Mutton dressed as Lamb

Well, today's result came as no surprise to the many who have viewed the England rugby team's shambolic progress towards ignominious defeat today at the hands of the French. Zut alors, merde et all that. From the heady days of Romania to a frankly depressing display today.

But, isn't this typical of the British? Always wanting to be something they're not. It's many a year since Britannia bestrode the globe and that sun is unlikely to ever rise again. Gordon Brown famously claimed to have solved the  issue of boom-and-bust and later apparently saved the world from financial meltdown. Erm... nope. Don't think so.

And what about Saturday night's consolation offering? Bloody X Factor. Why don't they be honest and call it Ex Factor, thus recognising the hopelessly anachronistic programme format, coupled with the equally hopelessly has-been nature of the supposed 'abilities' displayed. Who the fuck is Cheryl Cole and why do so many slack-jawed, dribbling, tallow-complexioned, lard-arsed delusionists want to be her?

Lardy by name and lardy by nature, as 'to lard' means to embellish, to aggrandise, to lie through your teeth that your pathetic ability to snort milk through your nose while picking scabs off your odious, flabby jowls with a fungal-infected toenail somehow increases the sum total of world talent. You are not even entertaining, you are not even merely pathetic, you are simply surplus to requirements - another easy target for my population reduction programme.

So, here we are, back in the real world of the United Dingdom, where you do as you're told, work hard, achieve by your efforts and get rewarded by your results, just like England did an hour or so ago. Let mutton be mutton, let lamb be lamb and if you want either (or today's special: Mexican chilli beef sausages) go to a proper butchers like Taylors. That's a link by the way and you can order by email!