Sunday, 18 February 2018


Hola! Everyone's favourite rootless cosmopolitan here. When I travel throughout continental Europe people often stop me in the street and ask 'Ana Maria, who is that man? You know, the one who is always on the British TV, is he your Prime Minister?' and I realise they are talking about the one whose name we never mention. The one whose mother had him christened with the initials that chime with those of the National Front. The one who has appeared on Question Time more than the PM herself or the Foreign Secretary or the leader of the opposition. He is seen in many parts as the Face of Britain, AKA the turd that will not flush. A wasp at the window. He has tried to get the Irish on board with his breathtaking gall. The one who ought to have been a Tic-Tac man at the races but ended up everywhere beginning sentences with 'believe you me'. The one that once Britain leaves the EU will be out of a job and have nothing to whinge about so is now carving a niche for himself in the States. Failing that he will, with Tommy Robinson and Katy Hopkins appear in panto or start presenting his version of The Real Deal or perhaps start his own programme The Malignant Narcissists. Like so many from his crew he is for sale. A grande horizontale. The state of British politics.