Stop Shaming Sluts

Dears, as you know I take a very dim view of feminists. If they’re not burning pound notes with Jane Austen on them, they’re demanding that they get supremacy over men. I think this is very wrong as the Lord (a man) gave up his only child (also a man) to save us all, it seems, if nothing else, rather ungrateful.

He didn’t go to all this trouble and explained it all to Moses (another man) who climbed that big hill to hear his words and transcribe them verbatim to those tablets, just to have a load of unshaven, bra-less, emasculators throw it all back in his bearded face. 

No, he did not.

However, there is one thing that I have had explained to me, by my PR team and in an effort to prove to the crucial teenage demographic, which shores up any media career these days,  that I am of course "across the issue" I have decided to prove my understanding and genuinely kind intentions.

As tiresome but necessary PR guru and skateboarding champion Ben explained to me" It's the mother fucking 'hoody hot spot/sweet spot' Mrs M. Get that and I shit you not, you're "hashtag" golden" 

That in mind here are my thoughts.

We need, on an urgent basis, to stop shaming sluts.

And I’ll tell you for why.

Sluts are present in our society admittedly. They stalk out blessed marital unions for signs of failing wives and force themselves on our innocent husbands willy nilly admittedly BUT those actions of fat calved predators aside, sluts need our love compassion and help.

Dear Mary Magdalene was a slut. But she was a good slut who, foot bathing duties aside, was, I imagine to be found of a holy evening, busying herself with shroud darning or unleavened bread baking, or listening politely while Jesus talked through yet another of his disciples meetings which had not gone as well as he had hoped and thus fevered his divine man-brow.

Modern day sluts need no less compassion and understanding as they navigate the tumultuous waters of front bottom wrangling.

Sex was, is and always will be a mystery, to decent ladies such as myself and should be ideally embarked upon for it’s intended purpose, I.E. making lovely bonny babies, rather than the recreational urgings which, sadly, seem to dominate these days.

Shaming these said sluts, serves only to demonise them further and I SAY NO MORE.

I urge you via my newly found, but richly deserved, celebrity status; to say, let the sluts alone.  I don’t know any personally of course but were I to encounter one she would have my pity, compassion and understanding.

Just not an invitation to any social gathering.

In conclusion dears this film will inspire any sluts whose lifestyle choices result in the obvious.

 It's here in case, they need to know the right thing to do.

Your Friend Mrs M.

Front bottom urges in the marital state-A cautionary Tale

Shameless, shocking and despicable adultery can strike anyone of us at anytime. 

I think of President Bill Clinton and Monica Geller (sister of famed spoon bender Uri) and other famed Philanderers and wonder, amongst many things, if the Whitehouse had had a smoking shelter whether any of that would have happened? 

I don't know but in my quest to further our understanding of the human condition I have embarked on a voyage of understanding.

I’m not one to judge people who find themselves in this situation, as those Whores of Babylon stalk our relationships and unions, blessed by the good lord, everyday. 

Those people are called men. 

And I’ll tell you for why.

 They are blameless. They are driven by front bottom urges, which we ladies know nothing about.

I myself have grappled with my dear Pier's unfortunate enamourment-ism of fat calved Kathleen. They remain ensconced in their vipers nest of a two bedroom flat of lust as we speak.  But this isn't about me.

Here speaking completely honestly and without fear of recrimination as his wife Amanda doesn’t know, Paul Donaldson from Loughborough who works for Trendy’s electrical wholesalers in the Human Resources department agreed to speak to me off the record.

Paul (anonymous)

I didn’t plan on this you never do but there were several reasons why this happened. Mainly because my wife is so cold and lazy and left me absolutely no choice.

I nod in sympathy and understanding. And allow the whole tale to unfold itself rather like a slinky travelling down the staircase of a modern detached house that is only partially carpeted in the centre with metal strips holding it in place, as per health and safety guidelines describe.

“Go on Paul” I urge. He does so.

Paul (Anonymous):

The thing is it was really an accident, very like slipping on a dropped teabag, or picking up someone else’s takeaway order. As I say we didn’t plan it no one does but I suppose I was basically stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Me: And the rock Paul? Who was the rock?

Paul (Anonymous) Well that was my wife

Me: Well that explains why you had to access your hard place…

Paul (Anonymous): Well yes it does. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was forced by either of the women in my life and I certainly tried to protect everyone by burning all the hotel receipts and not spending money on condoms, but I was really the victim here and it’s not fashionable to say so but people forget that when you have an affair it’s much worse for the person having the affair than it is for your wife and family.

Because it’s quite tiring and having to remember all the various lies you are forced to tell is very stressful.

I mean all the sex is great and exciting but also it’s quite confusing because you have to keep doing it even when you’re a bit tired. Then there’s also all the nagging “when are you going to leave your wife” and the winging from your when you’re late home and miss parents evening etc…. Mostly you feel quite hurt that your wife doesn’t notice…. because they are so distracted with working full time and looking after the home and shopping and cooking and looking after the children so my needs are pretty much ignored, which is why I had to have the affair in the first place really.

Me: I see well thank you so much for explaining do you think you’ll tell your wife Paul (Anonymous)?

