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Pants on Fire

So it’s been a bit of a crud week. There was a strange fog that descended over our house post book-launch. Brexit happened. And no matter how anyone voted, I’m pretty sure we can all agree there was fallout from that. Social media which had been buoyant and full of pictures of comedy cats was now a full-out forum for people displaying their rage, their grief, their sadness. Everything was tinged in grey. My usual levels of optimism were muted and not by news of the falling pound or Nigel Farage’s face but just a general sense that there had been a large seismic shift in us all working together towards a higher common goal: being bloody decent to each other as human beings. Because when you have kids, all you really think about is the world they grow up in. You hope it can be filled with more comedy cats than people calling each other ‘racist twatting c**ts.’

Anyway, enough of that, it’s frigging depressing and that’s not why you come here. I hope. Let’s talk about how Michael Gove has a big ol’ Thunderbird face. Am I right? Or not. Becaus