The Bugle - Bugle 4136 - 2019 in review

Episode Date: January 11, 2020

Well, 2019 was utterly bizarre. To prove it, Andy shares the 1st half of his take on the year.Also, we have a new show, please subscribe to The Last Post here: http://pod.link/TheLastPost Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Dancelaguard fans, you will be thrilled to know a book is coming out if you fund it via Unbound. We are publishing the Dancelaguard Reader by Alice Fraser and Dancelaguard, a glorious insight into the world of Dancelaguard, self-published romance maven, and online bestseller. If you would like to find out how to support it, go to thebugelpodcast.com. If we get enough support, we will publish the book. That's a real thing that's going to happen. Thebugelpodcast.com to a real thing that's going to happen. TheBugelPodcast.com to support the Danseer Lagarde Reader. Hello, Buglers.

Producer Chris here. We continue to receive missives from this parallel universe. At least we think that's what it is. What is it with half a glass of water? And what's going on with you, New New Zealand? I don't know, but the last post does. So please give it a listen. Subscribe now in Apple podcasts, Spotify and all the other good places. Play,

play, play, play, play. New, water, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, newleers, I am Andy Zoltzman and welcome to issue 4136 of the Bugle. This is not a normal bugle episode, but I am counting it as a full bugle, please do not argue with me, what you are about to enjoy, sorry, enjoy, I'm always getting those two mixed up. This week is a big old chunk of my 2019 D-certifiable history show from the wonderful Soho Theatre in London. This week's Beagle is in fact the entire unedited first half of that show, and in fact the first half was quite a lot longer than the second half, if that makes sense. Let's just call it a half anyway, I mean that wasn't really an interval, it was just that the show had two main sections up. Look, it doesn't matter. Anyway, that's what you're about to hear

A few notes. The bugle bleep machine has been switched off. There will be no bleeps this week So if you are listening to the bugle on a large portable speaker in a nursing home for the easily offended and linguistically sensitive Please be warned. It is all artistically justified, of course, but I do say quite a lot. Off, I said switch it off. Thank you, Christopher. The show was recorded on the 3rd of January, so the odd line might have dated a little, and there are a few lines that you may recognise if you've been listening to recent bugles, but not too many though, I think, and some of the most successful franchises in the world after all rely on saying the same thing every week, over and over again, for all of time, mentioning no major global religions. Also, whilst there

is no full new bugle episode this week, please bear in mind that it wouldn't have counted anyway, because all the news in the world, and this is a planet after all that is wobbling on the edge of various precipices, like an indecisive spoil for choice 1920 silent movie star. Well, everything has been rendered completely irrelevant by Prince Harry and Meghan, sensationally abandoned Britain just when we needed them most. How is our manufacturing sector going to recover without them? How do parents like me explain to our children that Prince Andrew is in effect closer to becoming King than he was a week ago?

And how we're going to survive economically as a nation. If we cannot marry off Meghan and Harry's holy royal progenies to the Saudi Arabian royal family or Mark Zuckerberg's kids or whatever alien being Elon Musk brings back from space in the next 20 years are long term plans are out the window. So because of this all human life is on hold right now so we might as well listen to my stand up review of 2019. We join the action at the Soho Theatre shortly before the scheduled start of the show. There have already, I must say, been a few ominous sounding off-stage announcements about voices being raised in the dressing room, about Andy's

ultimate. That's me, apparently being in floods of tears. And there are doubts over exactly what is going on. And then this absolute bombshell. Ladies and gentlemen, we do now have further updates for you on the situation. Unfortunately, Andy's ultimate has cancelled tonight's show. He will hold a press conference to explain which will commence imminently. At this point, you can hear Alice Fraser pushing a lectern onto the stage. A truly sensational level of theatricality, I'm sure you can imagine. Hello everybody, thank you for coming. I'm Andrew Sultzman's press secretary.

We sincerely apologise for the cancellation of the show and it will be coming out in a minute to make a brief statement. We would please ask for no flash photography, a flash painting or flash sculpting. We strongly believe that portraying the form of Andy Salzman in any medium is an offence to the gods. And he isn't enough trouble with enough of them already. Also, we would request kindly no screaming and no throwing of underwear. Please calmly place your underwear in the bins provided. And you will be taking some questions afterwards. Please sit in Stony Silence and welcome to the stage, Mr. Andrews' Ultzman. Ysgwch, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'n gwybod, ac yw'r gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i'n gael oedd ymdyn nhw i' official chronicler of the year in these certifiable history shows, very, very seriously indeed.

