DIARY
MY SUMMER HOLIDAY
ADRIAN CHILES: Here’s a funny thing. Holidays. Or holiday, if it’s just the one we’re talking about. Which I am, but, then again, perhaps I’m not. Because in a weird way one holiday is much the same as another. Once you’ve seen one beach, you’ve seen them all, if you ask me. So it’s either holiday, singular, or holidays, plural, whichever you’d prefer.
Bucket and spade. To my mind, there’s no point having one but not the other. Let’s be honest, no one ever made a half-way decent sandcastle without both to hand. Though, come to think of it, you could use your hands. One more thing. I do like an ice-cream on my hols. In fact, I could murder an ice-cream right now – and, hey, I’m not even on my hols! Perhaps if I ask the little lady nicely, she’ll nip off and get me one.
NIGEL FARAGE: I tried to order a chocolate ice cream. What did they tell me? They told me they’d “run out”. They could offer me strawberry, vanilla, tutti-frutti, whatever. But not chocolate. You know what? Frankly, this is Political. Correctness. Gone. Mad. We’re literally up to our knees in this country with people of all colours from heaven knows where. So, our woke political elite deny us our right, for which we fought in two – not one, but two world wars – to a chocolate cone in the sun. And, I’ve got to be honest, it makes me hopping mad.