PWP Politics – Danger: Void Behind Door

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If you’re wondering where this blog stands on Politics, the gist is that I’m hoping it might encourage any passing Tory voters or Daily Mail readers to take a long hard look at themselves. If only to spare the rest of us from having to do it.

No one likes them, they don’t care

Latest signs indicate an infestation of Tory MPs on Kennington Road; thankfully, they’re all taken down again after the election.

Stepping Across The Thames

How the Archbishop of Canterbury lost his deckchair concession and why trammelling the Thames had its drawbacks. Or a history of London footbridges, if you prefer.

Boris Johnson versus Dean Cox

A melancholy reflection on whether baklavas, beer, aubergine rasavangy and an 82nd-minute equaliser at Brisbane Road can ever compensate for the existence of Boris Johnson.

For The Greater Good

A response to UKIP in not the only language its supporters don’t understand: poetry.

Eton Mess

How I was abducted by aliens from South Harrow station and had the true nature of Boris Johnson revealed to me after being forced to mate against my wishes.

TK Maxx in Karl-Marx-Stadt

Leipzig 1989 remembered, and why the Dean of St Paul’s can’t hold a candle to the pastor of the Nikolaikirche.

Barney’s Only Disruptive Because He’s Bored…

After a surveyor’s report says that the social cost of levelling the playing fields of Eton might be incompatible with Tory spending plans, David Cameron tells a bright kid from the Walworth Road not to throw his knife and hoodie away just yet.

Tory Tourette’s

A night with Chris Addison causes me to wonder whether the world would truly be a better place if George Osborne got a job in Dixons.

A Public Disservice

In which I am forced to bribe an elderly man in Wolverhampton with a spongey dessert in order to demonstrate to Richard Branson that trains are not planes and that you only need choice if the system has failed.

The Ecstasy of Michael Gove

I stare bleakly into the abyss and wonder whether the election of Boris Johnson is all my fault (it’s not, it’s all yours).

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