The End

The End

That's it. I've had enough. My life has been completely taken over by my bowel movements, genitals, schoolboy humour and the increasingly forlorn hope that Kirstie Allsopp will wun away with me to a wural wetreat with nothing to our names but a catering-sized vat of baby oil. Who was I trying to kid?

From now on, these pages will feature nothing but insightful analyses of the day's major issues. Drawing mainly from the works of great modern thinkers such as Foucault, Henri-Levy and Pipeston, I shall discuss the validity of the power struggle in our so-called classless society from a post-structuralist pre-post-modernist viewpoint.

Dissecting the motivations of our so-called political elite and testing their words and deeds in the rarefied atmosphere of our current socio-political climate, I aim to find a newer, bolder audience worthy of my, frankly, massive intellect. The entirely juvenile Friday Tale of Mirth and Woe is, I am afraid, no more. I made them all up anyway, as intellectual candyfloss for the lumpenproletariat.

Instead, I shall conduct an in-depth discussion on the previous night's BBC1 Question Time, and expect my readers to be au fait with the issues and be prepared to comment prudently on my arguments from an existentialist, non-gender specific viewpoint.

So, in the spirit of this brave new dawn of social realism, against the backdrop of an increasingly V for Vendetta-esque totalitarian government and a dying freedom to protest, I ask the question that none of the great political and social thinkers dare ask:

Tony Blair - done a poo, or what?


Enjoy the 1st April, I'll be back on Monday with wee, farting, spanking and Nigella Lawson. And not necessarily in that order.