Paul (Anonymous) God no she’s so tired from supporting her mother through all the chemotherapy she’s never got 5 minutes to spare. I’ll just go solo, as usual, LOL (He actually says the word LOL which I don’t understand but I put it down to his deep distress)

Me: You really are very considerate Paul (Anonymous) and thank once again for telling us your story. It’s truly heartbreaking.

Paul (Anonymous):  Thank you.

So there we have it. Wives beware if you continue to ignore the man of your heart and hearth you too may fail him as Paul has been failed. Stay vigilant dears

Your friend Mrs. M. x

“My common sense piece, on a really popular topic, which needs addressing by at least twenty different people- across various media, apparently.”

 Additional bit below the headline and before the piece, which is make or break as to whether you bother to read on. Sometimes a quote, sometimes a bizarre interpretation of your piece which bears no relation to it, dependent on whether or not the sub-editor hates you.

I begin but you should know that I was very low down on the list. My agent has been pushing for this for a while and here it is my big break. My very first Column for The Daily Rant. If I'm any good they'll make a me permanent,  I just know it. Melanie, Liz, Jan and  dear "pretty yet hated through jealousy" Samantha, girls you are my idols and GUESS WHAT? I'm one of you now.
Budge up and let's plan a Spa day. 

Why little old me? Well, I'll tell you for why.

The favourites for this piece are all at some-or-other late season media/literary festival, (yuck) so I’ve grudgingly been asked to write this by a twelve year old editor, who hates me and everyone else now, because they couldn’t get the time off to go to the God awful thing. BUT WHO CARES I"VE ARRIVED DEARS

I must first give you an anecdote of something that happened to me once. This  makes no sense at all but will shortly become clear after I bridge the chasm between your patience and my own ego, and actually get to the point.

This is where I reiterate my first point of nonsense and when the link to the topic at hand becomes clearer. 
I add a jaunty gag of self-deprecation. 
Then I continue with my serious-faced honesty in “punchy yet heartfelt” (and understanding) sentences of wonder.

The following passage is where I finally address the topic de jour. All people of common sense understand it already, but it apparently needs thrashing to a painful and bloody death, by every media outlet under the sun.

In order to seem fair and even-handed, I will of course hold back and demonstrate how open I am to new “ideas and concepts”.

It’s PC gone mad really but my management people have suggested I “dial down the ranting” now that I’m the "Mum of the Nation", after my notorious appearances on daytime telly show "Now Then, Britain". If these hairy lay-abouts that seem to comprise the audience of "Now Then, Britain" were actually my children, I would have put them up for adoption.

I get loads of good stuff by lifting it from a some shoddy little blogger with a few followers and tinker about with the sentence structure. They'll never tell and even if they do HARD (British) CHEESE. I'll be thousands of hits in and well paid so if they're desperate enough to put it in the public domain for free, well then they get what they deserve.

Quick break while I go on Twitter just to check the status quo and to check that my own take is still the popular one. (Tick VG) Whilst on Twitter I get sidetracked by someone who isn’t anyone, so I announce that “I’m far too busy to be bothered with this” and nip over to Mail Online Sidebar of snide for a quick nosey.  I Lol my head off at all the cougar cellulite on show (girls honestly decorum please you must be thirty five if you’re a day), register shock at something exaggerated, then realise I haven’t finished my column.

I’m back for the next bit. Here I detail my total understanding of all the issues raised.  I’m going to slide in a couple of links here. I don’t like them, you don’t read them, but for some reason known only to online editors, we have to have them.  I like to call them pointless.

I’ve suddenly realized that I’m nearly at my word count and I’m only half way through making my very caring compassionate point so I’ll add another pointless link (which I now see the point of) and I also need to be a lot more caring face because otherwise I might lose the support of a group who I’m desperate to keep in with. God alone knows why but my agent says so.

I conclude by repeating the points, which could have taken half the time to make but wouldn’t have made me sound half as knowledgeable or caring faced about, and I chuck in another self-deprecating, whimsical aside.

Send. Then refuse to engage below the line. Don’t they know who I am Dears?

*This piece is reproduced here with the kind permission of The Daily Rant where it first appeared. Due to the lack of venom, spite or discernible attack, interest from our readers, the traffic it generated was too low to merit a further commission by our editors

Ban feminism and save yourselves.

Good lord so I see THIS is happening?

I was hoping that it was just more nonsense from the left winged BBC but no. I’m sad to report it’s all true.

Jane Austen writer of books and adaptor of Pride and Prejudice for the BBC is, I see, going to be added to the ten pound note.

Apart from the chocolate maker Elizabeth Fry and of course Her Majesty, this is the first time one of us girls has appeared on the currency of our glittering Isle. It’s not happening until 2017 and I for one am very glad of that and I’ll tell you for why.

I’ll need that long to get used to it.

Once again I find myself in the position of being forced to comment on public events as the 'go to girl' for sense and reason. This is why I’ve been catapulted unwillingly into the spotlight of public discourse; also I’m paying my PR company an obscene amount of money to boost my profile.

So this leads me back to my point. Feminists are evil.

They will no doubt swoop down and wave their hairy armpits at me, but girls you must cease and desist. No one will want to marry you, if you don’t calm down dears.

