Hols in Britain? Not while you’re here, Stephen!
ONE man guaranteed to get my blood bubbling like the Old Faithful geyser in America’s Yellowstone National Park is Stephen F***ING Fry.
Not content with being an insufferably smug c*** on telly series QI where he knows everything about everything, the portly geek proceeds to pop up every time I open my eyes.
And you can bet your house that he’ll be talking what he would no doubt call (midway through a selfsatisfyingly posh chuckle while arching an all-knowing eyebrow) “twaddle”.
Or, as a poor uneducated oaf who didn’t get tossed off at Oxbridge – like me, for instance – might put it, shite.
This tiresome “national treasure”– no, me neither – is on a telly near you right now in a Government backed advertising campaign to get us plebs to holiday in the UK instead of abroad.
Holding up a china cup of tea in one hand, and a saucer in the other, the multimillionaire toff chortles to the camera: “Why on earth would anyone want to go abroad in 2012?”
Now, as much as I like what Stephen probably calls Old Blighty, what the F*** do I want to take my holidays here for?
The weather’s shite, everyone’s skint, everything costs a
Stephen Fry F***ing c**t!
fortune, and, frankly, Hi-de-hi style holiday camps don’t really do it for me anymore.
There’s no topless sunbathing, there’s no Magaluf live sex shows, and I’ve no chance of smashing in the back doors of a pissed tart from Bulgaria.
Why would anyone want to go abroad in 2012, Stephen?
To get away from YOU, you C**T!