I’m prepared to bet good money that the timing is linked to some form of pension benefit or similar entitlement based on length of “service”. That will be her priority.
The full text of her letter is here, the first memorable thing she has done in months and surely the last. It does however suggest that she intends to throw everyone in sight under the Number 11 to Westminster Bridge in her boo-hoo-book in September.
She appears to blame Sunak for the police having to visit her home because of threats against her. Nothing to do with her announcing her resignation but not actually going through with it. Why is she so obsessed with that loser Johnson? Did she shag him or is she still hoping it’ll happen? Awful, awful woman.
In answer to your latter question, I reckon the answer is (a), Fat. Boy J. would shag a hole in a tree especially if there was a free holiday in it for him.
I often hear from the great unwashed the statement “All politicians are the same”.
They’re not. That’s like saying all goalkeepers are the same.
There’s a prospective M.P. down our road who is running for a seat at the next election – probably in vain, it’ll be the election she loses before she gets in next time (2030?) – and she is desperate to help the people of this country.
Meanwhile…
What are her policies for helping the “people” of this country?
I think every MP and prospective MP would tell you that, and in that way they are all the same. Once they’ve got their nose in the trough, far too many MPs restrict the range of people they “help” to those who don’t really need any.
We’re singing from the same hymn sheet then – I think she’s pissing up against a wall and that the country has been shit for half-a-century and will go on being so… and I presume from your comments that you both do too.
How could you not?
Are Nadine Dorries and Katie Hopkins the same person? They certainly seem to be.
Vile Vicious ugly cow – no doubt she will carry on through life unaware that her personality is as unattractive as her face.
Point of order: At least as far as physical appearance goes, neither KH or ND are ugly (on the outside), unlike Ann “Doris Karloff” Widdecombe, Suella “Gollum’s Sister” Braverman or perhaps Margaret Beckett. It is an unfortunately common male thing to call women that they hate “ugly”.
If you had no knowledge whatsoever of who ND was and you saw her walking down the street, you wouldn’t say to yourself “There goes an ugly woman”.
There are plenty of more appropriate insults that could be employed for these two. “Ugly” is a bit of a cop out, IMO.
Appearance shouldn’t be mentioned at all. It’s irrelevant, as in fat bastard Boris, see endless post passim from a certain source. It says more about the person employing it as an insult, in my view.
This is very out of character for me, but I feel I need to defend the PM here! To say that he has done “absolutely nothing” is clearly untrue!
In the last year alone, I have seen him go in helicopters, private jets, sit in Thatcher’s old car and pretend to steer it, go to a petrol station to pretend to fill up a car, go to a pub to pretend to drink beer and watch football.
Once parliament returns after the 10 week summer recess, he’ll hit the ground running with a fire station visit where they might let him sit at the front of a REAL fire engine! He has also has asked his PPS to organise a fact-finding trip to a steam railway where he wants to be next to the driver and pull the cord and make it do the “woo! woo!” noise. By the end of the year, we’ll have seen him as a policeman, a commando, a RAF bomber pilot and he’ll be donning the scrubs like a top surgeon too.
Say what you like about Sunak, but he is definitely a man of action, so Dorries should back off.
Giles Coran did a very funny take down of Rishi the other week….
_Short trousers are the least of Rishi’s problems_
The prime minister’s increasingly desperate pint-pulling everyman act is no more convincing than his fashion choices
Giles Coren
Saturday August 05 2023, 6.00am, The Times
Everything about Rishi Sunak is fake, shrunken, inauthentic, ill-fitting, bogus and wrong, so I really don’t know what all the fuss was about with his trousers. By comparison with how incredibly poorly his personal qualities have turned out to fit the demands of high office and world leadership, those Action Man clamdiggers and dwarfish shirt sleeves of his that have been so rudely mocked this week seem positively well cut.
This is a man who, having identified that a combative response to the totally imaginary “war on the car” might be a vote winner in the wake of Ulezgate in Uxbridge, rushed off to some motor fair in Sidcup to try on Margaret Thatcher’s old Rover, which he wore every bit as unconvincingly as he wears those terrible undercut suits, sitting propped up on cushions in the driver’s seat with his hands on the wheel going, “Vroom! Vroom!” and wondering what the pedals were for.
