THE POWER OF DRONE

Dear Lord — Is the influence of the mighty Drone even more powerful than hitherto recognised? More akin to that of those things the heroic Ukrainians are hitting Siberia with than to that of the work-shy bee?

No sooner had Lord Frame's latest address appeared in the organ (well no sooner than I read it yesterday, June 4) than it changed thinking at the Daily Mail no less.

Frambo's revelation that the Mail, among other right-wing papers, displayed a noticeable bias to right-wing views (who knew?) brought an immediate volte face. The June 5 Mail splash read ‘Battle Lines Drawn Over Immigration’ heading a piece outlining the plans of Labour and the Tories in an even, almost forensic manner. 

‘A remarkably balanced article’, enthused one of the reviewers on Sky's June 4 late-night look at the papers. ‘Unlike the Mail, and it put Starmer's position first,’ agreed the other. I'm off to buy a souvenir edition.

Eat your heart out Skibbereen Eagle. Floreat Apis Mellifera.

T.RYLE
c/o St Jude's
NW11

ROCKY ROAD TO A FORTUNE
M'lud, I enjoyed reading the side item about John D. Rockefeller.

Other amazing aspects of his life:

His first employer paid young John just over 50 cents per day, and from the beginning of his career he set aside money for charitable causes.

By the end of the 1890’s the average wage in the United States was around $10 per week. Rockefeller's annual income was approximately $10 million. And bear in mind these were the days before income tax.

Of more than $250 million in dividends paid out by Standard Oil between 1893 and 1901, over a quarter when directly to Rockefeller... and he was a retired man.

As Standard Oil shares soared in value in the late 1890's one periodical estimated that Rockefeller's wealth had grown by $55 million in nine months.

People these days fawn over the likes of Bezos and Musk, but compared to Rockefeller's astounding success they don't even register.

By the by, none other than J. Paul Getty, (himself so slouch as a businessman) would unknowingly take on Standard Oil, but that's another story.

STEVE MILL

EUTHENASIASTS OR WHAT?
Sir —  Should enthusiastic supporters of Assisted Dying call themselves Euthenasiasts?.
Spellcheck permitting, of course.

STERCUS ACCIDIT

IN DEFENCE OF ROBIN AND SUE’S HONOUR

Dear Lord Drone — It is with a heavy heart that I write to say how sad I was to read the bitter words of Robin McGibbon Jnr on his father, our late colleague Robin, greatly admired by his colleagues on the Express and the Fleet Street community at large.

The Daily Mail feature today, hung on the peg of Harry and his rift with his father King Charles, remarked how important it was not to let anger between father and son go to the grave. But it did not address that at all.

Instead of a sensitive piece of writing, what we read was a one-sided tale of a man obviously desperate for people to agree with his point of view that his father “was shamelessly self-indulgent and thought nothing of abusing a young boy’s trust”.

A boy who “feared his father’s vindictive streak”. A boy who was bitter when his father left his mother for his 20-year-love Sue, (not 19 as he claimed), who nursed him until his death. A boy, estranged from his father, who now wants to get the world onside.  

Nowhere in this blow-by-blow biased account of the life of the family do we hear Robin or Sue’s version of the rift. Or anyone else. There is a great void where Robin’s voice should be.

And the vital missing links, like a letter this angry young man wrote that is at the heart of the matter, is conveniently forgotten about. But now it is a closed book as far as Sue is concerned. She is upset enough.

The Daily Mail, a beacon of good journalism to most of us hacks from the Express, did not give Robin’s good lady the right of reply. I am surprised. But I hope I speak for her when I say McGibbon Jnr will never put a wedge between our great love and friendship for a man who danced with the stars and rolled with the punches. He’s still rolling.

TERRY MANNERS

BISCUITS WAS A PUSH OVER

Sir — Not to drone on about Mark Palmer... however. During a press football tournament at the old Wembley Stadium my frustration at not getting the ball was palpable.