For the past four years, I've performed this satirical review of the year show here at the Soho Theatre, in its eye attempt to cast comedic light on the events of the previous 12 months to hold up, if you will, the Medusa of Satire to the already reinforced concrete face of politics. However, this year, this past year 2019 has absolutely fucking beaten me. Hands up 2019 5 and his ultraman nil, it has goose me up, pluck a proper haddock. This last year has been too ridiculous, even for me. And bear in mind, I make a living talking bullshit for a living, and I'm assessing about cricket statistics to a literally professional level. I know

ridiculous when I say it. And 2019 was, to all practical intents and purposes, a fake year. It was a fake year, it was like not BC all over again. Furthermore, when in 2016 I first agreed to do a yearly review show beginning in mid-to-late December looking back at the political 12 months. That decision was taken safe in the knowledge that with the Fix Term Parliament Act. Safely in place, there would definitely not be even a single other general fucking election until deep in the year 20 fucking 20. Moreover, given that Britain had not had a December general election for almost 100 years, this seemed like the perfect time of year for doing a show that did not have to be fucking rewritten for fucking days before the fucking long fucking started. However, due to a combination of unforeseen circumstances, including a fringe political issue of infantile internal conservative party squabbling of no great public concern, being forcibly metastasized into an unendable psychological

chundestorm, fracturing the entire United Kingdom, in an unwinnable game of tantrum tennis as British politics re-aligned into a human centipede of blame, resentment, recrimination, and dropped out delusionism, which put a generation against generation, nation against nation, region against region, family against family, fiction against fiction, bubble against bubble and perception against reality. In an unprecedented battle what I would call naval gazing, if only it wasn't really so much naval gazing as performing open stomach surgery on ourselves on our own national kitchen table using a jar of peanut butter as the anesthetic. Occasionally looking up how to do surgery on the internet and then

thinking no we're British we know best. Then hacking ourselves open with a rusty bread and I've tried to read the future from our still twitching entrail saying yes, yes, I've seen it, there it is, the will of the people, look everyone, the will of the people, or is that a half digestive sausage? Or are they indeed one of the same these days? Ow, that hurts. If only scalples weren't illegal, thank you, Brussels, before collapsing like an overstretched metaphor, then because of that, whatever I was talking about, the start of this sentence did in fact come about. And it was again yes the general election four days before the start of this run which began

on the 16th of December. So what was the point of carefully writing, honing, rehearsing and perfecting a show when I would have to redo the whole thing less than 100 hours right before the gala opening night? do the whole thing in less than 100 hours right before the gala opening night. Now admittedly, as those of you who have seen me before may know, that is not how I've ever done any of my previous shows. It is not possible at all. Furthermore, what is the point of doing a show when you have no idea even of what news has been breaking since walking on stage? How long have I been on now? Total silence. Typical of the

ignorance and apathy of the British public. I've been on just like a few minutes on. God, no, I don't even look at the news. Now I just guess what's happened and it's never as bad as things actually turn out. I imagine by now Boris Johnson has announced that he's extending the white clips of Dover. It's like 800 meters up and 500 miles around with a special asylum-resistant coating. Incidentally, I love a statistic. White Cliff of Dover is the average Brexit voter. I do have a cap for you.

I assume by now health secretary Matt Hancock has announced other conservatives are building 1,250 brand new hospitals. On the ground, they're not dropping atomic bombs and any of the hospitals that already exist Which is an effect. It's an effect the same thing, isn't it? It isn't the same thing if you think about it while being held face down in a bucket of bullshit custard And by now I assume that Donald Trump has a one fact nothing nothing I could write in this gap here nothing I could write in this gap Could be as fucking ridiculous as what he's probably done.

I was just thinking to myself last night that what this world really needed was an extra judicial killing in a region that's been a political tinderbox pretty much ever since God pointed at and said, yeah, round them out there, that'll do. This already fundamentally pointless show is rendered further futile when I think ahead to what may have happened by the end of the run on the 8th of January, by when Nigel Farage will be on television 25 hours a day, 8 days a week saying, well it isn't real Brexit because we're still physically attached to the earth. It's not Brexit, we've blasted ourselves into space and are drifting independently, but Britishly through the endless

vacuum of the universe, which is what the people voted for in 2016. By the 8th of January, the S&P will be camped out to the walls of York for old timesake. And Nicholas Sturgeon will be painted a head-to-toe in wood, riding a wicker unicorn, eating a voodoo Winston Churchill and screaming, hi, I'm Sturgeon or the annihilator. And I will turn England into a haggish milkshake. We can't take that chance. On the 8th of January, Boris Johnson will be slapping his cock on the senator,

