RAF To Buy Whole New Aeroplane

David Cameron has given the Royal Air Force permission to purchase an entire new aeroplane, and a very impressive one it is too.

There could even be room for a couple of penguins

The aeroplane – which will increase the RAF’s fleet of ex-rental C-17 Globemaster III heavy-lift transports to a fearsome eight – is necessary for the humanitarian evacuation of civilians and sheep from tiny war zones 8,000 miles away in the South Atlantic whose runway is not quite long enough to handle chartered civil airliners, explained the prime minister.

A spokesman for the big aeroplane’s manufacturers commented: “After a hiatus of 67 years, Boeing and the United States are glad to once again be sending the mighty 8th over to help Britain’s war effort. As previously, we’ll send you the bill later.”

Meanwhile, overjoyed RAF top brass are busy preparing a massive recruitment campaign for two pilots and a loadmaster.

Noel Gallagher Validates Nation’s Grandfathers

Music was better under Margaret Thatcher, according to Britpop granddad Noel Gallagher, and what’s more, everybody had proper haircuts.

Noel Gallagher - still banging out top tunes

“A’ tell thee this for nowt, there wor a proper woork ethic back in ‘em days,” observed the former Oasis guitarist, as he took a break from watching documentaries on Yesterday to light his favourite pipe. “’Ef tha wor oonemployed lak, ‘appen t’ obsession wor to find woork - man’s woork, y’know, lak down t’ coal mine she wor shuttin’ down, not poncin’ about sum fancy call centre lak a big girl’s blouse.”

“An’ t’lasses, ‘em knawed them’s place wor in t’ hoom, bringin’ oop t’ babby an’ scrubbin’ t’ khazi out back yard an’ all,” he reminisced fondly over a pint of foaming ale.

“Back when a’ wor a nipper, y’d see bloomin’ great steam locomotives go thunderin’ over t’ viaduct, driver on t’ footplate wi’ ‘is Hofner electrical guitar gizmo - as e’d purchased on t’ never-never from Kays catalogue - plugged int’ firebox for practicin’ riffs from ‘Smoke On t’ Water’ lak for t’ annual dinner an’ dance down t’ ASLEF Social Club,” explained the 90s legend, adjusting his flat cap. “Young ‘uns nowadays, tappin’ them’s jungle-drum loops into Ataris an’ Megadrives an’ what-‘ave-you – ‘appen ‘em en’t got a bloody clue as to what a proper middle eight is.”

Dads and granddads are now explaining to their sceptical children that Noel Gallagher is a national treasure, and Britain will be a poorer place when he dies.

Britain Celebrates Timely Death Of Previous Monarch

King George VI and Mrs VI

The nation is united today in celebrating King George VI considerate death from cancer, which enabled his daughter to spend sixty years sitting on a big golden chair as her realm declined into imbecility.

“By all accounts the queen’s dad was a thoroughly decent stick who looked like Colin Firth and beat Hitler by overcoming an embarrassing speech impediment,” said every news presenter today. “George VI died as he lived, putting his beloved country first, firm in his belief that what post-Imperial Britain needed to sit and watch its inexorable decay was a hot young thing rather than some diffident chinless wonder.”

Royal observers say the queen feels exactly the same, much to the chagrin of Prince Charles.

Pupils Lose Interest In Dickens After Fourth Letter

Explore beyond the Dick, younger readers

Mrs. Tomalin - the lady biographer of Mr. Dickens, the Empire’s leading light of literature and letters – has this-morning bemoaned the standards which prevail among our wayward offspring; telling The Nev Filter: “It is oft said that all our hopes and dreams of advancement in this cruel earthly existence reside in our dear, sweet children. Yet it is my sad duty to inform your readers, that these youths are so abjectly deficient in attention; so lamentably devoid of the Christian virtue of persistence; that even that meagre amusement which they are disposed to take in our greatest living writer, has utterly spent itself even before the fifth letter of his name is read.”

After being revived by a dose of smelling-salts, Mrs. Tomalin ejaculated: “Loving parents! Shield, I implore you, your little ones from the sinful distraction of toys! The kaleid-o-scope may seem to you like a harmless diversion; yet its ever-tumbling shimmer is but a snare for impressionable young minds - a snare from which, once caught, their attention can never flee! Banish also the whipping-top and the hoop-la, I say! The ungodly fever of excitement which they whip up in innocent childish minds, leads inexorably down that sordid alley to pollution of the self. Oh my; I’ve come over so queer.”

Following the opening of a window, a restorative draught was fetched for the stricken lady moralist. After partaking of several glasses, however, Mrs. Tomalin was hastily ejected from the premises of this journal in a most parlous state of moral abandon, having wantonly loosened her stays in the shocked presence of your humble scribe.