It boiled over at an opposition throw, rage set in and I decided the bloke stood in front of me had to go, with a mighty push that left him prostrate on the revered playing surface.

Without shame I smirked 'sorry mate' and ambled off, life was much better.

The feeling didn't last beyond the following week when the new executive editor of the Daily Express walked into the sports dept and greeted me by name! Ouch.

As far as I am aware he didn't hold a grudge and he was long gone before me.

Yours
DUNCAN FERGUSON

PALMED OVER THE BAR

Crumbs! Surely the Drone was much too kind to Mark Palmer in reporting the change of his relationship with the Mail.

If memory serves, even those languishing in the lower reaches of the Express's city and money pages heard tales that, with time on his hands, Biscuits was taking an unhealthy interest in the sports desk. 

He was said to regularly challenge proven operators like Emery, Goozee, Wiltshire and Critchley over their choice of stories and how they should be pitched. And he was also demanding that when he was out of the office a lackey should send him subbed copy.

Oh, such happy days! But was it all really true?

Cheers,
COLIN HENDERSON

THE UPPER CRUST

Sir – My Express Newspapers 1988 Pension Fund is soooo exceedingly generous, I buy Lurpak butter. Spread the word!

HORACE OVIS
Yeast Breadfordshire.

P.S. Has anyone exulted the Sun headline, “They think it’s all ovaries – it is now!” Must be up there with the best. Ken Wolstenholme would have laughed his football socks off.

That’s enough bread jokes — Roland Butter

BISCUITS IN SOCK SHOCK

My Dear Lord Drone — Your piece on the endearing Mark ‘Biscuits’ Palmer, who is standing down from the Mail titles after 17 years, takes me back to happy times working with him at the Express.

Boyish Mark, a member of the Huntley and Palmer biscuits empire, had no sides to him that I could see, taking into account he was from such an historic family, and it was no surprise to me to see that he had written a book on the historic shoe giant Clarks, under the title Made to Last (geddit?)

I have always wondered if he went to school with someone from the Quaker family. They were the sort of contacts he always had.

But I will never forget the night I was with him at the Sheraton Hotel in Edinburgh where Sean Connery was opening the Fringe Festival.

It was packed with the great and the good of Scottish society ‘done up to the nines.’ DJs and tartan ball gowns were squashed against the bars as everyone awaited the arrival of the great man, not Mark, but Connery.

Suddenly our little party heard the plaintive cries of Mark over the din of the crowd as his head kept bobbing up and he pushed his way with difficulty through the mayors and other dignitaries crushed nose to breast, carrying his shoes.

“Terry, Terry, help!”

We eased him through.

“What is it Mark?”

“I forgot to pack my socks!”

We all looked down to see his little pinkies poking out from his Gieves & Hawkes dinner trousers. They were bare and he was having difficulty avoiding being trod on.

I had to leave the party, go to a room and get him some, which he gratefully slid on. Then I was embarrassed to notice they had a hole in them. He never said. Too much of a gentleman, of course. It’s all about schooling isn’t it? Great guy.

TERRY MANNERS
Neasden Mansions. 

CAPTION CAPS IT ALL
Sir -- Telegraph Online today has a picture of tens of thousands of trans activists crowding Parliament Square, with this stunning caption: "The Supreme Court ruling on single-sex spaces undermines the CIPD's previous guidance on trans rights in the workplace."

Look, I'm not being captious (see what I did there?) but allow me to quote from my well-thumbed copy of the Morris Benett one-page guide on caption writing (1968):

"Just fucking say what's in the fucking picture." 

Good God, it's not differential calculus, is it?

RICK McNEILL
Been there done that
30 April 2025

JACK IS A FOUR-LETTER WORD

Milord — Pat Welland quotes from Alan Watkins' book A Short Walk Down Fleet Street two well known stories of the less than articulate musings of Jack Nener, (Mirror editor 1953-61) and his Neanderthal deputy Dick Dinsdale. 