saying, is there nothing, nothing I can do that will stop you supporting me. Leading to newspaper headlines on the 9th of January from the Tory Supporting Media, saying, Boris Johnson's wang pays Tribute to the Fallen. LAUGHTER And this bit itself about what might have happened by the end of the round and has already been made pointless, but what's happened in the last 24 fucking hours? A worst start to a decade since the asteroid funked out the dinosaurs on the first of January 6 million BC. 66 million BC, very important to get that. That's right, I'm going to fall sick. o'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch ymdwch ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch ymdwch ymdwch yw'r ymdwch ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch yw'r ymdwch ymdwch ymdwch ymdwch ymdwch yw'r ymdwch ymdwch ymdwch ymdwch ymdwch ymdwch yw'r ymdwch y So generally, how I write the shows, I generally begin it in mid to late December, running through to early January,

is every year at 5am on the 1st of January, I get up, I sit down on my desk, I get on my typewriter, and I write 100 different versions of the show based on what I expect to happen over the course of the year. Then on the first day of the run in December, I just picked the one that's proved most accurate. And do that. But this year, I have 100 absolutely unusable shows, 100 hours of gold dust routines that no one will ever hear now, including this one. This was a superb routine that I wrote.

The Theresa May wins a Nobel Prize for Compromise routine. That's gone. The wonderful routine reflects on how Theresa May won a landslide victory in a snap summer election with 99% of the vote after reaching the perfect Brexit compromise, a 1,000 year transition period, which pleased both sides by not giving but also definitely not

giving, either side what they wanted, but also not giving either side what they didn't want, or did not want, the other side to also have and or not have. I think I might have got that slightly wrong. Anyway, the point is that's the confusion we're in. Does anyone feel sorry for Theresa May? No, I feel a little bit sorry for Theresa May. I do not think we can blame Theresa May for her failure, leaving up to her departure from office in 2019 for her failure to drive our national Robin Reliant

to the summit of the Kilimanjaro of Brexit. I think we can blame her for the fact that she crashed that Robin Reliant 10 times into the same tree. On the A23 heading south outside Croydon. She essentially failed with a one thing to do list, which is quite impressive oeddwn i'n gwybod. Mae'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r

gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r which is essentially what happened to Theresa May. And to Theresa May for me was very much like a golfer in a Forums game of golf.

Forums like you see in the rider company, take alternate shots with your partner. And her partner has played an absolutely terrible shot. Shanked it way off, massively in comedy shots. Shanked it way off to the right of the fairway. It's in heavy rough. It's behind some trees, it's down there. And of course her partner's then run off the fairway,

giggling to sitting in a shed and riding bullshit autobiography and get paid £4 million in corporate speeches. But the point is the reason made is that a really awful awful situation, pretty much an impossible shot like as she says she's down and then there's a heavy rough and it's been raining so the grass are really awkward and she can't decide, it's a company see a line into the green because of the trees, can't walk out with the goat, over the trees there's a little gap in the trees so she could donate it low through the gap in the trees. But fairway slopes down to the front of the green, but

of course there's bunkers. bunkers are the front of the green, the green itself slopes a'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaith yw'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn gwybod yn g And that bit has been getting longer and longer. Sadly due to the cancellation of the show, I won't be able to do that routine. Other comedians will still do that, but not me, that's going to be a good one. I should have said there is a shredder next to the lectern. They don't get that from Macintyre, do you? So many good routines wasted this Brexit cross-over day routine, but I don't know if you enjoyed Brexit cross-over day, a joyous nationwide day of celebration marking the day, I was saying I think it was August the 18th, when the number of people in Britain who were too young to participate in the 2016 referendum overtook the number of leave voters still alive.

Destined to be remembered as one of the greatest days in the history of British irony, alongside the first time a British person in Britain said, tell you what, I'm sick and tired of all these people coming into our country, uninvited and taking all our stuff. And that's a better joke than you're giving it credit for, but to be fair, I voted for somebody else. On Brexit cross over to each of the remaining Brexit voters was paired up with someone who'd been too young to vote. In 2016, there was a particularly touching scene at St

Glaber's Hospice in South Schittsbury, where 97-year-old lifelong Europe skeptic, Clafford Grabhorn, Cradle, the newborn baby, paraphernalia, Hogan's flinch, as he passed away, giggling, pointing at her innocent little baby face, mumbling his final words, fucking priceless. Wait until she realizes what's coming out with the X-100 years, don't worry, pet in my will, I've left you my copy of how to train British strawberries to pick themself. I was convinced 2019 was going to be the end, which God finally came out of retirement. I mean, because he's been eerily silent for way too long,

he might have slacked off, isn't he? I mean, if not 2019, then when you have to ask, I was convinced he was going to come out of retirement and tell the world that the one true faith was interesting. LAUGHTER LAUGHTER LAUGHTER LAUGHTER

LAUGHTER I don't know. I should have seen what was drawn on it. So I realised early in 2019 that my 100 predicted versions of the show that I always do, were not even going to cut the most French of Mustards. And so I wrote more new versions during the course of the year and events have rendered these versions also, and I quote myself speaking right now when I say this, absolutely unusably irretrievably obsolete. This Hong Kong routine about how the international reactions to the Hong Kong crisis was... And then there was this big bit.

