For Fox sake...the NHS doesn’t need crap like this!

THE last time anyone heard the impressively posh name of lawyer Jolyon Maugham was last Boxing Day.

The massive Remainer hit the headlines after tweeting his apparent joy at having clubbed a fox to death in his back garden.

To his followers, he posted: “Already this morning I have killed a fox with a baseball bat. How’s your Boxing Day going?”

He also claimed to have carried out the fatal attack while wearing his wife’s kimono.

Alas, for a bloke who seems to love clogging up the legal system with pointless anti-Brexit cases, the RSPCA took the decision NOT to prosecute.

But now he’s back before the bench – this time on behalf of a 14-year-old girl who wants to be a boy called Reece.

Through his selfstyled Good Law Project, he has launched legal proceedings against the NHS over delays to the teenager’s gender reassignment treatment.

‘Reece’ has waited over a year for referral to the only NHS gender clinic but Maugham, acting for the teenager, says the service has a legal obligation to provide specialist care to all patients within 18 weeks or provide an alternative.

Does he not think the NHS has anything better to do at the moment?

This takes me back to early summer when, every Thursday evening at 8pm, we were urged to stand on our doorsteps to clap and bang our pans together in praise of “Our” NHS.

Did anyone, I wonder, as they stood there banging along with their neighbours, have in their minds the idea of suing the NHS on behalf of a confused teen?

Did anyone clapping really think: “I know, seeing as the NHS is facing the biggest health crisis since its inception in 1948, now would be an excellent time to try to extract some cash from it?”

Or was it just not-so-jolly Jolyon – perhaps while standing on his manicured, fox-free lawn, banging a couple of baseball bats together?

THE phrase “crawl over broken glass” normally applies when I think of Nigella Lawson.

I’m not alone among the gentleman class who find themselves uncontrollably growling when they think of Kitchen Tits licking one of her filthy baking spoons.

But Nigella’s decision to champion liquorice is one step towards a disappointing semi-on.

The nearest you’ll ever find me to the deathly black stuff is a Black Jack – the impossibly sticky pick-and-mix sweets that make your eyes water.

Give me a Fruit Salad any day of the week.