EU cheese mountain may cause lasting damage to mental health, say experts

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So, this dream I had, it was a film like Kill Bill, but with Emily Maitlis and Kay-Burley-off-Sky-News. Basically, they get so fed up doing clickbait interviews with whining trolls like Daniel Hannan or Darren Grimes, that they go on an intellectual Kung Fu Tag Team rampage, questioning right-wing dimwits to a pulp.

In early scenes, Boris Johnson runs off when he hears Emily talking in sentences and Jacob Rees-Mogg appears to melt like an advent candle, revealing that, under that suit, there’s actually just congealed snot. Farage initially tweets heavily that he’s going to put Kay-Burley-off-Sky-News right in her place, but then runs screaming across Abingdon Street Gardens when he sees her coffee cup, having mistaken it for a milkshake. He only calms down when he gets by the Thames near Millbank and can point at boats while foaming at the mouth.

As the plot develops, Emily gets cornered by either Andrea Leadsom or Kim Wilde (it’s hard to tell these days) before they’re interrupted by Dido Harding looking worried, like she’s forgotten to feed her horse. Then, they cut from the studio to Barnsley where Katya Adler is confronting right-wing extremists who have gathered to defend the statue of Dickie Bird from imaginary left-wing protestors.

Lawd help us, even Piers Morgan has come over from the Dark Side, which makes this dream movie even more unsettling but reassuringly corny.

Now, given its clichéd structure, the dream / movie gets to the part where the Big Baddy’s hatchet man appears to try and kill off our two heroic Kung Fu interrogators. In this case, it’s Dominic Raab, ‘cos he does karate and stuff, though it takes him a while because he’s not great with maps. Dazzled by the reflection of the camera crew’s own lights off his Mekon-like forehead, he starts kicking Kay-Burley-off-Sky-News about and is just about to crush her to death beneath a box of unsold copies of Rees-Mogg’s book about Victorians when, gasping for breath, she asks him if he’s ever read the Good Friday agreement. All 35 pages of it.

Thrown off-guard, he hesitates and Emily caves his head in with a Royal Television Society Award statuette.

Surely now, it’s over.

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But this is a clichéd dream / movie, so as Emily helps Kay to her feet, hair still intact like those Channel 5 afternoon movies involving mild peril and a psychotic boyfriend / babysitter / twin-sister / line-manager, you know there’s a twist coming, as sure as the prime minister makes up statistics.

From the darkness, laser beams from the bionic eyes of Dominic Cummings blast Kay-Burley-off-Sky-News into oblivion, (a guest-presenting slot on Loose Women), and his army of Incel droids in white linen shirts advance, their giant iPad Pros in one hand and a copy of Atlas Shrugged in the other.

Realising it may be hopeless, Emily wades in and they dissolve almost instantly upon consensual contact with a female, but there’s too many of them, like stereotypes in a Blaxploitation picture. Cummings does his trademark smirk. He doesn’t even need glasses any more as he advances, wielding an early, non-fiction draft of his statement about Barnard Castle like a halberd.

Surely this is the end.

But then, from the gloom, there is a flash of vivid, uncoordinated colour, all purples, browns and lime-greens as Angela Rayner, deputising for the self-isolating Keir Starmer, steps forward and screams:


As she brandishes the culture section like a cross, Cummings’ sneer shrivels, as if he were on the vinegar strokes, before his skull cracks open like a boiled egg and a tiny Vladimir Putin doll drops to the floor and scurries off into the Dantesque, free-to-download furnace-cum-volcano which was all this dream could afford and means that, ever since, I’ve been getting facebook ads about Mature Women Looking For Love Only Three Miles Away.

It was Camembert, since you’re asking. One day it’ll come from Texas in a can.

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