I started writing like only flagrantly absurd prospects of Boris Johnson becoming Prime Minister. And that's all. What's happening now is that I am trying to ram a large file into the shredder on the file of the words, reasons Boris Johnson should not be Prime Minister. Yes, that is the sound of me whacking a shredder with a large file. On the last night of the run, the shredder got absolutely demolished.

I am the very epitome of rock and roll. Back to the show. That's also gone, but here we are, and here we are. This is the state that we have reached Boris Johnson is our de facto king. Are you enjoying Johnsonian Britain? Can we trust him? Is the Pope a cucumber? Not currently and all evidence suggests no.

I mean, he already claimed that he would rather be dead in a ditch than delay Brexit beyond the end of October. And he ignored the compromise. I said, I didn't want him to be dead in a ditch. I don't want that kind of violence, that talk of death. I wanted the compromise solution of him being alive permanently in a ditch. We've got to brought a country together. If anything, he's remained more and more prominently not in a ditch than

ever before and said we have this bizarre situation for a while we have an unelected prime minister who'd have viscerated his own party of moderates and dissenting voices who winge like a toddler about the open public procedures of the Supreme Court and Parliament but yet told millions of people on the people's vote marches who wanted to vote on something that they were the ones being anti-democratic. We had a government that stopped its own bill going through parliament, then complained about parliament stopping its bill. A government that refused to release a report on covert Russian influence in British politics because, well, no smoke, no, no, no, I don't know, lots of fucking smoke, no fire, I don't know.

A government cabinet that was a veritable who's who who of who patently shouldn't be whom. What the fuck are Dominic Rob and Pretty Patel apart from lessons to children to pay attention in school? We had a nation creaking after a decade of austerity, hate crimes rising, its public service is crumbling or flocked off or being strategically withered, it's wealth dissipating into the tax of us, ether, leaving a food banks and billionaires kind of society, led by a literally acting Prime Minister who piled full-sword upon the section presumably, on the grounds that if you tell an even number of lies, they multiply into a fact. And yet, on the 12th of December, Britain looked at all this and thought to itself, yeah,

I'll do, yeah. I can't write a show about how a sitting government ran an election campaign that basically said, we have been nation-breakingly shit for over nine years, it's time for more of the same and one and fucking what, they ran a better opposition campaign than the opposition, possibly due to this routine, even as from this routine that I wrote in October when the election was called, I wrote this routine based on what would happen if Jeremy Corbyn won the election. Now that was with hindsight and indeed foresight. The biggest if since Rudyard Kipling started projecting the titles of his poems up onto the night

skies above Gotham City. And it was a move point anyway, because clearly if Corbin had won this show would not be taking place, because the day after the election everyone working in the creative industries would have been on the first train down to his new gulag in Cornwall. Well, he hopped footed it with the royal family to gloss the share to hide him in a forest and then shoot them in a basement. Must stop reading telegraph. And I think Corbin's campaign can be compared to Captain Scott. And Captain Scott turned up in Antarctica with nothing, but 40 crates of beer, some ping pong bats, a karaoke machine, and an extremely optimistic packet of Johnny's. I love history. He probably would have lost anyway, but he really did not give himself the best chance of winning.

I think we can all agree in whatever sort of Corbin Labour chose the wrong leader in Jeremy Corbyn. Do you agree with that? No, it's not. I'll tell you who would have been a way better leader than Jeremy Corbyn for Labour Party. They shouldn't have chosen him. What they should have chosen was the idea of Jeremy Corbyn. That would have been a far better.

It's just kind of the well-me. Now it would be a far better, it's just kind of the well-meaning of unkiller geography teachers, social justice fan and inequality skeptic, rather than the harrowingly incompetent reality. There is a famous old saying in politics, I don't know who said it first, that famous old saying is, do not allow anti-Semitism to fester

inside your political party. It is at best a historically tainted brand. Even if your opponents are basically doing the same with Islamophobia, don't fall to that temptation. Is it not easy to avoid that of the easiest thing to do as a leader of a Labour party to avoid institutional anti-Semitism? Besides, it's all like there is this Jewish conspiracy running politics and running showbiz, that's bullshit, isn't it? Exhibit one. What's Corbin himself antisemitic? I don't think so, but it was certainly not