Emancipation? I think you mean Emasculation

Jane Austen has I’m sure many fine attributes but was she, I ask you now, a wife and a mother? No she was not. She was sadly, a career girl and as a well known celebrity upholder of family values I must tentatively raise a hand (unless there is a man being silenced by my answering the question. Feminist girls would do well to heed that basic courtesy)

This is why I offer my new course of intensive, caring (and reasonably priced) Feminism aversion therapy. “Two steps behind”

Mainly because the many men I talk to in the course of my philanthropy tell me often of their heartbreaking challenges at the hands of the ladies in their lives.

Here are some of their complaints

Brian from Maidenhead writes “Dear Mrs Mountable how do I get my wife to shut up moaning all of the time and concentrate on getting a hot dinner on the table of an evening. I’m just sick of her excuses and very stressed as I’m between jobs currently.  She works full time whilst looking after our 4 children and my elderly mother. I feel ignored. Is she just lazy?”

Paul from Plymouth writes, “Dear Mrs Mountable after my mother in law bought my wife “How to be a woman” by Caitlin Moran (ringleader of feminist cult) I keep finding them huddled in the kitchen laughing. Now she’s answering back all the time. Please help”

Neil from Inverness writes, “How big are your tits”

As you can see modern boys are finding all this rampant feminism troubling and concerning.

Modern girls have lost the ability to realise that men are always right and this is, I’m sure, the reason that divorces are at an all time high. Between that and flagrant disregard of basics such as looking pretty, staying thin and neglecting the housework and hubbies bedtime requirements, whilst bragging about how unkempt their front bottoms are; girls are losing sight of their place and role in society.

Which is of course two steps behind.

Dave had it right Britain is Broken. Shrill and vocal girls demanding “rights” and “equality” have smashed our glorious realm to smithereens. Thereby utterly robbing men of their rights and supremacy. Its just beyond, I tell you, beyond.

It must stop.

Anyway I must get on.  Dear wayward Piers has been in touch to ask me to to hunt out his passport for a porn fact finding mission abroad with his assistant and husband purloining Whore of Babylon, Kathleen. Dear man can’t quite let me go.

I know I will triumph in the end dears.

Your friend Mrs M. x

There's no business like Show business

It’s not easy being a celebrity dears.

As you know in recent months my life has been a heady whirlwind of radio appearances, interviews and recently my move into television as the "Now,Then, Britain" newest roving reporter.

I hardly need tell you all the story of my rise from humble housewife to major star but it is a wonderful story of hardwork and determination, of the cream rising to the top and it is an inspiring tale of triumph over adversity.   So I will repeat it here for those who enjoy a tale of a rather humble star of our little Isle that is Great Britain.

It all started with one of my typical no nonsense letters to the paper where, as is my way, from my position of wealth and power, I gave my opinion on something that neither affected me nor which I had more than a rudimentary knowledge of. 

In this case it was about a family of benefit cheats who were draining the hard working tax payer funded system.

As you no doubt know, I was hailed a hero for my letter, and given the nick name “Mrs Mountable, Massive Matriarch” then as word spread and it made the nationals the children of the family were taken into care and all the windows in their house were smashed by bricks bearing the word “SCUM”

People feel very strongly about this subject and WHO CAN BLAME THEM.

Tiresomely for me it transpired that they weren’t claiming benefits at all. They both were working two jobs in order to pay for their seven children some of whom also had jobs and one of whom, irritatingly has some heart condition or other. 

But by this time I was a celebrity and bringing my truth and light to a twice monthly presenting job on “Now, Then, Britain” Show, which as you all know has me meeting the great unwashed in the local community, weeding out a target and leading a mob of their neighbours to their door where we confront them with the facts on camera. Then viewers phone into to vote who gets tarred and feathered and the runners up get an ASBO. It's hugley popular ratings wise. People love justice you see.

Anyway the original benefit cheat  family (The TV Company solicitors wish to stress the family  were absolved of all charges) were too busy fighting to regain custody of their children, to bother trying to sue me. Not that they could afford to anyway, so fortunately it died a death. Rather like the wife, who had a heart attack from all the stress.

Anyway let's not dwell on that. The point is that no publicity is bad publicity and the producers of "Now, Then, Britain" saw me as just the, 'shooting from the hip PC hating', presenter they were looking for.

The British Public know what they like and they like what they know, and my dears they definitely liked me and before I knew where I was, I was a star.

Little old humble, kind hearted, straight talking, no nonsense, feminist fulminating, scrounger deriding, benefit cheat exposing, communist loathing, Tory Trumpeting, true blue, me.

I’m now the nations favourite truth talking, internet sensation and to be honest, it was about time.

And I’ll tell you for why.

I uphold the greatest aspect of all Great Britain’s greatest aspects. Free Speech.

I met with my newly acquired Management Company for a 'brainstorming session' recently and it was an eye opener, I can tell you that for nothing.

“Hey Mrs M” said Ben online reputation management guru, part time DJ, skate boarding champion and stunt kite demonstrator par excellence “We need to talk branding”

I wasn’t familiar but I waited patiently.

