A-LIST CASE STUDY NO.1: GARY NEVILLE

IN RECENT YEARS, former Manchester United defender Gary Neville has become one of the Woke Mob’s loudest critics of our green and pleasant government.

Capitalising on his vast social media profile, Sky pundit Neville regularly tweets his displeasure about Conservative Party policy, and he was among the many snowflake celebs to express ‘horror’ about Tory officials harmlessly humiliating their cleaners. But how ‘clean’ is Gary’s own record when it comes to treatment of janitorial staff?

I aim to find out...

Arriving at Sky Sports’ London HQ, I sneak past security and cunningly Taser a member of the cleaning staff. I dump his unconscious body in a broom cupboard and re-emerge wearing his yellow overalls. With my mop and bucket, I begin splashing bleach all over the lobby floor, whistling tunelessly to complete my transformation. It isn’t long until I see former Red Devil Neville entering the building.

Knowing that he hails from Greater Manchester, I adopt a thick workingclass ‘Oop North’ brogue, giving the Old Trafford fave a cheery nod and wink as he approaches. “Ayup, Mr Neville, sir!” I chirp, tugging hard at my forelock. “’Appen it’s reet champion t’ si’ thee, an’ naw mistek!”

A rictus grin spreads across Neville’s face. The multi-millionaire footy ace is clearly FUMING at having to stop and interact with a lowly cleaner. “Good morning!” he seethes. “I don’t think we’ve met yet – I’m Gary. What’s your name?”

Unbelievable. The sanctimonious snowflake was first in line to criticise the ‘rude’ treatment of cleaning staff by Tory bigwigs – yet I’ve been on the Sky janitorial team nearly

SIX MINUTES, and this ivory-tower-dwelling arsehole hasn’t even BOTHERED to learn my name. To Neville, us low-wage grifters are simply interchangeable drones: subhuman ‘worker bees’ who are paid a pittance to wallow in his filth.

I quickly invent a pseudonym and the ex-England right-back shakes my hand. “It’s great to meet you,” he lies through his left-wing teeth. “And thanks so much for everything you do,” he adds, almost certainly making a mental note to wash his hands at some point during the day after touching mine.

I am so utterly gobsmacked by this barrage of woke hypocrisy that I fail to spot the reappearance of the cleaner I Tasered earlier. He has apparently regained consciousness and is marching towards me with a face like thunder, flanked by a pair of iratelooking security guards. As my overalls are ripped off and I am brutally manhandled towards the exit, I appeal to ‘Man Of The People’ Neville for assistance. Surely this pleb-loving do-gooder will be there for the common man in his hour of need?

“Eeh, can tha do owt t’elp me, Mr Neville, sir?” I bleat, pathetically. “I’ve got bairns t’ feed!” But rather than rushing to my aid, two-faced Gary simply feigns confusion, and as I am hurled through the revolving doors in my vest and pants, he barely even deigns to look at me. He made a grand show of pretending we were equals, but when push comes to shove this stuck-up snob considers my kind too far beneath him to bother with.

Neville was one of England’s finest defenders. But when it came to defending the country’s low-income workers, he dropped the ball.