He then spent the week pretending he “loves cars” and setting himself up as some sort of bonsai Clarksonian petrolhead with a fleet of trucks, tractors and McLarens in his garage and a Ferrari-like thirst for fossil fuel, when we all know he had to borrow a Kia at Sainsbury’s from some poor checkout girl last year for a “petrol prices” photo opportunity — and then couldn’t even work his debit card, let alone a clutch and gear stick. Will Red Wall Man really trust his Transit van to a bloke who cannot drive his own Amex?
Rishi’s never driven a car in his life. Only ever sat in the back of a blacked-out chauffeur-driven Mercedes with his tiny legs sticking straight out in front of him, not even reaching the edge of the seat, shins and socks on show, squeaking, “Are we nearly there yet?” and shouting, “Wheeee!” when it goes above 30mph.
You can easily imagine his driver opening the door at the end of the journey and reaching in to unclip his seatbelt, then very carefully carrying him upstairs to bed without waking him. (Indeed, you can almost imagine his driver opening the door and panicking that he isn’t in there at all, and then rummaging in the gap between the side of the seat and the door and going, “Phew! THERE you are!” like when your kid can’t find Pink Bunny and starts weeping that she must have left him on the plane.)
And when Rishi had safely parked that image of himself in our minds, he tried to make himself out to be some sort of ten-pints-a-night pub geezer as he declared, while grimly pulling a pint of stout alongside the kind of pink-haired, heavily tattooed bartender who won’t vote Conservative if she lives for a thousand years, “I want to protect the price of your pint at the pub” — like he cares about the cost of a drink he’s never drunk in a place he’s never been — because he’s pretty sure that those scary proles who drive cars so often that they know how to pay for their own petrol traditionally stop into one of these “public houses” for “a swift half” on the way to the polling booth.
And to make it clear precisely which constituency of scary fat proles he was pretending to be one of, Rishi added, while slopping beer all over his £700 loafers: “And now the UK has left the EU we can do just that.” Because, obviously, it was Johnny Foreigner, whom Rishi, that massive football fan, hates from his days on the terraces, travelling with the England and gobbing on the plod, who forced us to join the EU in the first place, purely so as to take our beer away.
And the day after that, our newly xenophobic, beer-swilling van driver of a prime minister declared that he’s going to restart drilling for oil! He’s giving a hundred new licences to a bunch of pound-shop JR Ewings with an exhortation to “max out” the UK’s oil and gas reserves at a time when the world is literally burning from the heatwave that 200 years of mining, drilling and burning has already bequeathed to us. Because Rishi wears the clothes now of a guy who thinks climate change is a myth perpetrated by mask-wearing pussies like Keir Starmer. I’m only surprised he didn’t wear a (badly fitting) ten-gallon hat to announce that one, assuming his man in Savile Row couldn’t run to horns and a forked tail.
And then we got another delay announced to the ban on advertising junk food to children, which of course would hit our fattest and our best right where it hurts, in their big swing-voting tum-tums, which our thinnest prime minister in 300 years (currently hauling himself into a Mr Blobby-like fat suit, no doubt) sees himself suddenly as born to protect from the commies who would ban the beloved bogofs that have made Britain fat and happy!
You take all of that; you take a softy non-driving nerd from a good family with a great liberal education (who is probably a very nice person) pretending to be a beery, racist haulage driver; you take a man who recycles assiduously at home (“Now come on, Akshata, you know perfectly well that we put the plastic kumquat tray from Waitrose in the plastics bin but the polythene film has to go in the main waste”) all but reopening the coal mines
and calling climate change a hoax; you take a thin man with thin children pretending to be fat and addicted to Chicken McNuggets, and then you are surprised when he doesn’t look comfy in his trousers? Would you?
Sure, those high trouser cuffs and stunted shirt sleeves make him look like a prep school boy whose mum didn’t have time to get him a new uniform. Yes, he probably wanted to look like a hipster. Of course, it makes a middle-aged plonker look even more middle-aged when he’s aping a tailoring style from 20 years ago. Yes, I know he probably hoped it would make him look taller when he’s staring up into Joe Biden’s hairy nostrils at the next G7 summit. Of course I am aware that tailors love to cut trousers a little short because it shows off their work to best advantage. And indeed, it has occurred to me that Rishi only wears whatever Akshata buys for him then lays out on his chair in the morning before school — I mean, work.
But it’s the inadequacy, lack of bottom and smallness of soul of the man inside the trousers that worries me most of all. Because if you look very closely, the problem is not that our little emperor’s clothes are too small. It’s that he isn’t wearing any at all.
“Drive-by shooting of Boris Johnson”.
