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We can now express our disgust at the worst administration I have ever known thanks to the election petition.

Is there anybody else who is against Storm Bert’s name? Instead of seeming catastrophic, “Major travel disruption as Storm Bert hits rail and road” sounds foolish and humorous.

Bert is the name of the unstoppable happy sweep who sang, “Oh, it’s a jolly ‘oliday with Mary,” which included one of the most enigmatic lyrics in all musicals: “The daffodils are smiling at the doves.”

This is well known to all those who grew up seeing Mary Poppins. (The Sherman brothers must have been in dire need of a rhyme.)

Dick Van Dyke is renowned for his portrayal of Bert. For the English language, his Cockney accent was as painful and widely criticized as Rachel Reeves’ Budget is for economics.

Bert, however, was too busy dancing on roofs to lie on his resume and, in contrast to Rachel from Accounts, spread pleasure.

However, I seem to recall that Bert cleaned chimneys at the Bank of England, which could have been a more senior task than Rachel’s during her tenure there.

Imagine what Tuppence a Bag would have looked like in Starmer’s Britain, adjusting for inflation (ignoring the switch from imperial to metric). Don’t consume all of the bird seed at once; it will cost 937 pounds.

Dear God, it seems like we have to find our joys wherever we can since everything is so depressing right now.

Jeremy Clarkson’s performance during the farmers’ march against Victoria Derbyshire on Newsnight was fantastic.

The BBC’s “Tut-tut you’re a heartless rich bastard and we must consider the poor” phrase is generally accepted.

Not Jeremy. When Derbyshire attempted to assert that he purchased Clarkson’s Farm in order to evade death duties, he mocked them, saying, “Typical BBC.”

Clarkson found it funny (rightly so; £550 million would buy you 50 ops for ingrowing toenails) when Derbyshire brought up Rachel Reeves’ explanation.

That the money from farmers’ inheritance tax would go directly to support our NHS, demonstrating the Chancellor’s desperation in the face of public hostility.

In her most devout, public-sectoral way, Derbyshire asked Clarkson whether he thought the government might save money on the health care.

Clarkson gestured down Whitehall with his arms spread wide. “Any building around here,” he added, instantly violating.

The unbreakable rule that says no one has the right to claim that the obese, lazy people are in the Civil Service rather than the resentfully overtaxed private sector.

All I can say is, “Jeremy, please don’t die,” knowing that one of life’s greatest joys, Clarkson, managed to attend the march in spite of his grave illness.

Continue. You are needed by your nation. We do. This terrible administration will fall because of Starmer’s Britain’s miserabilism.

This writer is among the more than 2.5 million signatories to an internet petition that calls for an urgent general election.

Michael Westwood, the landlord of the Waggon and Horses in Oldbury, West Midlands, initiated the petition.

“The British public feel like they have been betrayed with the promises that were told in the lead up to the election and then what has been delivered since – it looks nothing like.

What was promised,” says Mike, who is more of a Clarkson fan than a Starmer supporter (just a rough guess).

Like many others, I developed a serious addiction to seeing the petition’s numbers as they increased.

Seeing so many people express their disgust at what is already the poorest and most inept administration I have ever seen was really encouraging.

Alright, detractors claim it will do nothing since Labour, with its sizable majority (and narrow mandate), does not intend to leave office until 2029, and no amount of parliamentary discussion (as this petition will) will alter that fact.

However, the petition accomplishes more than nothing. Reeves, Rayner, and the rest of the grim, classy war crew are shown with a soaring feeling of camaraderie within their utter teeth-grinding awfulness.

How unjust of Putin to forbid the two from entering Russia; please feel sorry for us, Vlad. Don’t you have room in a gulag?

Rache needs a location to hide from the bond markets, and Ange would do everything to get a new dress.