Jeremy Clarkson says firms need staff, migrants need jobs, hmmm… I have an idea

SOME experts are saying that in the past 18 months, while we were all hiding under our beds, the population of London has shrunk by 800,000.

And on my increasingly rare trips into the capital, I can believe it. God, it’s quiet.

And it’s not like these people have gone to Cornwall for a week’s paddleboarding. They’ve gone for good. Back to Italy and Romania and Latvia or wherever it was they came from.

Some blame Brexit. Others blame Covid. But it’s probably a mix of the two things, and it isn’t just affecting London. It’s an issue across the whole country.

As a result, landlords can’t find staff to work in their pubs. Restaurants are struggling to stay open because there are no chefs. And farmers are watching their fruit and veg rotting because the army they usually employ to pick the stuff has gone.

It’s a very serious problem. But I wonder. Is there a solution to be found off the White Cliffs of Dover?

Every day, we watch the French navy escorting another boatload of migrants across the Channel and on to the beaches in Kent, where they are given a nice cup of tea and some cucumber sandwiches while officials work out how best to send them to where they came from.

Courage and drive

Of course, in many people’s minds, they never will be sent back and will one day end up in a northern town, where they will spend their time mixing ammonia and fertiliser with a view to it exploding in a shopping centre.

But let’s just stop and think for a moment.

We need more people in this country. And every day they are coming. And all we ever do is think of ways to send them away

 These people have watched helplessly as their towns and villages have been destroyed. So they’ve packed up what little they have left and set off across the Med into Greece or Italy, and then across Europe in the back of trucks, and then across the Channel in a leaky inflatable with a one-horsepower engine. 

In many ways, then, they are like the brave souls from east Yorkshire and Ireland who crossed the Atlantic to start a new life in America. These are people with gumption. With drive.

So why are we putting them in detention centres? Why aren’t we sending them to Norfolk, and employing them to pick vegetables?

 Why aren’t we introducing them to desperate landlords and restaurateurs who are facing bankruptcy? Or construction companies who need labourers.

We need more people in this country. And every day they are coming. And all we ever do is think of ways to send them away. And that, to me, makes about as much sense as sitting at the bottom of the chimney on Christmas Eve with a massive fan to blow Santa Claus back on to his sleigh.

Ilona’s exploits put me in the back seat

I HAVE always thought that I’ve had an interesting and varied life. Until I read this week about a woman in Italy called Ilona Staller.

Ilona was born in Hungary in the early Fifties and whilst working as a chambermaid in Budapest, she spied for the Soviets on visiting American diplomats.

Later, she married an Italian and moved to Italy where, under the name of Cicciolina, she became a prolific and extremely adventurous porn star.

She was the first person ever to bare her breasts on Italian television and appeared regularly in Playboy magazine.

After this she moved into politics and was elected into the Italian parliament, standing on a green, anti-nuclear ticket. And then she became a pop star.

And next week, aged 69, she will play four chess matches, simultaneously, against top players including a Grand Master.

Meanwhile, next week, I’m planning on getting my hair cut and maybe watching some TV.


FOR many years, lady Mormons have moaned quietly about the hairy and heavy underwear they are forced to wear.

Apparently, the fabric is so terrible it causes them to get yeast infections, you know, down there.

Many have therefore taken to social media to say they are cutting the gusset out of their knickers, to let their lady gardens get some air. 

So now we know two things about Mormons.

 They believe that through Christ’s atonement, all mankind may be saved by obedience to the laws and ordinances of Christ’s Gospel.

And that they’re wearing crotchless panties.

Still a petrol head

SMUG people in sandals like to think that their new electric car is saving the planet. 

But a report in The Times this week suggests that nothing could be further from the truth.

For every ton of the chemicals mined to make the batteries, 75MILLION tons of acid waste water is produced. And making an electric car produces 60 per cent more greenhouse gases than would be produced making a car that runs on petrol.

Polestar, the Swedish electric car company, has admitted that you’d need to drive one of its cars 48,500 miles before its carbon footprint was smaller than the carbon footprint from a normal Volvo XC40.

And of course, after 48,500 miles, the battery pack would almost certainly need replacing. So really, the electric car will never catch up.

My advice, then, is simple.

 One day, you’ll be forced by fools in Whitehall to buy electric. But until then, don’t bother, because they’re not great for the environment, they’re expensive and they’re a bloody nuisance when they need charging up.


AFTER last weekend’s British grand prix, everyone was so bogged down with the row over whether Lewis Hamilton or Max Verstappen was to blame for the first lap crash*, no one noticed that Aston Martin driver and all-round good guy Sebastian Vettel had gone into the stands with some bin liners and was helping staff to clear up litter.

*No one was. It was a racing accident.

Some-ping's wrong

IT’S reckoned that one in 75 people in Britain now has coronavirus. 

Well, I was at Wimbledon for the finals. I was at Wembley to watch England lose. I go to the pub three times a week and yesterday I was shopping in London. 

And I still haven’t been pinged. How is that possible?

My girlfriend was told, a couple of weeks ago, to stay in the house but even though I was in there too, my NHS tracing system said I was free to go about my business.

It makes me think, perhaps, that the technology doesn’t actually work.

 Which, given that it was developed by the Government, shouldn’t come as a huge surprise.


AN alarming report from Germany has said that the popularity of robot lawnmowers is having a catastrophic effect on baby hedgehogs.

Owners are being asked not to use them at night because the poor little things don’t hear them coming until it’s too late.

One clinic in Hamburg says that this year alone, it has taken in 46 hedgehogs that have been injured by lawnmowers. One needed artificial legs. And 2,700 euros has been spent on round-the-clock care for another.

Happily, it’s not such a big problem in the UK, because here, most of the hedgehogs have already been eaten by badgers.

Olympic opportunity?

SO, the Olympics have started. Or they are about to start. Or something. 

All I know is that when most of the athletes have been told to stay in their quarters because they’ve tested positive, I could go out there, slip into a pair of budgie smugglers and win a gold medal for the 100metre butterfly.

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