Drive… by…shooting…of…Boris…Johnson, dr—ive—by shoot—ing of Boris Johnson. Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiivvvvvvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeeeeeeee…
That feels soooo good, it’s like being in the middle of a packet of wine gums. You’ve already had the red and the black ones, and you’re lining up the green, yellow and orange ones.
Any of you have a happy place?
I’ve just watched the clip.
I thought your well-known hatred of Johnson had reached a new and irrational peak.
I now see that you were quoting Dorries.
I like wine gums.
I will never expect you to listen to my record collection.
And, of course, I apologise unreservedly.
I always watch Michael Spicer’s videos but I don’t normally follow them up by watching the source video. In this case I couldn’t help myself and it’s astounding how vacuously un self-aware she is. It looked like even the Daily Mail journalist couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
She’s actually a professional writer – of sorts – so I imagine book sales matter quite a lot. She won’t earn out her advance of course, but I doubt any politician ever has.
Yes, I think it was on the Private Eye podcast where they were saying that political memoirs rarely sell very well -unless you’re Obama/Blair/Clinton. I think the Dorries book will sell more than most, though.
By election before the tory party conference?
Timing is everything (even if you don’t know the meaning of immediate)
I’m prepared to bet good money that the timing is linked to some form of pension benefit or similar entitlement based on length of “service”. That will be her priority.
The full text of her letter is here, the first memorable thing she has done in months and surely the last. It does however suggest that she intends to throw everyone in sight under the Number 11 to Westminster Bridge in her boo-hoo-book in September.
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-12448557/Nadine-Dorries-quits-Commons-seat-resignation-letter-full.html
She appears to blame Sunak for the police having to visit her home because of threats against her. Nothing to do with her announcing her resignation but not actually going through with it. Why is she so obsessed with that loser Johnson? Did she shag him or is she still hoping it’ll happen? Awful, awful woman.
In answer to your latter question, I reckon the answer is (a), Fat. Boy J. would shag a hole in a tree especially if there was a free holiday in it for him.
I often hear from the great unwashed the statement “All politicians are the same”.
They’re not. That’s like saying all goalkeepers are the same.
There’s a prospective M.P. down our road who is running for a seat at the next election – probably in vain, it’ll be the election she loses before she gets in next time (2030?) – and she is desperate to help the people of this country.
Meanwhile…
What are her policies for helping the “people” of this country?
I think every MP and prospective MP would tell you that, and in that way they are all the same. Once they’ve got their nose in the trough, far too many MPs restrict the range of people they “help” to those who don’t really need any.
Narcissists attract Narcissists.
We’re singing from the same hymn sheet then – I think she’s pissing up against a wall and that the country has been shit for half-a-century and will go on being so… and I presume from your comments that you both do too.
How could you not?
A place on Strictly or a role as First Ugly Sister in
this year’s Toxeth Hippodrome panto surely beckon
Are Nadine Dorries and Katie Hopkins the same person? They certainly seem to be.
Vile Vicious ugly cow – no doubt she will carry on through life unaware that her personality is as unattractive as her face.
I’d forgotten all about Katie Hopkins. Assume she’s found a home on GB News where all the other gobby know-nothings with zero compassion end up.
She’d make a great Second Ugly Sister double act with Mad Nad though. The two of them could also double up as the front and arse-end of a panto horse.
Now, now, these are human beings you’re referring to.
No they are not 😀😀
I’ve heard it said that their genetic codes share some of the same DNA as ours but I’ve yet to see any conclusive proof
Point of order: At least as far as physical appearance goes, neither KH or ND are ugly (on the outside), unlike Ann “Doris Karloff” Widdecombe, Suella “Gollum’s Sister” Braverman or perhaps Margaret Beckett. It is an unfortunately common male thing to call women that they hate “ugly”.
If you had no knowledge whatsoever of who ND was and you saw her walking down the street, you wouldn’t say to yourself “There goes an ugly woman”.
There are plenty of more appropriate insults that could be employed for these two. “Ugly” is a bit of a cop out, IMO.
Appearance shouldn’t be mentioned at all. It’s irrelevant, as in fat bastard Boris, see endless post passim from a certain source. It says more about the person employing it as an insult, in my view.
Yes I agree. Deal with the substance, avoid the playground.
This is very out of character for me, but I feel I need to defend the PM here! To say that he has done “absolutely nothing” is clearly untrue!
