Oh my sweet summer child.
The RMT?
The ones who bring UK capital to a halt every bloody month?
They do it because they think it’s funny.
They’re laughing at you.
But sure, they’re “based.”
Twerking for Blue Labour as the walls fall in.
Reform is now the party of workers.
Today I am inviting trade unions to apply for affiliation with Reform UK.
We also welcome union leaders to attend our national conference in September and engage in discussions about the policies of a future Reform government.
When I worked in tech/SW1, I'd often pop out for a Pret a Manger sandwich.
Sure, it wasn't a gourmet meal - but it was simple, tasty, and, most of all, quick.
Now the brand has been cooked by fumbling Boriswave staff.
How much more can they take away from us?
Seeing the TL making fun of this.
You're not on Andrew's level.
Bro's spent 50 years at the top of UK politics, media, influence.
Understand that context, and his move from GBN makes sense.
That wasn't a misstep – that was a strategic play in a game where brand is everything.
In the past, I feel like society was The Adults, looking after The Children
I liked that. It was calm.
Today feels like The State Hates Everyone.
It's just unpleasant.
Don't get me wrong – I wish he hadn't left.
Hell, I'd love a no-nonsense legacy anchor riding the vibe shift on GBN.
But it's odd to see people trying to teach the status game to a master player.
I think British people actually enjoy eating bad food; it's some kind of performative modesty thing, like good food would be extravagant, and also they take pride in the grit required to get it down
A very studious and kind Muslim girl in my tutor group has joined us this term from a tiny boarding school her parents were priced out of, after fee increases resulting from VAT.
She is bereft, forced to sit her exams in an unfamiliar place.
We don’t hate these people enough
The Staggers comes out against the upper-normie 'high twee' of Paddington.
In a funny sort of way.
It's the New Statesman that's riding the vibe shift.
The literal house journal of the Labour Party.
Crazy times.
In a stairwell in the old Truman Brewery, two men and a humanoid robot are waiting for the lift. The robot is tottering slightly, emitting a soft whirring noise; one of the men places a steadying hand on its slim plastic shoulder. A wall has been painted luminous pink and stencilled with massive black letters that say: Leave Your Algorithm Behind. On another wall, it is declared: Don’t Fear the Change Reimagine It. In a nearby hotel, Hugh Bonneville – the adoptive father of Paddington, the nation’s favourite imaginary bear – is preparing to tell a government minister how to cope with the future. None of this makes any sense, nor is it supposed to.
🎨 @willydunn's sketch: At SXSW, the festival of AI optimism comes to London once again
https://t.co/75QRG5Q6lA