“Ok so the deal as I see it with you is exposure.  I’m thinking 'if you want to crack some mother fucking eggs you better be making a rationalised mother fucking omelette' You get me?”

No but I ignored that.

He unveiled his ten-point strategy. 

“We need to totally maximise your appeal. You’re a mother and a housewife and we need to sex that straight to the heart of the public. Are you with me? BUT we also need to maximise your compassion as a mother fucking priority, because and this is crucial, that way you can say and do whatever the fuck you like and still get away with it. Like with that family of benefit cheats (Again completely cleared of all charges and our sympathy goes to the family at this difficult time) Now how would you feel about getting a facelift on live TV?”

My familiarity with his concept was as far removed as he appeared to be, from a good shave and a decent haircut. However I remained stoically silent.

“I’ll tell you what I told all my other clients the future is compassion, compassion, compassion because that is now where the really big money lies. I’m thinking “Thadcher” but with a heart as big as the queues for the food banks. We need to talk “stradegy” and we need to talk “charidee”. You’re on “Twidder” right?”

I nodded yet found his pronunciation of the letter T, as the letter D odd.

“Well that is A-FUCKING- MAZING. what are you seventy, eighty? Doesn't "madder" forget age it's just a mother fucking number, Social networking is where it’s at now. 
We get to control your online reputation. Get to the people. Straight to the people and mother fucking DO IT NOW.

Get to those bastards, before your competition does do, you know?. Change the online conversation, you get me?  Because those dull Twats who AREN’T talking about you NEED to be TALKING ABOUT YOU? YOU GET ME?

 Someone’s writing a shitty blog? We manage it. Fucked up PC language wise? We manage it. Have you ever saved a life? Prevented a crime? Performed open-heart surgery on a cross channel ferry with nothing but a crochet hook and memories of an episode of Holby City to reference? Well you mother fucking will now because. We MANAGE it.

 We flood the mother fucking online conversational traffic with those little gems until the mother fucking masses are wanking themselves into a repetitive strain injury. YOU GET ME???”

This last was repeatedly punctuated by an annoying and repeated sniff, which I assumed meant he had both an adenoid condition and a nanny who hadn’t reminded him that Master Handkerchief was his dearest friend.

“I see, “ I said not seeing at all but wishing I'd brought my breath mints to offer him, or at least my miniature fan.

“Let’s get you allied to tragedy ASAP. Know any unfortunates?” His assistant Elspeth coughed loudly.  Ben eyed her wildly “Oh yeah… I fucking mean know any disableds? It's just disability is so in, since the paralympics it's really hot? And so now? Compassion wise? I mean don't bother with the adults unless they're a paralympian no offence but no- one wants to see that, but if you could find a child BINGO. Mischief mother fucking managed negative benefit cheat family wise (Completely absolved of all charges and again apologies and deepest sympathies) You get me?"

Rather fortunately for everyone my friend Susan has a handicapped “grandchild” and so I asked them all to have lunch with me at the photographers. When they arrived, I explained there was no lunch but I would so love to have a photo with them all. Except that when I said "all" that didn't include Susan and the child's mother.

It's all very awkward but I must be honest dears.

As darling Piers is a Tory Councillor sadly on occasion we have to meet the public who are like this and although they have my pity, one doesn't like to prolong these conversations. 

Sooner or later they start to complain or they start to tell you their stories.

You can barely finish explaining about the fabulous celebrity bash-wise you’ve been to or recount a hilarious Amanda Holden themed mix up baguette-wise; before they plough into some dull tale of benefits or pain management or the such like.

Also they just make having a good laugh so much more difficult when they're around.The numbers of people we are allowed to openly laugh at is diminishing by the day, dears.
Ben has shown me the list now.
Fortunately there are still some who the nation permits us to mock and  If I want to laugh at the disabled I will, but not to their faces because they get so annoyed.

As I say, I don’t like to complain we needed to find a disabled child to limit the damage of those scroungers (Again totally exhonerated), after the mother died (Deepest sympathy) so up Susan pitched with little Sophie, and the child's awful mother.

Sophie’s mother, I forget her name, looked like she needed a decent night's sleep and definitely needed to be taken down a peg or two. People like her are really nothing in the grand scheme of things, yet think they can instruct the rest of us, need reminding who is the real power in this country. 

She began pleasantly enough knowing her place and not bothering me unless spoken to first, but then as our time together wore on, she started speaking to me at will.

She took a very dim view of my thorough knowledge of diversity. When I asked a harmless question about whether or not Sophie was likely to bite me and if so whether she had been recently vaccinated against Tetanus, she was incredibly rude.

And it went from bad to worse as I realised this woman was simply not shutting up and kept bothering me incessantly with her opinions. As if they matter to me.  

Her job was to show up, get the child photographed with me, which is actually doing her a huge favour, then as Ben put it in his crude, Olde Worlde Vernacular "Fuck OFF"

Eventually we got there. We managed to wrestle a wonderful photo-op of me as mother-earth against all odds and the child was finally still enough, to make me look interested. The mother had been holding it’s favourite toy Thomas the Tank engine, out of shot and predictably took a loudly dim view of my helpfully suggesting using gaffer tape to ensure the child remained in it’s place.

