THE 'KING'S' SPEECH

It’s unnerving to have a reigning monarch whose fingers look like pigs in blankets on steroids. Everything about Charles has been a crashing disappointment. His interfaith, wishy-washing globalist philosophy is so undercooked—so far from passing food standards when one attempts to digest it—that he should really be shut down altogether, like one of those restaurants on Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares.

A witty commentator I read in passing the other day said the Royals’ only hope is George (son of the equally spiritually and culturally anaemic Prince William) gaining access to a TikTok account and running amok, but sadly I fear he too will be reined in.

Everything in England is so brain-numbingly awful lately that it’s impossible to imagine an actual figure in public office or a royal position with any backbone.

These are the days of Guardian bed-wetting weakness, and with Kier Stalin as the commie-in-chief—whose only desire, it seems, is to wreck everything he touches like a Midas in reverse—I guess the decline of the country is all but inevitable.

Still, there is a kind of grim fascination, like watching a car crash in slow motion, that compels one to keep looking at the ghoulish awfulness of these people who pretend to be moral arbiters of our kingdom, but whom you wouldn’t trust to boil water for an egg.

Still, I'm probably the wrong person to judge.

I’m cut from a familial line of descendants that bagged the French king’s brother during the Battle of Agincourt.

We’re a long way from those days now, sad to say. ^^