as anti-anti-semitic as he needed to be, And on Brexit, the defining issue of our times on Brexit, is sprang into action like a fossilised dinosaur penis. And obviously Brexit is the issue more than any other issue that has led to the cancellation of tonight's show, which I apologise once again. I just... I can't do it anymore. I can't do any more Brexit jokes. I can't satirise Brexit and... You know, I've written some really quite pertinent satire

about Brexit over the past four years, and frankly frankly it's made little or even no difference. So maybe it was time to let it go and in case any of you have missed it or have been recording it and they're going to watch it later. Let me summarize the government's argument on Brexit. What they've essentially said over the past 12 months is we are just a humble nation of only 17.4 million people. Hard working real people, but we punch above our weight as a country, albeit we generally punch ourselves in the face above our weight, but how we won the Battle of War to Lew in 1815, so how hard can complex 21st century global trade agreements be, what was right for Britain and a tainted myfage vote in 2016,

won't be right for Britain in a billion years time, look over there, it's Lenin, don't worry if all else fails, we'll reactivate the Queen Mother. Now, we'll be Selma, you be Louise, let's fucking do this thing! An incidentally, Selma and Louise is a very, very different ending to a film if there are a load of innocent children in the back of the car. So... to a film if there are a load of innocent children in the back of the car. So Brexit has beaten me. It's beaten me not just because I can't shake the sensation that we've sold off our national soul and it's changed for a handful of some distinctly

non-magic beans, but because I like words. I use words consensually, let me emphasise o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i'n gweithio, o'r i People thought it was a portmonto word from a meaning British X is not that it's actually from the basketball language You know this I wrote this from a European language the basketball language which is spoken in the basketball country which is in the basketball Little joke for any basketball separatists out there So nice market with a ticket sales a ticket sell I'm a huge in bill bow nowout. Now, and by the point is, it's two passwords, bread, like the Spanish, we were emining cow or bull, and then shit.

So, and of course, the term get Brexit done has been one of the most confusing three word terms in human history. What it actually means is begin the process of starting to get Brexit done, which will hopefully include at some point, fighting out exactly what the fuck Brexit is, which is like helpful in trying to get it done, yw'n gweithio'r proses o'r gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio love with itself in a national, autoeirotic, Stockholm syndrome. United Kingdom, that's an interesting phrase that we've learned over the past four years. That actually means

is England. Dithering, that's a political term, meaning due process. Betrayal is now a term commonly used in the right-wing media, meaning the workings of a functioning democratic system, disobey the word plot, which you might have read about in the telegraph and other newspapers, about these Machiavellian behind-the-scenes webs of deviousness conducted through the murky, unaccountable method of votes in Parliament, shown live on national television, with the decisions of each individual MP published in a stentain. You see, how much more fucking underhand can you get?

The national interest, that is whatever you guess? The national interest, that is whatever you personally think the national interest is, point-based immigration. What does that phrase mean? Point-based immigration, that means assets stripping other countries are people they need far more than we do, because we simply can't be asked to fund and train enough of our own. Let's call it one. And also Australian-based point-uses. Australian rules immigration is not something to aspire to. Australian o strailion i'n bai'r pwyntor, o strailion i'n rhaulu'r immigration yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch yn ymwch ynwch yn ymwch yn ymw We have the other Brexit land with the Brexit Montau words. The words that were sprung up from Brexit, Brexit's potential crisis that we've been going through as a nation. Brexit's wife, your or Brexit husband, has the spouse you've not had a coherent conversation

with for the last three and a half years because they spend all their time shouting fucking fuckers at the television. That joke works equally well for both sides, let me emphasize that. Brex specter, that is the coating of spittle on your TV screen after Michael Go has been released. Then we have mathematical terms like dy by dbrex, which in Brexit calculus is working out to the unexpected derivatives of Brexit by asking why. The result gives you the current rate of national decline. And that explains why I'm never on television.

I mean, I didn't math, I'd look at it up, I know fucking I did. Now, I don't know, abstract, breast pressionism, I've seen this, superb, a fascinating art form in which you can say, or do anything and then claim that is, in fact, Brexit. Mae'n gweithio'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn or ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn offasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn o'r ffasyn So the language has taken an absolute battering, but I realised, at the moment I realised I couldn't do the show this year, which I apologise again, was the morning after the general election, the morning of the 13th of December, and something my son said to me, and I was very exciting election for us as a family, because the first time that my kids have voted in a general election, they're 12 and 10, but you've got to start them early, haven't you? I've got no problem with electoral fraud, you can't complain about apathy and fraud. But you've got to start them early. You haven't even got a problem with electoral fraud.

You can't complain about apathy and fraud. Can you? Does it not show commitment to the process? And also, what's it? 10,000 hours. That's what it takes, isn't it? To reach elite world class at 10,000 hours. And yet, we never practiced it. We've got to start your kids early.