There are many others, for by all accounts Nener was, as described, "a foul-mouthed bow-tied Swansea boy". Mirror legend has it that during Party conference season Nener and Dinsdale were having a spirited conversation in the bar of Blackpool's swanky Imperial Hotel. 

Cuss words beginning with f and c were being flung around loudly and a couple sitting nearby were getting uncomfortable. Eventually the man went over to Nener and asked him to tone down his language as his wife could hear every word. 

"You can't speak to my friend like that", said Dinsdale. "He's the fucking editor of the fucking Daily Mirror". "Yes", said the man. "I rather thought he might be.”

I know the story to be true because none other than Hugh Cudlipp told me so. He said both Nener and Dinsdale suggested to him that at future conferences the Mirror should take over the best bars for themselves and bar members of the public (ie readers and contacts). 

 MICHAEL HELLICAR

OLD FOLK’S MOAN
Sir — While no great believer in current obsessional attempts to create a risk-free world, I was caused some anxiety by the pic of members of the WGLC splashed on the Drone. Is [it] entirely wise for chaps in their eighth, possibly ninth, decades to be bunched closely together in such near proximity to Kim Leadbeater?
GERRY HATRICK
NW11
19 April 2025
NURSE!!! — Ed

REMEMBERING OUR DEPARTED COLLEAGUES
My dear Lord Drone — How lovely to see the Sunday Mirror tribute to art desk designer and all-round nice guy Terry Caleno, who died a while back. He also worked at the Express, of course, but I never knew he played the clarinet, violin and piano. What a secretive and talented guy he was. So unassuming.

And so lovely to see his former colleagues from both papers pay tribute to him with a pint. Well done Kevin (Walker) for jogging our memories.

So sad that the custom of posting little paragraphs and obits for staff died on the Express in the Seventies. I recall that Les (Chips) Diver used to make great play on the Backbench by acting as guardian of the words that remembered our loyal staff.

But someone upstairs eventually pulled the plug, as we entered the new era where loyalty and ‘the Express Family’ no longer mattered a hoot.

We even had an official ‘fixer’ Peter Drake, whose job was to visit Express families in mourning to make sure they ‘were OK’, financially and emotionally.

Those were the days, eh? Before chairmen came along who thought a sub was a metal object that went under water.

TEL BOY
Obits Library, Neasden Omnibus Company, Dollis Hill.
13 April 2025

RACHEL NO MATES
Sir — Sometimes in life you just have to admit you might have got it wrong. It is some months now since I had the temerity to point out the uncanny similarity between our much-maligned chancellor Rachel Reeves and Rosa Klebb, the main antagonist in the James Bond 1963 film From Russia with Love. Judging by those who have called my opinion unfair, discourteous and down-right rude (and they are the printable opinions), may I offer my sincere and heartfelt apologies . . . to all Rosa’s fans out there. I don’t know about Reeves. Strange, but she doesn’t seem to have a comparable national fan base.
IAN BARRATT
1B, Bond Street, Basildon

COMIC RELIEF
M'Lud — My apologies for being the 940th Drone reader to comment on page one of Saturday's Daily Star. Instead of its usual diet of make-believe weather forecasting, pooing seagulls, US VP JD Dunce, scumbag bots and the many tiresome variations on the orange man-baby theme, the edition actually splashed on an earth-shattering (literally) news story reminiscent of when the highly-respected Lloyd Turner was editor. Mustn't get carried away though. Probably a one-off before the paper returns to being the Beano of the Retch stable.
JEFF BOYLE

31 March 2025

JUST A LITTLE PRICK
Sir — Why is Helena Handcart’s column slimmer than Hermione Orliff’s? Is she more svelte and lissome? Please address this under the Drone’s  I Think We Should Be Told protocol.
O.B.S MOUNJARO
Wellness4You
EC4
It’s because you, sorry she, didn’t fill enough copy to fill the slot and I couldn’t be arsed to find a filler, so the makeup had to be adjusted. It’s one of the many things sub-editors do — Ed

