I see Ian Payne has crawled out of the darkness to issue judgment once more, yet again bombarding the press with his latest fatwa. It seems that our erstwhile Richard Littlecock is now qualified to judge the mental health of a studio audience, as well as possibly that of an entire city. Fear not, though, gentle readers; Doctor Payne has the solution. A dose of Kelvin MacKenzie.
Since students of the oeuvre will remember Ian protesting vehemently for several years about relinquishing his Labour Party membership card, so this sudden fanboy confession of love for Thatchers enfant terrible will come as somewhat of a surprise. One can only assume that Ian’s been on the cooking sherry. I’m just unsure at the moment whether it would be considered unsporting to inform the former editor, or more entertaining to let love run its natural course. I suspect the latter.
That sherry must posses magical powers, as it does seem that it enables our protagonist to hear the voices of the silent and also count a show of hands in a radio audience. Although drink has occasionally had this effect on me, often in the daytime in local hostelries, the effect has never been so lucid as to prompt me to inform the media.
I’m looking forward to common sense transplants becoming available on the NHS myself. Since Ian is clearly the first surviving donor, the solution can now not be far behind. We may, however, have some difficulty applying the treatment, as the NHS would be one of those awful, loony-left products of Labour governments since the war. I trust that the very next time Mr. Payne requires the services of his GP, the social state or the attention of his MP, he will abstain on the basis that all these things are left wing fripperies we’d all be better without.
I’ve not had this post cleared by my wife, Ian Payne’s wife or Kelvin MacKenzie, as is my right. What on earth would Richard Wattis think?