In the last year alone, I have seen him go in helicopters, private jets, sit in Thatcher’s old car and pretend to steer it, go to a petrol station to pretend to fill up a car, go to a pub to pretend to drink beer and watch football.
Once parliament returns after the 10 week summer recess, he’ll hit the ground running with a fire station visit where they might let him sit at the front of a REAL fire engine! He has also has asked his PPS to organise a fact-finding trip to a steam railway where he wants to be next to the driver and pull the cord and make it do the “woo! woo!” noise. By the end of the year, we’ll have seen him as a policeman, a commando, a RAF bomber pilot and he’ll be donning the scrubs like a top surgeon too.
Say what you like about Sunak, but he is definitely a man of action, so Dorries should back off.
Man of action? Does he have ‘realistic’ flock hair and gripping hands?
Sadly, he has nothing to grip
Giles Coran did a very funny take down of Rishi the other week….
_Short trousers are the least of Rishi’s problems_
The prime minister’s increasingly desperate pint-pulling everyman act is no more convincing than his fashion choices
Giles Coren
Saturday August 05 2023, 6.00am, The Times
Everything about Rishi Sunak is fake, shrunken, inauthentic, ill-fitting, bogus and wrong, so I really don’t know what all the fuss was about with his trousers. By comparison with how incredibly poorly his personal qualities have turned out to fit the demands of high office and world leadership, those Action Man clamdiggers and dwarfish shirt sleeves of his that have been so rudely mocked this week seem positively well cut.
This is a man who, having identified that a combative response to the totally imaginary “war on the car” might be a vote winner in the wake of Ulezgate in Uxbridge, rushed off to some motor fair in Sidcup to try on Margaret Thatcher’s old Rover, which he wore every bit as unconvincingly as he wears those terrible undercut suits, sitting propped up on cushions in the driver’s seat with his hands on the wheel going, “Vroom! Vroom!” and wondering what the pedals were for.
He then spent the week pretending he “loves cars” and setting himself up as some sort of bonsai Clarksonian petrolhead with a fleet of trucks, tractors and McLarens in his garage and a Ferrari-like thirst for fossil fuel, when we all know he had to borrow a Kia at Sainsbury’s from some poor checkout girl last year for a “petrol prices” photo opportunity — and then couldn’t even work his debit card, let alone a clutch and gear stick. Will Red Wall Man really trust his Transit van to a bloke who cannot drive his own Amex?
Rishi’s never driven a car in his life. Only ever sat in the back of a blacked-out chauffeur-driven Mercedes with his tiny legs sticking straight out in front of him, not even reaching the edge of the seat, shins and socks on show, squeaking, “Are we nearly there yet?” and shouting, “Wheeee!” when it goes above 30mph.
You can easily imagine his driver opening the door at the end of the journey and reaching in to unclip his seatbelt, then very carefully carrying him upstairs to bed without waking him. (Indeed, you can almost imagine his driver opening the door and panicking that he isn’t in there at all, and then rummaging in the gap between the side of the seat and the door and going, “Phew! THERE you are!” like when your kid can’t find Pink Bunny and starts weeping that she must have left him on the plane.)
And when Rishi had safely parked that image of himself in our minds, he tried to make himself out to be some sort of ten-pints-a-night pub geezer as he declared, while grimly pulling a pint of stout alongside the kind of pink-haired, heavily tattooed bartender who won’t vote Conservative if she lives for a thousand years, “I want to protect the price of your pint at the pub” — like he cares about the cost of a drink he’s never drunk in a place he’s never been — because he’s pretty sure that those scary proles who drive cars so often that they know how to pay for their own petrol traditionally stop into one of these “public houses” for “a swift half” on the way to the polling booth.
And to make it clear precisely which constituency of scary fat proles he was pretending to be one of, Rishi added, while slopping beer all over his £700 loafers: “And now the UK has left the EU we can do just that.” Because, obviously, it was Johnny Foreigner, whom Rishi, that massive football fan, hates from his days on the terraces, travelling with the England and gobbing on the plod, who forced us to join the EU in the first place, purely so as to take our beer away.
And the day after that, our newly xenophobic, beer-swilling van driver of a prime minister declared that he’s going to restart drilling for oil! He’s giving a hundred new licences to a bunch of pound-shop JR Ewings with an exhortation to “max out” the UK’s oil and gas reserves at a time when the world is literally burning from the heatwave that 200 years of mining, drilling and burning has already bequeathed to us. Because Rishi wears the clothes now of a guy who thinks climate change is a myth perpetrated by mask-wearing pussies like Keir Starmer. I’m only surprised he didn’t wear a (badly fitting) ten-gallon hat to announce that one, assuming his man in Savile Row couldn’t run to horns and a forked tail.