CAP’N LUDVIK
M'lud, at the conclusion of John Preston's biography of Cap'n Bob he relates the following:
Maxwell's sister Sylvia is visiting her brother at the Mirror offices. Mirror man Mike Molloy is captioning some old wartime photos and writes Maxwell's name, Jan Ludvik Hoch on the back of one of the pictures. Sylvia questions her brother as to why he always gives his real name as Jan Ludvik Hoch to which Maxwell replies that it is his real name.
'No it's not', said Sylvia. 'Your name is Ludvik. You were named after Uncle Ludvik, not Jan'.
Maxwell looked at her in astonishment.
Was I?' he said.
This one will run and run.

STEVE MILL

GREEDY BASTARD
M'Lud — How uplifting to read your report on the generosity of Jim Mullen awarding Retch journalists a £600 bonus. A selfless and heartwarming gesture, especially as CEO Mullen's haul is a pisspoor £662,000 and the company's operating profits are in such dire straits. As to why this ex-bookie's runner wants or needs so much money is open to conjecture, so I couldn't possibly comment. But my mate Wes down at the Dog & Duck reckons it's because our Jim is just a greedy bastard.
MAL PRACTICE,
Neasden Echo

COCKLECARROT! WAKE UP, YOU’RE NEEDED

From the desk of Sir David Napley,
Messrs Sue, Grabbit and Tossoff,
Carterfuck Chambers,
EC1

Sir — We act on behalf of Christopher Wislon, that well-known typing error. Our attention has been drawn to your article which refers to him in the most unsavoury terms, implying he is a secret corset-wearer and Bourneville boulevardier, and that he covertly trawls the world wide web in search of purveyors of transvestite frillies.

Nothing could be further from the truth. While Mr Wislon concedes he is no stranger to illegal acts — he confirms he once blacked Nigel Dempster's eye in a row over a telephone box, an act which resulted in our client depriving Mr Dumpster's rightful access to copytakers by ripping the wires out of the Daily Mail phone — he is, in this case, above reproach. He has a picture on his wall of the actress Liz Fraser wearing a tight corset which, he says, is ample to his needs.

Our client seeks an immediate apology together with damages which will make your fucking eyes water. Failing instant reparation, our client instructs us to come round and confiscate your green eyeshade, while offering the observation that despite occupying your editor's chair for a record two decades, nobody is indispensible, matey. 

Yours in briefs,
DAVID NAPPY (Sir)

Thank you for your letter. I refer you to the reply given in Arkell and Pressdram. — Ed

CORSETS? SOLDIERS LOVE THEM

My Dear Lord Drone — Our esteemed colleague and all-round great guy, Christopher Wilson might like to know that soldiers, particularly officers and cavalry, have worn corsets over many centuries, and nowhere more so than the trenches.

When a corset was taken from a German officer on the Western Front by the French, Punch Magazine ran a cartoon of him being wedged into his very tight (and female styled) corset, pleading with his batman not to tighten him too much in case he had to retreat and couldn’t run fast enough.

Meanwhile, even today the cavalry will wear corsets for training to avoid back problems.

As for Christopher’s vision of our lads ‘going over the top’ in Ukraine, I sadly report that from the Press comments I have read,  some of our Third Front of multi-political, multi-racial, multi-woke generation of statue and war memorial defacing young men, have no intention of being Desert Rats. Others think Churchill is a dog in TV adverts and Nelson’s column is a Mandela memorial.  

They’ll be trawling the internet for vape stick smoking caps instead.

TENERIFE TEL,
Montgomery Appreciation Society,
Dollis Hill.  