You simply can’t say anything these days.  

The mother really was an odd sort of person.

When she wasn’t crying that Sophie was in her strange opinion “being amazing” and how great it was that we "were all doing this", as if we cared; she was holding forth on her opinions on everything from the government, to hate crime (whatever that means) to disability benefits. When we took a short break and I clicked my fingers at Elspeth, indicating I was ready for my Daily Mail and a latte, the woman utterly broke with the pre-explained protocol and sat beside me telling me how awful the Daily Mail is for hounding benefit claimants.The very idea. 

When she began to lecture me on the Holocaust and the treatment of disableds I’m very afraid dears, I had, had my fill. So I raised a hand and explained that if she was going to continue with this, I was going to be sick.

I mean honestly why not simply ignore these things? Why people have to be so determined to be offended by every little thing is beyond me. And who on earth wants to know about that part of history? 

We know everything we need to know about disabled people these days, thank you. 

Most of them as I've learnt now are faking their conditions for benefits. 

She was also furious and raised her voice to me when I suggested that if we returned to the good old days of institutions. then they wouldn’t be out and about getting friends who beat them up in the first place, would they? I have a right to express my opinion. She had no right to disagree with that.

Very thin skinned woman that one and I'm not at all entirely sure completely stable, because eventually I lost my temper and put her straight on a few things which she definitely needed pointing out. It really was for her own good.

She looked at me as though for the first time said "Oh I see now" and started crying.

I've no idea how she expected me to respond. I was saved her boring answer and instead turned my back, as we all should on attention seekers and told Sophie’s grandma Susan about Ben’s determination to get me on the Jonathan Ross show. Oddly she appeared not to hear.

Anyway “Brand Mountable”  ploughed on to the best of all our abilities, which in little Sophie’s case was tiresomely small. Unless you count screaming as ability and I definitely don’t.

My necessarily “compassion-close” proximity to the child was much harder for me than her. Ben had insisted that it was great for the “whole, image-visualisation, brand focussed, delivery package”.

The child has no right to scream that way anyway, because she reacts very badly when others do it. It's poor mothering pure and simple.When I learned that my car had gone to the wrong photographic studio and I would now be 10 minutes late for lunch I was justifiably furious.

I was stooped and ready to hug Sophie for the camera when the car news came and rightly I upbraided Elspeth. I screamed “I want it outside in the disabled parking bay ASAP or they will be looking for another job by morning”

I was, as always, proved correct when bizarrely little Sophie clamped her hands over her ears firmly and started to cry. The little hypocrite. I told her to stop it immediately, so she screamed in my face and ran off outside, with her mother dramatically running after her. I don’t remember that in Rainman.

Anyway as this prompted another short break, I was doing a rather funny impression of little Sophie’s mannerisms, to much hilarity. But it was all ruined because everyone heard the mother shouting like the hysteric that she is. This was followed by a screech of brakes which made everyone rush to the door.

Elspeth screamed and Ben shouted “Oh Fuck it’s Mrs M’s driver, Christ what if they SUE” . I dislike attention seekers, so I ignored it all and checked my make up.

It’s not as though the car actually hit her anyway. It just grazed the mother slightly. 

At the post photoshoot brainstorm, Ben was suitable forthright. Unfortunately he chose to massage my shoulders as he spoke. I really don't like it when the little people touch me. But he's part of my team so I have to be nice to him.

“Fuck it Mrs M" He drawled "We’ll find one that sits still next time. Don’t worry about it there’s a million of them out there. They should be mother-fucking grateful that you gave them any time at all. You’re Mrs fucking Mountable who the fuck are they? If anything surfaces we’ll just deny it,  or ignore it. Who’s going to believe some nobody fucking carer anyway. She’ll probably top herself soon. God knows, I would if I had to put up with that shit, day after day?”

Anyway I remain as ever, committed and determined to bringing my compassion and kindhearted understanding, straight talking and no nonsense back to our great nation.

To maintain my assurances that my humbly enjoyed, yet compassionately deployed and publicly placed, celebrity persona, is shining brighter than ever. Because ultimately dears who needs truth these days? As hairy Ben quite rightly told me “Bollocks to the truth Mrs M. We dole it out and the ignorant fuckers lap it up. It’s their own fault really. Sure a few get trampled in the wake, but fuck 'em, life's cruel”

Dear Ben, I’m really starting to like him and he has been extraordinarily helpful. But he is rather expensive and if he doesn’t get me my own reality TV show by Christmas he will, as he would say, be “Mother fucking fired”

The wonderful Daily Mail

Dears I've been so saddened that once again the communists are spreading their depressingly dull rants about a British Institution which has gladdened the hearts of many a conservative lady such as myself in a vain attempt to bring us to our knees.

So I say loud and proud to the cynics and hairy layabouts out there, you will take our Daily Mail only from our cold dead hands.

The Daily Mail has for many a year led the way on truth and information in this country.

Whilst the exposed toes of the sandal wearing, tofu eating, poor people championing, "mate of a mate is something in the third sector" referencing, Guardian readers may curl in pleasure at some Gay marriage story this or Benefit scrounger story that; The Daily Mail has remained unyielding in its dogged pursuit of the truth and the light and the vulnerable and the unaware.

