Time for a midsummer murder

Not to be ungallant, but Mother theresa looks dreadful, doesn’t she?

Pictures of her leaving church on Sunday, hand-inhand with hubby Phil, wearing Howard and Hilda his ’n’ hers watches, appeared to betray a woman near the end of her tether.

If she’s going to stay on and see through Brexit, she needs a rest, urgently. But there’s no point if she’s going to be a zombie Prime Minister.

May likes to relax with a box-set or two of a weekend. Might I suggest that instead of her favourite Midsomer Murders, she treats herself to binge- watching the Sopranos, the everyday story of New Jersey mafia folk.

to regain her authority, she should follow the example of mob boss tony Soprano. Whenever he was under the cosh, he solved the problem by disposing of one of his disloyal lieutenants.

In May’s case, she must shoot Spreadsheet Phil as a basis for negotiation.

the duplicitous Chancellor is deliberately undermining the Brexit talks and, ludicrously, even appears to fancy himself as May’s successor.

She should have sacked him after his appalling, arrogant Budget debacle in March, when he targeted natural tory supporters in a smug, self- satisfied display of hubris and shattered the Government’s reputation for competence. that was when the rot set in. No one would miss Hammond.

A half-decent book-keeper could do his job.

Whacking him would also serve pour encourager les autres, as they don’t say in the Bada Bing.

theresa should invite him out to the nearest marina to Maidenhead, then dispose of his body in the thames — just like tony Soprano did when he dumped the fat rat Pussy Bonpensiero in the Atlantic.

It’s high time Spreadsheet Phil slept with the fishes.