POSH & BREX
We recently attended a meeting of the Eurosceptic Institute for Mumbo Jumbo, Baloney & Contemptible Bunkum, where we asked chief mannikin Jacob Rees-Mogg, what possible reason there might be for a man of his social position to be not wearing a monocle?

The top-hatted, tripe-warbler replied, with an arch, patronising half-smirk, “Oh, but that is where you are quite wrong!”

Utilising a delicate pink aristocratic thumb and fore-finger, he adjusted what we had mistakenly assumed until then to be his spectacles:

“As you can see, I am wearing not one monocle, but two. It is no secret that I am, at the very minimum, twice as posh as an ordinary posh person. With that in mind, I instructed an old family friend, the late Bertram Pauper, head jeweller at Bertwhistle & Scrivener of Mayfair, to weld together a
pair of antique gold-rimmed monocles.”

Pausing to gaze, stony-faced at a nearby camera, he performed a smile and continued,

“My intention was to secure them to my face using the normal monocle-gurn, but unfortunately, that made me resemble an owl chewing a scorpion. Clever old Bertram came up with the ingenious idea of attaching
a thin, hooked rod to either side, which, when anchored to my ears, securely clamps the two monocles to my face.“

Magnified by his double monocle, the noble eyes dimmed like over-poached eggs, as he added gravely,

“The Pauper family has enjoyed a long tradition of faithful service to the gentry, spanning many generations. In this centennial remembrance of the sacrifices of 1914-18, it is worth noting that Bertram’s great uncle, Wilfred Pauper, threw himself on a land mine in order to protect his commanding officer, my maternal Great Grandfather Lord Montague Mountjoy-Pemberton, as he bravely ordered his men ‘over the top’ at Ypres. Betram went to his grave unselfishly knowing his place, little realising he had unconsciously facilitated the botoxically inscrutable, yet obsequiously patronising, gargoyle-gaze, with which my public is now so familiar.”

JACKPOT!
Bet365’s boss Denise Coates’ self-awarded quarter-billion-plus salary represents a demonstration of pitiless greed not seen since former actor Ray Winstone mortgaged his soul to the devil. Not content with stockpiling such an obscene amount of cash- all hypnotised from the wallets of betting addicts thanks to stacked-odds bells and cheap, near-miss whistles-the CEO of one of the world’s largest online gambling companies was determined to back the industry in extending the amount of time that fixed-odds betting machines could retain the £100-per-bet maximum, before parliament restricted it to £2. In a sickening display of co-operative avarice, they managed to persuade the chancellor that another year of government-approved legal pickpocketing was a really good idea. Thankfully, a majority of MPs on both sides of the house disagreed, pulling the plug on this billionaire’s budget bonus, perhaps after realising that the promotion of fixed odds betting machines, “the crack cocaine of gambling”, was nothing more than legalised larceny on a grand scale, amply illustrated by Denise Coates’s Getty-style paypacket.

Note: J.Paul Getty was, in the end, a philanthropist with a social conscience. Will we ever see a ‘Coates Foundation’? I wouldn’t bet on it.


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