I'm now fully acquainted with the hundreds of potentially cancer causing dangers, which stalk my every waking hour, and fully abreast with which celebrity has let herself go in the cellulite department.

The daily antics of the Middletons, blushing bride,  pleasingly bottomed sister and middle class mother too. Speaking of stalked pregnancies how would I know who has bounced back from motherhood with a pleasingly flat stomach and who has tempted divorce-fate by venturing from the house make up free and bingo wings a dangle, without the Daily Mail and their long lenses?

Well the truth is dears I wouldn't and I'll tell you for why.

The Daily Mail is super-vigilant of many potential dangers so I don't have to be.

From, Gay lifestyles, to decent tax-payer immigrant supporting horror, through to fake wheelchair occupants. I'm up to speed, dears. I didn't see them unable to walk a few yards last summer. They were running and jumping and bouncing around no end for a gold medal, so they can jolly well earn their benefits and stack shelves in Poundland now, like some of the rest of us.

Why I wouldn't even understand that benefit dependence is a factor in murder, if it wasn't for the Daily Mail bringing me my news in a crisply framed headline and a woman judging online sidebar.

It's all there. Showbiz, make up tips, political news and many, many articles on how women have let themselves age, gained weight and caused the breakdown of society by not remaining at home to raise their offspring or indeed not having children at all, which is of course very wrong of them.

Then there are the columnists like dear Samantha Brick who many ugly women hate because she is so pretty and my own poster girl for the straight talking brigade, Melanie Phillips.
Dear Liz Jones too offers her eccentricity in a perfectly digestible way. She may have been known to purloin the contents of a spent prophylactic, but who hasn't dears?

At least she WANTED a baby. Unlike so many of these hirsute feminists who rant on about women's rights ad nauseum and who seem to be wanting to making abortion COMPULSORY.  No dears, feminism isn't for myself or my friends we'd much rather read the Daily Mail.

In conclusion I will leave you with an urgent plea for reason. Don't spend your day filling your head with liberal leftist nonsense and guff. Step away from that Guardian PUT DOWN THE DAILY MIRROR.

Especially ignore that hideous HUGH GRANT. What a huge disappointment he has turned out to be . He has turned his back on his own and sided with the bearded trots.  WELL GOOD RIDDANCE HUGH.

Embrace the good sense and PC free Daily Mail. Let your heart swell and imagine our rolling hills, close your eyes to the sound of a summers day on the cricket veranda, of smiling blue eyed, blonde haired children, of an England to be proud of. Mummy in the kitchen in her apron checking on Daddy's dinner as she dutifully awaits his return. Of the caravan club, and the WI and the cheerful bobby on the beat, playfully punching a scamp around the head for some misdemeanour.
People didn't care about human rights then, they were too busy earning a decent crust, drink driving with impunity and digging for Victory.

THOSE WERE THE DAYS and The Daily Mail just wants them back . Then know the enemies to this vision, this England, OUR ENGLAND ANDTHEY REMAIN VIGILENT!!!!!!

God bless the Daily Mail ignore your critics and detractors.

I've been reading you for years and it certainly hasn't done me any harm.

Stop bullying, Ian (Iain) Duncan Smith

It's a struggle being an internet sensation dears but I'm breaking away from my hectic schedule to share more of my thoughts. Here is my Question to all communists and whingers

Why on Earth is everyone being so horrible to lovely, Iain Duncan Smith.

I suppose common sense against the wall of hysterical nonsense is to be expected, as a TRUE BLUE conservative my hackles are raised and I’m wading into the fray. I’m a champion of truth and justice and irrespective of my own personal TORMENT, I heard the call for assistance so I’m coming dears.

Let’s leave aside for the moment that the poor man can’t spell his own name correctly and focus instead on a FANTASTIC interview he gave to the equally fantastic BBC news people  who quite rightly illustrated their own piece on benefit scroungers with a photo of hoodlums.

It maybe unpopular with namby pamby lefties but Ian (I’ve corrected for him) is absolutely correct. People who drain the decent, kind hearted, unselfish, right thinking, tax payers filled coffers of this great country such as my Tory husband, need to be reminded of a few FACTS.

And I’ll tell you for why

1)   Ian is a good person who is working hard (commuting from his £2million home which his father in law generously lent to him ) on this bank holiday not answering any questions about benefit changes affecting millions of people. Why should he it’s his DAY OFF.

2)   Everything is Labours fault. Poor people often vote Labour ergo Poor people caused the economic meltdown.

3)   I know of many many, rumours which have reached my ears of mansions and chauffeur driven limousines at tax payers expense. But the cabinet need those in order to TARGET THE POOR

4)   Poor people smell. Therefore what decent minded, nasally functional Minister for The Department of Work and Pensions would want to spend time in the company of those who will be challenging.

5)   Poor people often live in the North and in the Midlands.

6)   Disabled people are easier to attack as many of them fake things and even genuine ones can’t necessarily fight back. You do the maths dears.

To those who claim that this government is cynically targeting poor and sick and disabled people, populated as it is with highly educated privileged white men, making decisions for the rest of us , I say this.

