Matt Owen Freelance Writer

Hi guys and ladies, and people who don’t identify as one thing or the other (I know, I know...

Unfamiliar as I am with what the fuck is goin’ on with politics in the UK, I find myself being asked to write several hundred fuckin’ words

Everyone’s banging on and on about “when are we going to get Brexit done?” ...

People say to me “You know, David…”, and you know what, I have to stop them right there. I stop them right there and tell them to their face

Before I pay tribute to our brave cricketing comrades and their exceptional win over Australasia at Headingley Bridge, I must read out an...

Now, I was never one for bringing politics into cricket. In fact, I was dead against bringing anything into cricket, especially excitement.

As told to Matt Owen JEREMY HUNT Speaking as someone who sounds not quite as mad as Boris, I implore Conservative Party members to think about what they really want from their party when they vote for the leader. As someone who has a tremendous amount of experience fucking things up in government, I would like to say that I am without a shadow of a doubt, more experienced when it comes to fucking things right up, not only for the party, but for the country. I would leave no s

As told to Matt Owen In many respects I’m what you might call a lucky geezer. I get to do what I love for a living, be it pretending to be the guvnor of a pub; hanging around with naughty geezers who like putting people’s lights out; and of course, wandering around with me hands nestled in the pockets of me Crombie, trying to look proper moody for the camera. However, every now and then something comes along to naus things right up. I was sitting at home in me drum when I get

AS TOLD TO MATT OWEN Many people (including the vicar and my handyman, Phil) have been questioning me over the last 24 hours as to what has made me come out of political retirement, and leave hit ITV5 show 'Celebrity 1940s Hopscotch House', to stand in the forthcoming European elections. The answer is simple. I have quite simply had enough of Britain being made to look a prize chump in the eyes of the rest of the World. The likes of Macron are currently sat on his over-subsid

People often come up to me in the streets and ask me, “Boris”, because they like to think they know me, and have some kind of real connection, but in reality, this isn’t true. They don’t know me at all. Anyway, members of the public constantly ask me “what on Earth is going on with Brexit?” Then they say “Why is that weak, useless, spineless woman Theresa May still Prime Minister? And why are you cycling to work when you’ve got enough money to buy one of your own daft buses?”

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

In just two days, ladies and gentleman of this country I have the fortune of calling “Great Britain”, we have the opportunity of finally rectifying all the wrongdoings of the last forty years by voting for a Brexit, and at the same time ensuring I get to make my 479th consecutive Question Time appearance. The proof is in the eating of the pudding when it comes to days like Thursday 23rd June. When I say pudding, I don’t mean foreign sorbets and Italian ice creams with fancy-D

I wonder if the “so-called” Tory Prime Minister, or the “so-called” Tory Chancellor of The Exchequer have any idea how much a pint of baked beans is these days? Cameron and Osborne and their type live in a bubble (not a rundown, decaying working class bubble with a leaking roof - but a well-heeled, comfortable bubble, with it’s own parking space and three kitchens) - and have little or no compassion for the man (or woman) in the street. This heartless, compassionless Tory go