Nothing works properly in the UK anymore – just look at Big Ben

I’m sorry to sound depressing, but nothing works right in this country. Even Big Ben is broken.

They have just spent £80million restoring Britain’s most iconic landmark.

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And it’s now as reliable as a 1973 Austin Allegro.

Then you have the NHS, which is fantastic if you want to be addressed with the right pronoun, but there’s no escaping the fact that it’s pretty much useless if you need a doctor.

And you can only talk to a nurse if you are fluent in Latvian.

The police? don’t make me start If you get stabbed, they only care if it happened in a bus lane.

And if you’re burgled, you’ll be held until the end of time.

Which, according to Big Ben, happens every three to four days.

But it’s the transport system that makes my shoulders sag the most, because that’s just hopeless.

Back in early April, engineers noticed that a railway bridge over the River Thames in Oxfordshire was becoming a bit shaky.

So, due to labor disputes by train drivers, they imposed a 5 mph speed limit on the few trains that ran.

It then turned out that 5 mph was still too fast and it was announced that the track would remain closed while repairs were being carried out.

Back when Britain was still functioning, it wouldn’t have taken long.

When the engineers needed to narrow the gauge on the London to Bristol line, they did all the work in one night. One!! Not a single train had to be cancelled.

But to repair a bridge in 2023, they need three months. Unless it’s Hammersmith Bridge in London, which for reasons nobody understands can’t be repaired at all.

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So if I have to go to London I have to use the car.

This is difficult as it means going around the Oxford ring road which is currently being converted into a bus lane. The traffic is terrible.

And I can’t miss it walking through the city center because Oxford is run by madmen who think the car is more dangerous than a nuclear missile.

That’s why they put flower pots in the middle of every street.

This means that to get to London I have to use country roads with grass growing in the middle and signs saying ‘There are witches’.

I haven’t seen one yet, but I bet there are muggers hiding in the bushes with their flintlock muskets.

And as I stumble around at 4 mph in the Middle Ages, I wonder how those in power can allow both the road and the railroad to be closed at the same time.

Someone must have signed this, and it’s hard to believe they’re not in jail. Because that’s where he belongs.

Maybe it’s because the prisons don’t work either.

Beat a beer ban

I’ve been in Mauritania for the past few weeks and it’s fine.
I didn’t even know where it was until I got there.

Nor did I know that this vast strip of West African desert was dry. In both senses of the word.

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It rarely rains and there is a strict alcohol ban.

Which is annoying when you’ve worked all day in 50 degrees Celsius and then you really want to sit down with a beer.

Fortunately, however, I have learned through many years of extensive travel that in every capital city in the world – even the dry ones – there is a chain of pubs where you can always have a drink. They are called British embassies.

The membership card is a British passport and you can bring two guests, even if they are James May and Richard Hammond.

And so we watched the coronation with our man in Nouakchott while enjoying several refreshing pints of delicious chilled lager.

KALEB COOPER, my not well-travelled farm manager, traveled to London this week for only the second time in his life.

He came across his first ever revolving door, which he described as “amazing” after a few rounds.

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And then he went to Downing Street to meet Rishi Sunak.

“I couldn’t refuse,” he said excitedly. “I’m only 24 and I’ve been invited to meet the President.”

Art takes the piss

LIKE most normal people, I loathe art galleries.

But for some unfathomable reason this week I stopped by the Design Museum in London, where there was an exhibition by someone called Mr Wee Wee.

It’s not his real name, but it’s something of the sort.

His display consisted mostly of giant rugs, one of which was made from broken pieces of teapots. And another one out of a million Lego bricks.

Can you imagine stepping on it in the middle of the night?

And can you also imagine how stupid you must be to look down at an eight-year-old’s bedroom floor and say, “Yes, Mr. Wee Wee?” It’s art, and we’d love to charge people to see it view.”

Over the years I’ve occasionally been chased around by a swarm of paparazzi and it was never remotely scary because it only took me a second or so to figure out how to shake them off my cock.

I just got on a bike and made my way down the nearest narrow alleyway.

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And if they were on scooters or didn’t have a bike handy, I would go to Selfridges department store, which has about 200 doors.

And they would have no idea what country I had come out of.

Khan’s motor misery

I received a message this week from a man whose 2002 Ford Focus does not meet the new London emissions regulations.

He wanted to scrap it. Instead he has it registered in the name of London Mayor Sadiq Khan and will continue to drive it until Mr Khan comes by to collect it.

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He claims this is perfectly legal and he may be right as the owner of a car does not have to be the same person as the registered keeper.

It may well be that Mr Khan will soon find that he suddenly has more old cars than the Beaulieu National Motor Museum.

Biden is trying to pay off the US debt

AMERICA is on the verge of bankruptcy.

The country currently owes $31 trillion (£25 trillion) and its debt exceeds the value of the entire country.

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To get a handle on the situation, the country’s economists and political heavyweights decided they had to distract the seedy old fool in the White House.

So they went to the Oval office and while his nurse got a new diaper, they spoke into his ear tube and told him he was on his way to an important meeting in Papua New Guinea.

“It’s going to be great,” they cried. “You will love it.”

But now he refuses to leave, saying the financial situation is so bad that he has to stay at home.

“Wstrefheignphlampos ze carruthertheruther,” he announced to a room full of people who are now in complete despair.