They know best

Firstly and most importantly they are all men and secondly  they have been able to understand the challenges of poverty from the distance of wealth and therefore understand better. When it comes to poor people it's often better to view them from a distance I find.

 Ian himself has said he could live on £7 a day. Why on earth would anyone question that? I have absolutely no idea other than overt communism. 

What would some complaining harridan, raising 6 children alone, trying to decide between heating and eating, whilst she struggles to attend appointments for her chemotherapy and caring also for elderly relatives with dementia, know of the busy life of our leaders?

What on earth could she possibly know of how hard it is to struggle with real life problems like the 50 pence rate of tax, or the children's nanny suddenly announcing she has been asked to be maid of honour at her twin sisters wedding DURING WIMBLEDON FORTNIGHT? 

Nothing that’s what. She doesn’t have a clue.

She doesn't have a clue about the real problems faced by the the most marginalised group in our society, super rich people .

This is why I urge you all to join with me in thanking Ian Duncan Smith for being a dedicated champion of those who really need him now more than ever.

The rich.

It is them who need our understanding pity and help more than ever before. It’s the same as  the bankers who will flee our glorious shores if we expect them to act like the rest of us. A million pound bonus doesn’t go that far dears when you have overheads. But will you communists listen? No you will not.

As for those on benefits or whingeing about the spare room subsidy, I have (like dear, sensible and pretty Louise Mention) absolutely no pity at all.  My cleaner is often tired at the end of a 7 day week cleaning one of our houses. You will benefit from the break if you just LISTEN TO THE CONSERVATIVES

I simply don't see the problem.

Remember dears, if they have nothing, they have nothing to lose .

I'll leave you with a song which Amelia has internetted over to me. It's rare for the two of us to be in agreement on the issues of politics but she sent it with the words "here's one for you and all your mates" 

I can't make the film work , you all may have more luck with that, but as I sat here listening to his pure sweet voice soaring through our vestibule He reminded me so of Piers as a young chorister with his vision of a political future just a distant dream.

I'm sure you'll agree, the words were so inspirational.

I'd never heard it before but it's a rather wonderful song of hope for the future. Most importantly In my humble opinion, it sends a clear message echoing the aspiration that many in the cabinet talk of so often.

Kathleen is a fat-calfed WHORE

My dears I take pen in hand to bring to you a story of horror and woe so deep so incalculable that I’m all of a tremble.

It can best be summed up thus, MY LIFE IS OVER.

Piers my one true love, my Lord of Loveland, my bastion of succour, my dream boat of the Cuddling Line, has been bedazzled and enchanted by the whore of Babylon. His assistant, Kathleen.

It was Sunday last as I was viewing the spectacle of dear Boris being horribly harangued by that Eddie Mair, though the serving hatch,  that my world as I knew it shattered.

He came in to the kitchen, sat at the banquette asked where his fungal foot-cream was then said the words that will remain burned into my heart FOREVER.

He said.  “Kathleen thinks she’s pregnant so I’m off”

Then pausing only to attach our two-berth caravan, The Happy Wanderer, to the Range Rover he was gone.

This is entirely that she witches fault. She has ensnared, she has charmed, she has purloined my HUSBAND.

I will not deny my own culpability.

The ways of the front bottom have always been and will remain a mystery to me. But my union with Piers has always been of the cerebral kind. I often feel that we are modelled on the traditional form of marital union. Like the Thatchers, Dennis and Maggie or their American friends The Reagans,  Sid and Nancy.  

I’m not like the young women of today who are tattooed this and pierced that and speak of the ways of love with a familiarity and confidence, which I find frankly terrifying in all its graphic complexity.

It’s pre-marital cunnilingus, right left and centre these days and it’s wrong.

No it is as a mother and devoted wife that I view the future as a single parent with much trepidation. I cannot believe that, that northern hell-whore thinks nothing of our little ones.  Our son Tarquin has been at my side throughout and I suppose Amelia has tried to help a bit. I could have done without Tarquin’s friend Eileen wafting incense and babbling mantra’s but fumigating our home after she left , has at least given me a distraction from my torment.

I do not blame Piers, dears and I hope you don’t either.

And I’ll tell you for why.

Men are but as slaves to their urges and baser desires and so I fully understand that he was unable to contain himself once SHE had a firm grasp of his primordial desires.

BUT A PREGNANCY? Fortunately this has proved to be nothing more than a ruse as a contact in the local chemist has tipped me the wink on that one. I name no names but let us leave it with the news that a prescription has very recently been filled of the contraception description.

I send my last word to Piers.

“Pumpkin patch I plead with you to return. I forgive you and know that we have a bond, which is stronger than mere bedroom fumblings. I blame myself and I blame the hell whore but I do not blame you. Also according to my contact in the chemist you will need to dip your peeny-weeny in disinfectant, as I gather Kathleen has pubic lice.

All my love from your, understanding, FORGIVING and devoted wife Abishag Mountable”

My grueling interview with the head of the Human Atheists Andrew Copson

As I’m a very broad-minded Christian lady and although I don’t have time to go to church myself, I’m very keen to understand why anyone would choose not to benefit from the love of our saviour.

