but it’s nice to enjoy a little bit of belief that it might do one day.

Monarchists believe the royal family derive their authority (their right to rule over us) directly from god. Presumably their right to go begging to paedos (while vacuuming up our taxes) also derives directly from god.

Chris Mason is just an overexcited little shit. No-one should get that much joy from the piddling everyday machinations of politics. Needs to unclog his head from the fucking lavvy.

Message from insurers as I go to cancel my policy: ‘Please give us a call to see if there’s any way we can retain your customer.’ Well, it’s quite simple. Don’t increase the cost of my policy by nearly £300 when fuck all has changed and you just want to fucking rob me.

Rarely been more proud to be from Hull.

Because if they stood in front of them, they’d get shot in the fucking face.

Of course it starts snowing as soon as we’re taking the Christmas decorations down. Fucking Thatcher.

The true meaning of Christmas - Boxing Day leftovers. (Don’t worry, bubble n squeak is planned for later.)

Never heard the term ‘copper-fasten’ before. I shall henceforth be utilising it as often as possible.

A decade old tweet, still going strong.

Impossible and unfair to pick one photo from Martin Parr’s incredible work but, for me, the Joan of Arc look of defiance on this lass’s face is unsurpassed. One of thousands of supreme images perfectly representing the working class of our nation.

Traditional ‘We’ve Been For Our Tree’ pic.

10 mins to kill, so I’ve popped down Hessle Foreshore only to find bridge, river and weather combining to gloriously moody effect.

I’ve got a bit of a frozen shoulder ailment going on at the minute. Never had anything like it before and it’s a right pisser. The only things I’ve found help are some exercises and wearing a fleece. I now spend my days wandering the house spinning my arms, dressed like a twat. Old age is shite.

Now I’ve finally been accepted by the North London Media Elite, I’m seriously considering adding ‘urgent artistic presence’ to my business cards. substack.com/@rosiemillar...

Clearly the best path for the BBC is to tell Trump to fuck right off. Let’s see the stupid orange twat in court with his turkey wattle neck flapping.

The greatest anti-war song ever written. The Remembrance by Jake Thackray. youtu.be/o9g4GTr3sjE?...

It’s not over until we’re all safe from the royal family. #NoMoreKings

My restaurant review in the Yorkshire Post today is Sebby’s in Pocklington and Pub of the Week is Spati in Hull.

My restaurant review in the Yorkshire Post today is Sebby’s in Pocklington and Pub of the Week is Spati in Hull.

French bloke on the news rocking the ‘CU Jimmy’ wig look.

Had my lavish celebration the day they put the fucker in the ground. news.sky.com/story/thatch...

Only partially true.

I’ve had a long, tragic run with Yorkshires. Today, that streak ends with some aplomb.

Found a simple device to stop 75% of the shouting in our house.

Been to Spurn. Primeval and glorious. And Spurn wasn’t bad.

When me and the lad watched Taskmaster live at Glastonbury this year. Look at his little face. So happy. (Daughter was behind us somewhere, playing it cool.)

My daughter is 18 today and to celebrate me somehow keeping her alive to adulthood she’s bought me her first legal pint.

The pears on my tree are ripe. And fucking delicious.

Whatever you think of Starmer (and I’m far from his biggest fan), this sort of lying horseshit is precisely what every Labour government gets slung at them. Any form of left-wing politics - no matter how watered down and inadequate - is automatically maligned to beguile the minds of the gullible.

‘Alexa, define tragic.’

I quite like it when people have a little Union Jack next their usernames on social media. It means I can easily identify them as massive gammons and block them before things turn ugly.

To give you an idea of how cut off I sometimes am for the rest of the world, I only found out at 2PM that today isn’t a bank holiday. Until then, I’d been sat in my undies, eating leftover spaghetti and waiting for Escape To Victory to come on the telly. Now, I’ll have to do some actual work.

The Met Office Vs The Window.