Daily Express Sparks Full English Breakfast Fury

Dip your bread - get in there!

Dip your bread – get in there!

Although nobody in their right mind could ever take the DAILY EXPRESS seriously, one has to wonder whether they’re taking the piss out of their own cerebrally challenged readership. The latest target for the froth at the mouth kippers who frequent the EXPRESS is an article describing how EU bosses scuppered plans to serve a full English breakfast at the recent round of Brussels Brexit negotiations.

Predictably the kipperati are up in arms about it, as usual, but is it actually true?

Even long distance scrutiny instantly reveals that the story has no foundation whatsoever – just a bunch of uncredited sources describing something that it is highly unlikely to have ever actually happened. So basically it’s all a load of bollocks.

Pretty much like every other EU myth the EXPRESS publishes.

Yet it’s succeeded in getting the less stable members of the EXPRESS readership foaming like rabid dogs at the outrageousness of it all. As can be seen by the three comments reproduced below.

“MarkMacd
Just another example of EU contempt for Britain and our Great people. Why would anyone want to continue to stay In is beyond me.”

“PhilipHilton
Brussels at their most hypocritical bureaucratic ineptness by banning a traditional English breakfast-will covering it in chocolate do the job?”

“AlfGarnet
They cannot stand anything English or British. The control freak spit out their dummy *** FRENCH and ( BELGIUMS) continue to run this illegal migrant (now swamped) shocking federal monster of an UN-common Market. Exit this sodden pathetic red tape strewn political clown-house.”

Which makes any sane person wonder.

Is the EXPRESS playing to its audience? Is the EXPRESS taking the piss? Or, even more disturbingly – Does the EXPRESS actually believe the total bollocks it publishes?

Answers on a postcard.

Martin Shuttlecock

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What Do You Mean, Are We Still Here?

Dip your bread - get in there!

Dip your bread – get in there!

As our regular reader – who has probably wandered off somewhere – and one or two others may be aware, we’ve been offline for a while recently. We’re not telling you why, because frankly it’s none of your business. What we are prepared to reveal is that we haven’t been in prison or been sanctioned by the internet or anything like that.

Or at least not that we noticed.

But now we’re back, hopefully to amuse and entertain. That’s if we can root out stuff to write about that’s either amusing or entertaining, and if we can be arsed to do it. What we won’t be doing is posting poxy links to nonsense sites. There’s way too much of that going on in the wacky world of the internet as it is. After all, there are only so many vines showing kittens cuddling up to babies and dickheads trying to be gangstas that a person can stand, without putting one’s sanity at risk.

It’s the same with memes – Facebook is plastered with them, and in our opinion they’re all shite. Faux words of wisdom and advice put out by cretins.

If you’re offended by our attitude, please feel free to fuck right off. We’re as grumpy as shit and proud of it. It’s what happens when you spend too long reading Mail Online comments – you begin to loathe humanity, that’s if there’s any humanity on show there in the first place. And don’t even get us started on the Express comments – they make Iain Duncan Smith look compassionate by comparison.

Speaking of Iain Duncan Smith: Is it just us or is he getting to look more like a shark with every passing day? A voracious and ultimately merciless predator? Something to ponder. Can’t help but think his mother would have been doing the world a favour if she’d sat on the little fucker at birth and crushed the life out of him. We can imagine the birth – he’d have chewed his way out of his mother’s womb and erupted into the world with the ferocity of the chestbusting alien out of that old film. The one with John Hurt in it.

We need a bit more practice at this, obviously. It’s like a footballer or a boxer coming back after a lengthy lay off. One gets a tad rusty.

This article – if you can call it that – was written as an off the cuff tribute to that wonderful composer Johann Sebastian Bach – who popped his clogs a long time ago, but whose musical gifts to the world live on.

Paddy Berzinski

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Letter To Aunt Peg On A Question Of Etiquette

Dip your bread - get in there!

Dip your bread – get in there!

Dear Aunt Peg,

Would you be kind enough to settle a dispute between my dear wife and me regarding breakfast table etiquette, please?

This morning, after a delightful “full English” breakfast, I took a piece of sourdough bread , spread some butter/margarine on it and proceeded to mop up – or fare la scarpetta, as I believe the Italians have it – the residual mixture of tomato juice, egg yolk and Yorkshire Relish that remained on my plate.

To my surprise, my wife did not follow suit. She was just about to remove her plate to the kitchen when I noticed that it was practically swimming in the same delicious sauce I have just described.

“Leave that love, I’ll have it if you don’t want it.”

“Ooh, don’t be disgusting,” she replied. “Mopping someone else’s juicy plate is strictly non-U.”

She did relent when I argued that I was still quite hungry and that another piece of bread and a little scarpetta would see me well set up for the day ahead.

But, is she right? Would I be asked to leave a hotel restaurant if I tried to mop a companion’s plate in this manner. It is quite a disturbing thought.

Nonplussed at the breakfast table, Chiswick.

Dear NATBT,

Who doesn’t love a bit of gravy mopping? But it is, of course, a social minefield.

In the privacy of your own home, I doubt that any harm could come of lapping up your wife’s juices. But I would be very wary of trying it in public.

Diners at the Savoy Grill, for instance, are not likely to take kindly to seeing someone leaning over and dipping his bread in his wife’s soggy platter.

Nor to breaking one’s egg yolk with a sweep of one’s erect soldier I would imagine.

Ellis Ian Fields

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An Open Letter To Suella Fernandes

Fareham Doesn't Want Any More Of This Sort Of Thing

Fareham Doesn’t Want Any More Of This Sort Of Thing

Dear Suella,

Congratulations on your successful election campaign and we wish you every success in your new position, representing the people of Fareham in parliament over the coming five years and possibly beyond.