And then we got another delay announced to the ban on advertising junk food to children, which of course would hit our fattest and our best right where it hurts, in their big swing-voting tum-tums, which our thinnest prime minister in 300 years (currently hauling himself into a Mr Blobby-like fat suit, no doubt) sees himself suddenly as born to protect from the commies who would ban the beloved bogofs that have made Britain fat and happy!
You take all of that; you take a softy non-driving nerd from a good family with a great liberal education (who is probably a very nice person) pretending to be a beery, racist haulage driver; you take a man who recycles assiduously at home (“Now come on, Akshata, you know perfectly well that we put the plastic kumquat tray from Waitrose in the plastics bin but the polythene film has to go in the main waste”) all but reopening the coal mines
and calling climate change a hoax; you take a thin man with thin children pretending to be fat and addicted to Chicken McNuggets, and then you are surprised when he doesn’t look comfy in his trousers? Would you?
Sure, those high trouser cuffs and stunted shirt sleeves make him look like a prep school boy whose mum didn’t have time to get him a new uniform. Yes, he probably wanted to look like a hipster. Of course, it makes a middle-aged plonker look even more middle-aged when he’s aping a tailoring style from 20 years ago. Yes, I know he probably hoped it would make him look taller when he’s staring up into Joe Biden’s hairy nostrils at the next G7 summit. Of course I am aware that tailors love to cut trousers a little short because it shows off their work to best advantage. And indeed, it has occurred to me that Rishi only wears whatever Akshata buys for him then lays out on his chair in the morning before school — I mean, work.
But it’s the inadequacy, lack of bottom and smallness of soul of the man inside the trousers that worries me most of all. Because if you look very closely, the problem is not that our little emperor’s clothes are too small. It’s that he isn’t wearing any at all.
That’s just nitpicking…
What were we saying earlier here about ignoring surface attributes? Coren loses credibility each time he mentions Sunak’s lack of height. Grow up.
Are you in some ay implying that Giles Coren, the least talented from the family, who spat the dummy over a misplaced comma, is a bit of a wanker?
Surely not etc
“Drive-by shooting of Boris Johnson”.
Drive… by…shooting…of…Boris…Johnson, dr—ive—by shoot—ing of Boris Johnson. Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiivvvvvvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeeeeeeee…
That feels soooo good, it’s like being in the middle of a packet of wine gums. You’ve already had the red and the black ones, and you’re lining up the green, yellow and orange ones.
Any of you have a happy place?
Okay, then…
(Averts gaze, backs away slowly…)
As long as I don’t have to listen to your record collection.
(a) She said it. Do you think Fat Boy J. not being in office anymore is down to a drive-by shooting?
(b) You don’t like wine gums?
I should know better by now.
About wine gums?
You don’t like wine gums?
(Averts gaze, backs away slowly…)
Did you watch the clip?
I’ve just watched the clip.
I thought your well-known hatred of Johnson had reached a new and irrational peak.
I now see that you were quoting Dorries.
I like wine gums.
I will never expect you to listen to my record collection.
And, of course, I apologise unreservedly.
I always watch Michael Spicer’s videos but I don’t normally follow them up by watching the source video. In this case I couldn’t help myself and it’s astounding how vacuously un self-aware she is. It looked like even the Daily Mail journalist couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
The book has been delayed until the end of November while legal matters are attended to. Don’t hold your breath, in other words.
It’ll come. And it’ll sell, briefly.
Then it’ll be remaindered and then it’ll be pulped.
Book sales won’t matter overmuch to someone like Dorries.
She’ll make loads of money and get lots of front pages with
the inevitable newspaper serialisation in the Daily Fail
She’s actually a professional writer – of sorts – so I imagine book sales matter quite a lot. She won’t earn out her advance of course, but I doubt any politician ever has.
Yes, I think it was on the Private Eye podcast where they were saying that political memoirs rarely sell very well -unless you’re Obama/Blair/Clinton. I think the Dorries book will sell more than most, though.
According today’s Times, Harper Collins only gave her a partial advance of UK£20,000.
As HC is owned by NI, which is owned by Murdoch, the real money will obviously come from serialization – probably in the Times, also owned by Murdoch