I want them to be brilliant at voting by the time they're my age, by which some will have had another 26 general elections. And we'll be about to have a referendum on whether to buy a link and cheer back from China. You've got a 10,000 hours, no one, practice before the election. None of us, practice while we keep fucking it up, we just turn it. You get Roger Federer, who wouldn't turn up the Wimble, without any practice?

Are you holding your hand, are you just scratching a rock? And we're not taught about it either, we're not taught about voting, it's gone, certainly wasn't. I mean, some of us stumble upon our parents' copy of the 1970s joy of voting. You know, kind of pencil drawings of people totalling off to the church or the democracy in their hearts. But we're not taught. We certainly weren't taught how to vote at my school.

I've missed it. I went to an all-boys' private school and I was taught things like Latin and the life cycle of a frog and the laws of rugby, but I wasn't taught, yeah, for example, how to vote, probably how to vote objectively with the long-term interests of the country. Oh, I wasn't taught, I wasn't taught, you know that,

or I wasn't taught how to raise children, or how to talk to women, or whether or not women are real. I mean, I'm taught. So I didn't get a complete education or a left school and turn 18, or he's voting age. And I didn't know these things, albeit that I was able to explain the laws of rugby to a bucket of tadpoles and grammatically perfect. That's it.

I'm not saying all the wasted education, but so my son came downstairs and he'd gone off to it, and I was he'd thrown up in my political bubble and so he was on very much the same end of the political seesaw as me. And he came down, he was very excited, he came bounding down the stairs on the morning of the 13th of December saying, Dad, Dad, we did it! i'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, mae'r gweithio, o'r promoses a'r gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn gydol yn And he came back a little while later with some questions about our electoral system. He said, Dad, I'm only 10 years old and all that and I know you tell me not to pay attention at school. And I said, yes, I'm learning about the world as it is while I'm going to upset you. He said, yeah, I get that, Dad, but it seems to my admittedly only 10-year-old brain,

our electoral system is, how shall I put this delicately, fucking shit at maths. He said, look, Dad, we've been here before. In 1983, Labour got only 9% more votes than the SDP Liberal Alliance, 8.4 million to 7.7 million, but they got 9 times as many votes, 209 to 23. How can that happen? That seems rather silly, Dan. I said, it's not silly, son. It's sensible. That is how we prevent electoral corruption in this country. Because why would you bother wasting millions and millions of pounds, crookedly buying an election, like they do in other stupid countries, when you can just sit back and let first pass the post,

basically have the same effect as an almost mcgarby level of electoral fraud. LAUGHTER And so I understand that now, but how come in 2005, Tony Blair, got a majority on under 22% of the available vote? And I said, well, that's because of our heroically, I might even say, patriotically low turnout,

because we fought wars for this. We fought wars for our right, Mae'n gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweith book that in 2015 the Greens and UKIP between them got one sixth of everyone's vote but only two out of 650 MPs and I said I wish I'd never had you And he said dad given all that given all that wise in that our second chamber the House of Lords is elected by naught point naught naught naught percent of the population chosen instead through an arcane strain of barely medieval Chronyism and I said well son that's the clever. That's what makes the rest of it seem fair by comparison. LAUGHTER And he said, Dad, it seems to me that first part of us is a canterous force of the heart of our democratic nation.

It's for men's confrontation and irresponsible short-termism. It's stifled political evolution. And I said, yes, but it's our canterous force of the heart of our democratic nation. And he said, Dad, Dad, he said, the first part of the post might be unarguably a very good system for some things, for deciding, for example, horse races. I'm not denying it is very good at that, way better than most legs, or your favourite, sexiest name.

But as a means of deciding elections, that first part of the post is patently an anachronistic relic on fit for the world, you somewhat hypocritically expect me to grow up in. And I said, who the fuck is writing Peyton, the ananaachrenistic relic, unfit for the world, you somewhat hypocritically expect me to grow up in. And I said, who the fuck is writing the mazi books these days? And I said, look son, you just got to ignore it for this, and this is a different election, all the old rules got to end. And this is the Brexit election.

Single issue election. Brexit, we've got to deal with it. Brexit is the elephant in the room. He said, well it's not just the elephant in the room, is it, dad? Is the porcupine in the pillowcase? Is the snake in the spaghetti pan? Is the piranha in the toilet bowl? And above all, it's the shark on the patio.