I’m well known for being kind and considerate and I endeavor to remain at all times open minded and keen to learn, so I spoke recently to the head of the Human Atheists cult, Andrew Copson to find out more about their ways and beliefs.


Hello Andrew please could you state your full name for the record?

Andrew Copson

Thank you we will begin gently with a light question to put you at your ease. Is that all right with you?

Go ahead.

What is your favourite flavour of ice cream, why do you hate God and why are you trying to ban religion?

I don't hate god because I don't believe that such a thing exists, though I don't like what the idea of god makes some people do. I don't want to ban religion, though I do want to end the discrimination and privilege that many religions perpetrate and which the law in the UK currently allows. My favourite ice cream is cherry and chocolate.

Why do you want to destroy the institution of marriage by calling for equal marriage? It is already equal as it is open to both ladies and men, who are quite at liberty to marry one another. Also I’m married so that must mean that you hate myself and my husband. WHY DO YOU HATE MYSELF AND MY HUSBAND ANDREW?

I'm sure your husband is a perfectly charming, civilized and long-suffering man. The argument for equal marriage is simple. (1) Gay and bisexual people should not be discriminated against in access to human and civil rights. (2) The right to enter into a legal marriage is a civil right. (3) The right to legal recognition for your marriage should therefore be extended to same-sex couples. Rather than destroy the institution of marriage such a reform would strengthen it, by making it more relevant to our more tolerant and open society.

Why are you trying to ban Christmas? Does that not, by extension mean that your organization hates love and family and presents?

I love Christmas. Not just because I love spending time with my family and giving presents, though I do, but because I think it's good to have a moment in the year when you take a step back, rest, and in the depths of winter, remember that we are halfway through it and that there is light and warmth in the world. That is the purpose of mid-winter festivals all over the word and was the purpose of them long before Christianity co-opted it and called it Christmas.




Can we address the fact that you are trying to ban the Boy Scout Movement. Brownie movement and Girl Guide movement. I myself was a sixer, and my husband Piers was very fond of his woggle Andrew, so I ask you this .Why? YES OR NO.

Both the Scouts and Guides say they want to be inclusive of all young people. A majority of young people are not religious and a very large number don't believe in any gods. By making and oath or a promise to god compulsory, any organization is clearly not inclusive. If they want to be inclusive, they have to let in non-religious young people join.

Human Atheists claim that they don’t believe in God, Surely by choosing not to believe in God you are believing that He exists?

Firstly, you can't just 'choose' what to believe exists. If you think something might exist you go me look for evidence that it does. If you find such evidence, it's a good provisional conclusion that the thing in question exists. I can't see any good evidence to believe in and god, so I don't. 

Michael Gove recently decided that he was introducing the teaching of The Theory of Evolution by known crackpot Charles Darwin to primary schools. How can you support this? Aren’t children deserving of our love and protection rather than being taught fairy tales and rumour?

In their science lessons, children should be taught ideas that have been subject to scientific investigation and have known validity as a result. Evolution is one such idea. It is foundational to modern biology and if our children don't learn it, they will be justifiably thought ignorant in the eyes of the world and embarrassingly so.

In terms of aggressive human atheists Andrew, none is more sneakily aggressive than the well-known quiet explainer Professor Richard Dawkins. He may use measured tones and well thought out reasoned argument, but it’s simply a ruse Andrew. As you adopt the same approach please explain why we should listen to this offensive nonsense?

I don't mind whether you listen or not. But I do think that reasoned argument, good manners and an open approach are a good way to conduct discussions in a civilized society. I hope you come to think so too.

Why do you want to ban the wearing of crucifixes? This is clearly oppressing and offending many people. Why?

I don't want to ban the wearing of religious symbols but there are some circumstances where the wearing of them might conflict with an obligation of employment or affect the rights of others, and then we need to balance rights. An example is a primary school teacher who wants to wear a burqa. This would clearly interfere with her ability to do her job and the right of children to education.

Another example is a nurse who wants to wear a cross on a chain when working on wards. If it dangles in a way that might interfere with his duties, then it is reasonable to ask him to tuck it away or wear it on a pin instead. If a therapist working with people traumatized by clerical sex abuse wants to wear a visible crucifix, we might say that was inappropriate and insensitive or damaging to her vulnerable clients and say she could not do so.

You seem to have many supporters in the “show business community” can we understand from this that human Atheists have infiltrated every level of society to a TERRIFYING degree?

You can if you want to. Or you could take it as an indication that more and more people in every sphere of life are seeing the benefits of standing up for values and meaning in the here and now, a more humane approach to ethics, and a more open and fair society for all. I welcome that, perhaps some people may find it terrifying and I'm sorry that you do. But the right approach to fear is not to let it turn into anger and hate, but to be brave. If we are afraid because we feel in danger, we must be rational, cultivate a disinterested perspective from which to assess the real threat.  If we are afraid because we do not understand something, we must have intellectual courage: be brave enough to explore and be curious.

If we are afraid of someone because we do not know them, we must take a leap and try to know them: be brave enough to understand them, try to use our empathy and imaginative sympathy. 

Maybe you could try that?