Run With The Fox


Excusing his error of judgement on the Sikh soldier (yup, Lefties, human beings are permitted to err), Laurence Fox is just the vehicle that Common Sense has been desperately seeking for years. Not only has Lozza shown the West how to blow away the hangover from the failed freedom-grabbing experiment of political correctness, in one foul swoop he has lanced the festering boil of identity politics to boot. To top it all within just one most memorable week he’s triggered liberal commentators everywhere and inflamed the Twatterati while rendering the usual set of swivel-eyed conservative commentators, who are far too faffy, completely redundant.

While the usual conservative tilters were in the school library swotting up on Catullus, Lozza seems the sort of a lad who’d have been rolling a cigarette behind the school infirmary. The kind of a bloke with whom you could polish off a bottle of Smirnoff during triple French then thoroughly enjoy your suspension with. A carefree chappie who clearly takes no nonsense and would happily answer to your name during a roll call if you were off the premises merrily mounting a maid.

The beauty of our Laurence is that the masses understand his lingo. He’s not one for showing off with obtuse terminology, grandiose book titles or interminable name-dropping. His “I don’t give a shit” relaxed style is precisely the type of Kryptonite the progressives detest – no Twitter storm from those deviants down at Hate not Hope will ever rattle his cage. The look on Baroness Chakrabarti’s face during Question Time last week whenever Mr Fox was speaking – as if she’d eaten a dodgy prawn – revealed Laurence was repeatedly striking the “back of the net”.

After Brexit, the annihilation of Corbyn and the dispatching of the Liberal Democrats, one was beginning to wonder whose rear end the lefties were going to dig their next loss out of. You’d have been hard pressed to have guessed Lewis’ sidekick would illuminate their latest path to the sewers and another mass self-immolation. Putting money on Abacus Abbott or Becca Wrong Daily would have got you far shorter odds.

In the wake of Mr Gervais’ thwacking of Hollywood, Laurence Fox’s timing could not have been more auspicious. Boris should install him as the Common Sense tsar or perhaps let him have a crack at BBC Director General – we all live in hope to watch Match of the Day on a Saturday night presented by Peter Shilton rendering woke crisp-sellers to mere crisp-selling; seeing the corporation dropping the licence fee for ads which dare feature those of a gammon hue; seeing blunt-speaking real people from the actual countryside appearing on Countryfile.

Congratulations, Laurence. A sterling effort. If the acting jobs dry up, there’s always Kingsman 4. We salute you.