In many ways, the most disturbing of the lot. It definitely shouldn't be there, and it cannot possibly end well. And he said, in any case, Dad, how can you have a single issue general election? The clue is in the name, Dad, general election. General, this is a ridiculous, as deciding the Nobel Prize for Literature,

based on which the nominees could write the most pornographic limerick. It's a ridiculous, Dad, as deciding the winner of a cricket world cup final based on, don't even fucking go that side! He said, that is it anyone, Rod I'd democracy least with the same flawed politics over and over again? And I said, well, son, we've got to be patient. It was the great philosopher, Aristotle himself once wrote, if you keep putting your penis

in the same pencil sharpener one day, you will have a very, very sharp penis indeed. He said, well, dad, how did we reach the point where just seated has become normalized and lies have actually just gestated into accepted truths. And I said, well, son, as the great philosopher Nicolomacchi Velli himself once wrote, if you keep putting your cock on the barbecue, eventually people will just come to think of it as another sausage. And he said, Daddy, I don't think Nicolomacchi Velli did write that. And I said, why did I give you that?

What would Andrew Neal do, wristband? Just let me live in the privacy of my own delusion, son. Look it, you've got to respect democracy. Just like you've got to respect your great uncle Tercle Terrance because he fought in the war, he's family. And he said, what great-uncle Terrance who ate that live hamster in front of us the other day? Yes, him, whilst dancing on the table.

Yeah, great-uncle Terrance, with his plonker out. Yeah, you know Terrance. In front of the whole congregation. Yeah, Terrance. A great-uncle, lattice is funeral. Yeah, here, well. He's still a better bloke than Vladimir Putin, so case closed. Anyway, if you're so fuss about First Bartholomew,

why don't you just ask the government nicely if they'll change you? Well, Dad, because turkeys don't vote for Christmas, do they? And as well, actually, son, that's rather naive of you. Turkeys might vote for Christmas if you offer them the right package of tax cuts and promise to invest in the infrastructure in their turkey coops and some they've got a straight choice between Christmas or American Thanksgiving, Abraham and Abraham, Christmas landslide. And then he said, OK, Dad, but surely more to the point,

first part of the post is here to stay, because the turkey industry is never going to vote against Christmas. And I said, fuck you kid, you unpatriotic piece of shit. What was right for Britain in the 19th century is right for Britain now! He said, what? So he won a two-mile-an-hour speed limit on all roads, dude, Dad. And all vehicles having to have a bloke walking in front of them, waving a red flag, is that what you want?

And I said, oh, typical London-centric elite. Going with a two-mile-an-hour urban speed limit, rather than the four-mile-an-hour rural speed limit, but real people were using it at the time, isn't Wikipedia fun? And it would be a red flag, wouldn't it, you fucking trot? And snapped and threw his portal in clementately at me and wagged all the day's newspapers in my face.

Look, Dad, look at the numbers of votes and then look at the newspaper headlines about landslides and overwhelming mandates. Is this whole fucking country fucking mad? I'm a fucking 10-year-old primary school kid and I can see it's fucking insane! LAUGHTER And I said, can you please not swear, boy?

You know I don't like it. Just accept it, is there in black and white? There was a massive swing to the conservatives. No, that fucking wasn't, dad. Stop being so deliberately numerically illiterate. I said, but I'm British son, 110% British. And Mr. Representative of the Will of the People through an Arcane Electro system is a core British value. And he said, that's another thing, dad. How's it that more we bang on about British values? The less we seem to actually fucking have them. And I said, God save our lives in the Queen.

And he said, Dad, can you not see that after this election, fundamentally nothing's changed regarding Brexit. This country remains more polarized than the bare painted head to toe in Tipex. And I doped my cap to him approvingly and said, yes, son, but the people have spoken. He said, yes, and what they've said is we are possibly marginally in favour of a remain, but in a geographically inconvenient way, exacerbated by the fact that some of us are a bit more fucking stupid about tactical voting than others.

And I said, why can't you just shut the fuck up and look at the number since one lot good, British newspapers and broadcasters do? How can we move on as a country, son, if we do not pretend that we've moved on as a country?" And he said, that's a contractor. This is democracy in the same way. They've been punched in the face by a boxer wearing gloves made of craft singles. It's a cheese course. And I said, it's still cheese, isn't it, son? It's still cheese. Anyway, it suits a son. First, past the post, suits, suits Britain as a nation. Because on the first boss, the post, every election, the majority of people have not voted for the government.

Giving more than 50% of this nation, carte blanche to moan our fucking asses for the next five years. And he said, I hadn't thought of it like that, Dad. The scales falling from his eyes, like someone who's just rugby tackled a molting mermaid. He said, Count me in, Dad. I love complaining. I said, Daddy's boy. The last thing you want to happen in is what you actually want to happen, because then you've got nowhere to jab the seven finger of blame other than into your own regretful eye socket. And he cuddled me and said, Dad, put the news on. The next five years are going to be fucking awesome. And it was that conversation that made me realize that I can't do a show this year. Therefore, the show's off.