25 March 2025

JOLLY MEMORIES OF GEDDES
M'lud — I went to work at the Express on Sunday 18th December 1983, I'm standing at the library counter and one of the staff asks "You knew Phil Geddes didn't you?" to which I reply "What do you mean knew him?" The kind of exchange you never forget.
I recall seeing him having a great time at the Express Christmas party that year, bopping around the dance floor with Jane Slade.
In the 1980's I spent a lot of time in the Hickey office and always remember Philip Geddes as a jolly soul who obviously loved his job.
The black and white photo of young Philip Geddes stayed in the Hickey office until the building was vacated.
How tragic that he will forever be 24 years old.
STEVE MILL

NO SOUND OF SILENCE
Sir — Drone reader T.Dious asks after my lifelong chum and former Express Features sub Jeff Boyle. Strangely enough Mr Dious lives in a village just a few miles from Little Sniping, where I was born. I can report that JB as I call him is in the rudest of health, and running a successful online vinyl albums business from his Sussex home, which he shares with his missus and five dogs. He never gives interviews and rarely writes letters. But quiet? You must be bloody joking! I trust this helps.
WINSTON SMITH,
Brighton,
East Sussex
(Not really — Ed)

OFF THE BOYLE
Sir — It’s a long shot but does any Drone reader know what former Express features sub Jeff Boyle is up to these days? He’s gone very quiet.
T. DIOUS
Snoring-on-Bore
Suffolk
Who? — Ed

BORDERING ON IGNORANCE
M'Lud — In reply to my old Express colleague Terry Ryle (Driven up the Wall), I may have given the impression that I was unaware of the exact siting of Hadrian's Wall and its historical importance. But, as he quite rightly points out in his letter, I was. A case of the usual unfortunate generalisation made by most of us living south of Watford. His wise words and knowledge have not only enriched my hitherto slender understanding of ancient battles around the Wall, but also left me hanging my head in shame. Further, I fully accept that my misplaced reference to caber tossers is nothing short of a disgraceful slur on the memory of ancient English bloodshed. Consequently, I will be wearing a hair shirt for the remainder of this Parliament, am taking a new course of tablets and have enrolled for Northumbrian/Cumbrian Studies at my local library's weekly classes for octogenarians. I thank him most humbly, and will attempt to use my new-found knowledge wisely. 

JEFF BOYLE
(Written from my wicker bathchair)

DRIVEN UP THE WALL
Dear Lord — Just a note for your files prompted by Jeff Boyle's recent letter: I am abandoning my long campaign to propagate the information that Hadrian's Wall is not the Scottish Border. Northumbrians and Cumbrians fought for centuries to keep the border 60 miles north of Wall in the east and, for its last few miles in the West, to the middle of the Solway Firth. But I am now old and must hoist the white flag. 

When a former sub, and an Express one at that, refers to ‘caber tossers on the other side of Hadrian's Wall’ in such an authoritative journal as the Daily Drone one must sadly accept that the ancient blood shed by valorous Englishmen is an insufficient consideration when up against the forces of modern ignorance.
Pip Pip
T.L. RYLE
c/o St Jude's
London NW11

NOT CRICKET, MR PUTIN
M’Lud — What is it about Russian politicians, news commentators and well, Russians generally. They’re not like us, are they? I mean not very British. Not at all like you and me.
Every time they talk about us, they focus on wiping us off the face of the earth; their new Poseidon missile will ‘sink us like a tsunami; the British will be dead in a moment, and you will die at the sides of your sons. There will be no Britain, it will go down like an aircraft carrier’. The politics of charm eh?
I always wonder if they have sons, daughters and mothers themselves. What do they think would happen if their terror missiles are heading towards Europe? Do they not know we have them too and Emperor Putin will have only scorched earth to ride on bareback with his oxygen mask steaming up as he leaves the bunker with his harem of bareback ballerinas?
Or will he have left the planet in a Musk rocket donated by Trump?
And what about their army, you know the one. The one that claimed they would defeat the Ukrainians within three days? Three years on the Kremlin is still dragging rapists and paedophiles out of their jails to do their dirty deeds on the front line. Not to mention the clockwork soldiers from Moscow’s new friend North Korea.
I have been to Russia five times. It’s a great country with some lovely people. So sad that we can’t all be friends. As Alice, chief tea operative in my local café, the canteen at the Neasden Omnibus Company, says: “They never smile these Russians do they? They always look so mean and angry. Surely Putin doesn’t need the money? He’s paid off the mortgage, hasn’t he?”
TENERIFE TEL,
Neasden Municipal Anderson Shelter, Dollis Hill.

