WOKE CELEB No. 5: Hugh Grant

PLUMMY-VOICED ‘actor’ Grant famously failed to see the funny side when some cheeky journalists light-heartedly hacked his mobile phone a few years ago. While most Brits would have found this show of interest flattering and endearing, the pathetic Four Weddings snowflake ran sobbing to his lawyers.

But is the floppy haired A-Lister really SO lacking in humour that he can’t appreciate a good, old-fashioned April Fool...?

Having made my escape from James O’Brien’s house, I arrive outside Hugh’s elegant Surrey homestead at around 9.30am. My spies tell me that the Mickey Blue Eyes icon is as regular as clockwork and will be sat on his thunderbox at 9:37 exactly.

I’ve brought an illegal Chinese firework the size of a bucket that I plan on popping through his bathroom window whilst he’s dropping his morning fudge, a ribtickling slice of tomfoolery that would put a grin on even the most miserable leftie’s face.

But I must have dropped my jemmy whilst fleeing the scene of my last prank, so I am forced to light the enormous pyrotechnic and pitch it straight through the glass.

The ensuing flashes, bangs and screams are absolutely hilarious, and when the floppy-haired Notting Hill fave comes tumbling out of the broken window, trousers round his ankles, I expect him to be bent double with mirth.

I snap a pic of him collapsed on the ground in what I assume is hysterical laughter, and shout ‘April Fool!’

But instead of joining in the fun, the thin-skinned thespian launches a furious four-letter tirade in my direction. Within seconds, he is on the phone to the police, and yet again I’m left shaking my head in disappointment as I hightail it into the surrounding woodland.

Hugh keeps us all rolling in the aisles with his humorous performances in comedy films. But when it comes to the funniest day of the year, this conceited spoilsport doesn’t want to know.

But what should have been an enjoyable day of fun, laughter and practical jokes is about to turn into a nightmare.

I am approached by police in the woodland near Grant’s house and, unable to speak for laughing, I explain that the ‘firework attack’ they are investigating was merely a light-hear ted April Fools’ prank.

However, the police don’t seem to find my practical joke funny and I am arrested on some trumped up charge of causing actual bodily harm.

I simply cannot believe my ears. The plague of politically correct ‘wokeness’ has apparently now spread beyond our ivory-tower-dwelling arsehole celebs and into Britain’s police force. It’s nothing short of a national tragedy.

As they search me back at the station, the joyless coppers examine my phone, looking for evidence of various ‘crimes’ that have supposedly been committed against a string of celebrities this morning.

I try to explain that these were all good-natured April Fools’ japes, too, but the whiny wet blankets won’t listen to reason, and I am charged with three counts of assault and five counts of voyeurism. Unbelievable.

Britain is officially broken, ladies and gentlemen. And make no mistake... it was the ‘woke’ wot broke it.