And we have to accept the times of change. We've maybe moved on. We've moved on in this country. We've moved on democratically, with our values of change. Things like reality, truth, nuance, and logic are just outdated relics that we've oedd ymdwch i'n ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyrddio'r ffyr yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn ddynodd yn in the world? That is the best. That joke has gone in this entire world. Johnson has offered to build bridges over the planes that he himself has flooded.

Now, as we in London know, we wear Boris Johnson when he is promising to build a bridge. How many said he wants to heal divisions, a touching gesture rather than a Hannibal Lecter after his surprise appointment as the head chef at your children's primary school, pledging a healthy vegan menu. How did it happen? What is actually being planned long-term? I guess it may come down to how much Hannibal Lecter wants to keep his job. And that concludes the first half of 2019 the certifiable history that marks the moment of the show made a transition to its second phase of press conference featuring me and

my old sparring partner, the Dog of Doom, more from the Dog of Doom, over the forthcoming months, years and decades. Thanks to all bugleers who came to see the show live, and if you've enjoyed what was essentially there a free stand up album to start your year or if you just like the bugle in general, do help to contribute to the ongoing existence, freedom, independence and idiocy of the bugle by going to the web page and clicking the donate button. We will be back with a full bugle next week if the world is still in one or maybe two pieces. In the meantime, to play you out, here is the first batch of new decade lies about our premium voluntary subscribers.

Music please. Ted Pullman has made an economic study that has concluded that a rise in the popularity of decorative chandeliers can sometimes press a similar if delayed rise in the popularity of computer games. Chandeliers became increasingly popular during the latter half of the second millennium notes, Ted, and now look at computer games. He can't move for the bloody things. John Price has also detected a historical link that might be worth the boffins investigating further. The extinction of the notoriously flightless bird, the DoDo, in the late 17th century, and the subsequent development of human flight, beginning with hot air balloons in the 18th century, and now pinging millions of

people around the world every day in airplanes. It's almost like the DoDo's feathery flightlessness made people think, well, we obviously can't do that either, says John. They had to die, so we may fly. Lelush and Vinny do not believe in purple carrots. They are almost certainly a hoax claims Lelush. Everyone knows carrots are orange. Whatever next, a cucumber made of granite. Vinny is determined to get to the bottom of this scandal.

It's like beetroots all over again. They're clearly knock off potato, says Vinny. A cross between a proper, law-abiding, spud, and a vegetable crime scene. Russell Smith Becker has long believed that the origin of basketball dates back to the French Revolution and began as a fun, proto-sport that evolved amongst the freelance cleaners who had to tidy up at the end of a long day's guillotine. Russell has calculated that the modern day basketball is exactly the same size and weight as the average French aristocrats head plus late 18th century wig.

Kenton McBride, however, has a very different creation theory for basketball. Kenton asserts that the sport began as a means of covertly passing food to resistance soldiers during the 14th century by Xanthomexican War, when locals would lobloves, joints of meat and occasionally large melons, into the chimneys of the houses occupied by the resistance, in the style of a modern-day Steph Curry III pointer. Alex Russell further postulates that the backboard on a basketball court began as the reverse side of a bogus sundial affixed to the chimney pot, ostensibly to help the humble ordinary folk caught up in that Mexico-Bizantine conflict conflict to time their compulsory afternoon naps better but it was in fact placed to aid the food-dunkers to get their food down the chimney with

their first shot. Esteban Dominguez-Buniface does not believe in nominative determinism and has not done so ever since meeting a man called Armageddon Plague-Mirrorde who it transpired was in fact a quietly spoken accountant whose hobbies included collecting 19th century porcelain rabbits and making his own scented candles. Todd Pudzemny had a great uncle who was a quite brilliant magician until he found himself in a top security prison after mixing up his words and saying, Alcatraz instead of Abracadabra. Todd's great uncle lived out his days in solitary confinement after turning the prison governor into a bunch of flowers.

Samuel Kinns hopes the technology will soon be available that will mean that when people honk their horns in their car, it is only audible inside the specific car at which they are honking, rather than making all other road users think, why some bastard honking at me, all I'm doing is overtaking on the inside dense, swerving in front of them to sneak through a traffic light. And finally, Will Hardy meanwhile is a renowned fan of tin. I love saying tin, says Will, and I love love love elements with a misleading chemical symbol.

I mean SN, what on earth is going on with that? Will also recommend Millibdenum, as a word with quotes a terrific mouth feel, it sounds like you're climbing into an immersion tank full of jelly, which I am in favour of, theoretically. Here end it, this week's lies. Bye bye! you