BAIN IN THE NECK
M'Lud — In answer to Ian Bain's entertaining letter, it is comforting to know that as I sit in my draughty garret penning fictional cvs for Government Ministers my modest offerings to The Drone are being read by the caber tossers on the other side of Hadrian's Wall. Regarding 'Sir' K's handling of the Ukraine crisis, I have yet to decide whether the PM is attempting to be a Churchill or naively leading the UK into abject poverty. On Mr Bain's somewhat bemusing and narrow-minded beef regarding correspondence unrelated to The Express/journalism, I'm sure Your Lordship would be delighted to publish a piece on climate change and the midge problem in the Highlandzzzzz (the fee, I understand, is 10 guineas per 1,000 words). Speaking for myself, he can forget the Easter weather in Killiekrankie. Forty, let alone 400, words would be far too tedious — even from this present-day Walter Scott.
Gibberishly yours,
JEFF BOYLE

JEFF AS A POST
Your Lordship, no doubt Jeff Boyle will be joining the Leader of the Opposition and the leaders of the Lib Dems, SNP, Reform and other parliamentary parties in congratulating Sir Kier on his exceptional handling of the Ukraine crisis.

That aside, would Your Lordship kindly advise if you have changed policy by accepting correspondence on subjects that are entirely unrelated to Express newspapers in particular and journalism in general? If that is the case, I have a little essay I’d like to submit on my considered belief that climate change will make no difference to the midge problem in the Highlands this summer. In addition, I could easily knock together 400 words on the weather forecast for Killiecrankie over the Easter holidays.

IAN BAIN

Letters are accepted on all subjects as long as they are not complete gibberish. Not sure about Boyle! — Ed

TRUMP SHOULD HEED HIS HERO CHURCHILL

M’Lud — Now that American Hershey choc bars are banned in the Neasden Omnibus Company’s Dollis Hill canteen and bully boys Trump and Vance are busy hanging pictures of Putin and North Korea’s Kim Kim Jong Un on the White House staircase after booking their summer holidays to go bare-chest riding in the Urals, a thought ...

Perhaps our former friends the Americans might reflect on the fact that their criminal President is a lifelong fan of our inspiring war leader Sir Winston Churchill, who in his speeches in 1946, warned of the dangers of the rise again of the Soviet Union while  on a trip to the States.

 “The cannons have ceased firing,” he said, “the fighting has stopped. But the dangers have not. Russia may not desire war but does desire the fruits of war and the indefinite expansion of its power and policies … across Europe and the world.”

He called for a United States of Europe joined by our blood brothers, the Americans.

TENERIFE TEL

(CUSH: Campaign against Urinating on the Statues of our Heroes), Churchill Park, Gladstone Hill, Neasden.  

PYTHONESQUE

M'lud — Scanning the remarkable Express staff photo from 1991 I see Valerie Marsh listed as Picture Desk Secretary. Hard to remember all the staff details from back then, I cannot recall if the glorious blonde Cathy Lee had left the Daily Express Picture Desk sometime before the move from Fleet Street or took redundancy. Ditto Peter Floyd, (prodigious consumer of soft drinks) and a young chap by the name of Gary Woodhatch.

