Speaking to the Commons today, Tony bin Blair once again put forward his reasons for bombing the shit out of hundreds of thousands of innocent people in Iraq against the wishes of his own electorate. Having come under mounting criticism in recent weeks, he has finally allowed Parliament to 'debate' the Iraqi question tomorrow. (Very generous I must say.) There are, however, certain conditions that have been set on the debate, namely that 'the possible war' shouldn't actually be mentioned. ("Possible" war? Come on Tony...you were quick enough to remove the word 'socialism' from clause four of the Labour Manifesto, what's taking you so long about removing the word 'possible' from your never ending rhetoric?) Shades of Basil Fawlty screaming, "Don't mention the war!" spring to mind here.

Having a debate about Iraq without bringing up the question of 'possible' conflict wouldn't so much be a debate as a one-sdied argument in favour of Uncle Tony's stance. Somehow I suspect the back benchers won't be paying much attention to their great leader's request. Not that it matters. Regardless of what Parliament decides Tony is working for a greater purpose now. Either way the pendulum swings the situation is set...Britain's new boss, George W. Bush, has reached his own conclusion and everything else is just academic.

Long live the freedom of the West. God bless democracy. I know...I've said it all before, but then again, so has Uncle Tony. He's like a record needle stuck in the centre groove. Frankly it's embarassing. I can only reason that Tony believes if he repeats himself often enough we'll all get bored and go back to our normal, every day lives.

For once he might be right.

This Week: Delia Smith's Arteries!

With Britain's arteries becoming increasingly narrow, causing untold chaos and jams due to badly furred veins, and with back-logs of corpuscles never before witnessed in this culinary realm, congestion charges are now being levelled at Delia Smith and her fellow 'Cookery Cohorts'.

"Something had to be done," commented Ken Livingstone this morning. "Somebody had to stick their leg of lamb on the line, and those cowards in government couldn't afford any more bad policies after the pro-Bush debacle. So it's been left to me, once again, to put a stop to this misery before we reach total colon-block."

And Red Ken has good reason to blame Dowdy Delia and her terrorist puddings. On last Saturday's show the simple act of making mash potato turned into the sort of glutton fest more normally seen when Christopher Biggins masturbates.

"The bloody woman added half a pound of butter, a bottle of olive oil and several buckets of whale fat to what was supposed to be a simple bit of squashed spud," commented Cyril Duck, a spokesman for the Health Service currently undergoing treatment for his swollen haemorrhoids. "I could 'ear me bleedin' pulminaries creak just watchin' it."

Delia, of course, isn't the only lard-loving flab-queen at large in Britain. Anthony Worrel Thompson (egg and wife batterer maitre-de) not only manufactures 'Meals of Mass Digestion' but, apparently, consumes them by the bath-load himself.

"I blame the BBC," said Mrs Coldsore during a pre-med to have her septic boil lanced. "All they ever have on cookery programmes these days are things boiled in fat, sprinkled with fat, rinsed, diced, sautéed and fried in fat...all washed down with a large glass of lard dipped in vegetable oil and wrapped in a pound of goose fat for good measure." She then passed out as the anaesthetic took control of her tiny mind.

So, what's the answer? Well, Uncle Ken thinks he knows. "Every time some t.v. chef uses cooking oil to cover up the fact that his/her meals are crap," he commented. "We're going to charge them a dozen gallstones. It might sound steep but it should put a stop to the morbid obesity rise in the country."

When asked to defend himself against the accusation that this was just, "The rich food not being allowed the same benefits as the poor," Ken replied, "You can strain disgusting meals through as much kitchen paper as you like, but a lump of shit caught by a piece of bog roll is still, at the end of the day, just a turd."