In the long and growing list of lockdown injuries, bruising your knuckles is probably up there with abusing your liver.
Because if you’ve managed to get through a single televised Government briefing without punching the telly, it’s probably only because you’ve already chucked it out the window.
Never has so much patronising, scaremongering BS been spoken by such a bunch of clueless clowns.
The final straw came this week when in a breathtaking display of condescending codswallop, the PM urged us all to check on our loved ones’ mental health.
“If you need help, get help,” he said with all the sincerity of a bloke who has managed to lock up most GP surgeries tighter than Fort Knox.
He mentioned anxiety and depression issues because it’s Mental Health Awareness Week and he reckoned he’d get extra Carrie points by playing the woke card.
The sheer hypocrisy of this from a man who has spent millions of pounds of OUR money deliberately instilling abject terror into the population is shocking.
We are now facing an avalanche of mental health problems with everything from loneliness to suicide via alcoholism, eating disorders, breakdowns and a whole raft of other heartbreaking issues on the rise.
Yet now suddenly it’s so important they had it written into The Queen’s Speech yesterday? Who are they trying to bloody kid?
And, Gawd, didn’t you feel sorry her Her Maj having to read it out.
How she kept a straight face reading “the country will be stronger, healthier and more prosperous than before” is beyond impressive.
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And can you imagine what she really thinks of her Prime Minister solemnly giving the nation permission for a legover with a lover and detailing how to hug a loved one safely?
She’s used to hearing some rubbish in her life – especially the ginger grandkid’s whinging – but this?
Thirty people now allowed at a wedding but father of bride can’t walk his daughter down the aisle and singing and dancing are banned?
Now we can be trusted to use our “common sense” which we’ve all been doing in any case, haven’t we?
Because if you seriously need the likes of Bozo, Handcock and Twitty to give you dispensation to cuddle a loved one, you need a damn sight than a hug – you need a psychiatrist. (And good luck with that one).
Meanwhile, final word on this to the husband who long since gave up on anything any of the muppets utter. “So we can stay in a hotel together and have sex?” He said, looking genuinely horrified: “Now why on earth would we start doing that?”
So thanks, Bozzo. Still spreading terror to long-wed middle-aged men everywhere.
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