Right, that’s the formalities concluded. Now down to business.

It has come to our notice (‘our’ meaning my good lady wife and I, together, the two of us) that within a mere 48 hours of winning the seat, you appear to have certainly hit the ground running with your assertion that most people you have spoken to are in favour of the Welborne development plan, as outlined in an article for The News.

Upon reading this ambiguous statement we were left with a rather uncomfortable feeling deep within our roiling tummies.

How many people did you speak to? How many were against the project?

We ask simply because most people we’ve spoken to appear to be either blissfully unaware of the proposed development, or that they haven’t actually thought through the long term implications. The pro-Welborne stance maintains that the development will be an overall asset to the area, whereas a burgeoning anti-Welborne movement foresee nothing but chaos. The arguments on both sides have been pretty well documented, and we are confident that you will have spent many hours poring over reams of claim and counter-claim in order to familiarise yourself with a comprehensive overview of the contrasting arguments.

(You have my deepest sympathy for having the patience to scan reams of gobbledook and officialise – many years ago I too had to burn the midnight oil studying Thomas Hardy’s ‘Far From The Madding Crowd’ for a GCE O Level English Lit exam, so I am fully aware of what a pain in the posterior intensive cramming can actually be. Heaven alone knows how you barristers cope with all that swotting over masses of complicated books; in my experience Hardy was more than sufficiently challenging.)

All of which leads me to beg the question: What is your personal stance regarding Welborne, based on whatever information you have gleaned?

I ask this because there appear to be grave concerns among the anti-Welborne campaigners (whom the council leader allegedly refers to – somewhat dismissively by all accounts – as ‘keyboard warriors’) that you will, as an individual and a resident, toe the council line and unconditionally support the proposal.

Now, I must admit that I am not a supporter of the development plan, and add that I am not to the best of my knowledge a swivel eyed loon, although this may occasionally be a debatable point on the occasions when I’ve overdone it a bit on the mead. Thus it came about that I actually defended you this morning in our kitchen, to my wife as she was preparing a hearty fried breakfast – cholesterol and fat laden admittedly but you only live once, and a full English is one of life’s finest treats in my humble opinion.

“No,” I told my wife in no uncertain terms. “Suella will NOT be biased towards the local council in the great Welborne debate, because she is the elected representative of all the people of Fareham, and she will represent ALL of us equally – even the anti-Welborne rabble, for that is her duty.”

I Just Want A Normal Breakfast. Is That Too Much To Ask?

I Just Want A Normal Breakfast. Is That Too Much To Ask?

My wife didn’t seem completely convinced by my argument in your favour and as an expression of her disgust with me she subsequently smothered my breakfast in mingingly hot chilli sauce. Undeterred I ate my breakfast anyway and my eyes stopped streaming at about tea-time. Which is when I was moved to type out this message.

Are you for or against Welborne? Against or for? Or are you neutral?

The anti-Welborne movement have a Facebook page which you are cordially invited to join. They really aren’t a fanatical NIMBY type group – they welcome all opinions with an open mind.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/381680855306724/

I hope you can take time out from your busy schedule to confirm your stance on this matter, not least because I don’t think I can stand too many hot chilli smothered fried breakfasts as it’s starting to play havoc with my motions.

Yours Faithfully

Martin Shuttlecock

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Crappy Breakfast Pic Sparks Full Blown Domestic At CS HQ

The New Version - With Black Pudding And Stuff

The New Version – With Black Pudding And Stuff

The recent publication of a breakfast picture featured in a Café Spike article about beef plums sparked a serious domestic incident at the site’s offices when resident chef, Carolina Del Greelio took exception and demanded in no uncertain terms that the picture, which depicted what she described as ‘a crap breakfast’ be deleted forthwith and replaced with something “better reflective of the chef’s talents” or face castration without anaesthetic.

“I didn’t think it was a bad shot,” Editor Martin Shuttlecock said. “It wasn’t spectacular, granted, but it looked appetising enough to me on the day I woke up starving hungry.”

Del Greelio did not agree, describing the illustration as: “Something I banged out whilst waiting for the kettle to boil.”

“I repented,” Shuttlecock admitted. “We’ve often been accused by some of our many detractors of writing about what we’ve had to eat, but quite frankly I thought the picture looked fine. I actually like tinned plum tomatoes, black pudding, bacon, egg and toast – even if the whole shebang is swimming in tomato juice. But she wasn’t happy and she wasn’t having it. She demanded that I change it immediately. At first I refused point-blank because I actually really enjoyed that breakfast. But it’s amazing how persuasive an angry wife armed with a rusty pair of garden shears and evil intent can be.

The Old Version - We Didn't Care How Runny It Was

The Old Version – We Didn’t Care How Runny It Was

“So I changed it to the amended version. It’s got smoked back bacon, a fried egg on a circle of fried bread, mushrooms, tomatoes and black pudding in the new screenshot, and she’s actually asked me to point out that the moisture on view isn’t grease – merely natural juices brought forth by expert cookery techniques. So there – duly pointed out.

“I was going to say that this isn’t truly representative of a typical full English breakfast because it doesn’t have sausages or beans on it but she waved the rusty garden shears at me, with a truly psychopathic gleam in her eye and an air of such malevolent intent that I gave in and agreed to supplant the existing brekky pic with something slightly more appetising.

“I’ll be sleeping with one eye open tonight because I’m not sure where she’s hidden the rusty garden shears.”

“I’m the guv’nor in this house and don’t you forget it,” Chef Del Greelio said in closing. “And he is a bit of a twat when all’s said and done.”

*Next time – How I spent three hours sitting on a chair by the oven door basting a bird because she challenged me to cook honey roast duck. I swear she stitched me up like a kipper. – By Martin Shuttlecock.*

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