Christ on a bike, the vicar’s daughter has been wittering away in the pulpit for what seems like an hour now, and she still hasn’t actually told me anything new. I may have nodded off, I suppose, but as far as I can tell it’s the same old mish-mash of aspirational bollocks and bugger all actual progress. The sooner the Tories metaphorically stab her in the back and tip her into the Thames the better, then maybe we can have a new figurehead to mock; a change is as good as we’re likely to get this side of Brexageddon.
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