Matt Owen Freelance Writer

When you’re Prime Minister of a major country such as England, sorry, Great Britain, you have little time for the things most people take for granted. Take for instance walking holidays in North Wales with your husband, Dennis. I had to plan this way ahead, because you never know what beastly terror cells are hiding away in deepest, darkest Snowdonia. Some of the people still speak Welsh when you walk into the gift shops which have just been swept for mines and listening equi

So, it’s with great sorrow and serious sad face that I today learned of the death of great revolutionary and champion of social justice, Fidel Castro, at the tragically young age of 90. He had so much more to give. At the same time, I was also filled with great sorrow when I learned of the life of George Galloway, who’d filled his Twitter feed with snaps of himself being all matey and crawling up Fidel’s glorious backside. Sadly, Mr Castro never had the pleasure of meeting me

When we look back at 2016, it will go down in history as the year in which all the so-called “experts” who write books and have qualifications coming out of their ears were finally proved wrong. The Guardian-reading, Ken Loach box set-owning elite sat in their metropolitan ivory towers, eating vegetarian Tofu or whatever it is they insist on calling food, have had their day - the voice of the common people has finally been heard. It all began on that fateful day in June when

In my first speech to conference as Home Secretary I wanted to leave my own personal stamp on proceedings by putting my foot down with a positive hand. I believe I achieved this goal and several other goals, of which I shall come to later when I can remember them fully. First of all I’d like to say that there’s been a lot of scaremongering following my announcement that there’s to be a crackdown on layabout scrounging foreigners who take up all the poorly-paid, 70-hour-a-week

Well I don’t know – what is a girl to do? You go out of your way to help your fellow overweight, working class man (or woman – they’re even worse – especially the awful ones who wear leggings and pick their grandchildren up from the school gates dressed in onesies) by pointing out on Twitter that what they're eating is going to put them in hospital - and not a nice private one with an a la carte menu and a daytime Botox clinic. Oh no, it'll be one of those ghastly places with