I am quite surprised that there were still departmental secretaries in 1991. No company these days would have a typing pool but the old Express did way back when. Located on the fourth floor close to the Special Events dept. The girls slaved away under the steely gaze of, (I think) a Miss Jones.

Former photographer Chris Djukanovic, subject of the legendary exchange:

Name?

Chris Djukanovic

How do you spell that?

Well Chris is C-h-r-i-s and Djukanovic is the regular spelling.

Strolling past the DX Picture Desk one morning I couldn't help noticing a snake, apparently fast asleep, curled up on a desktop. I believe it was a python, and not a small python. Why it was there I have no idea. Strange but true.

STEVE MILL

FREE SPEECH FAUX PAS

M'Lud — Now Son of Toolmaker thinks he is playing in the same league as our American friends by stretching the truth (in other words, telling porkies). At the White House this week after US V-P JD Vance accused the UK of 'infringements on free speech' the PM actually said with a straight face: 'We've had free speech for a very, very long time in the UK, and it will last for a very, very long time... I'm very proud of our history there.' Really? Tell that to the UK citizens who were jailed last summer for inappropriate Facebook posts and tweets. Out of order probably, but they were exercising their right to the 'free speech' Starmer is boasting he is so bloody proud of. 

JEFF BOYLE

AI MOLE ALERT

Sir — Your feature on coal-fired sheep being responsible for global warming made for an interesting read. But it seems that despite all the usual rigid background checks your HR Dept uses to ensure staff members' education, political leanings, pronoun preference etc are kosher, The Daily Drone has been infiltrated by a far Left mole who will stop at nothing to help give away the entire content of your site to US tech giants for AI training purposes.

The person you know as 'our man' Jeremy Turdstamper is in fact one Jack A. Napes. Using exhaustive and sophisticated investigation techniques, such as mobile phone and email hacking, I have established that Napes is a member of Starmerism Today, Rayner's Extreme Britain and Just Stop Oil. He also meets Ed Miliband on a regular basis in a 'gentleman's' basement club in Old Compton Street, where I have witnessed, and photographed, documents and large amounts of cash changing hands. 

If you would like my entire dossier on this traitor — for a mutually agreed fee naturally — please meet me alone at the third bench outside the gents in Leicester Square this Friday and say 'farting cattle'. So as not to arouse suspicion I will be wearing a MAGA baseball cap, a Groucho Marx false nose, glasses and moustache and reading a copy of the Daily Star. Contact address below.

DICK HEAD,

Private Investigator,

PO Box 439, Neasden

Mr Napes is fired too — Ed

BOVRIL BOVVER

Dear Lord — Reference El Tel's notes on Bovril having been a feature of Fleet Street way back when came as a reminder of less sensitive days when copy writers could tell it like it was without half the nation being so traumatised they got signed off work.

Exhibit A: the attached image of an 1899 poster ad.

To be fair, there remains a hard core  of less sensitive bastards who pay good money for reproductions. On the other hand, for the past 20 years Bovril has been made suitable for vegetarians.

I trust celebrations of the Drone's 20th Anniversary – on which many congratulations – included steak au poivre, if indeed any food was consumed at all.

Yours faithfully

T.L. RYLE

El Corrido

Pamplona

SICILIAN SWEET TALK

My friend — A gentle word of advice. Your Helena Handcart reports in her column that The Cosa Nostra here in Sicily has lost influence to those Johnny-come-lately criminals the 'Ndrangheta. This has greatly upset members of the Family, as we are a legitimate business. But blackmail, violence and office fires have been known to happen, if you get my drift. Nothing personal you understand — just business. After all, with your contacts I may need to ask a favour of you in the future.

DON LOMBARDI,

Palermo

LARRY’S LAW

M’Lud - Reading this week's Dispatches From The Front reminds me of one pantomime of an evening at The Express during the late Sir Larry Lamb's editorship some time during the 1980s. Although this everyday story of Lubyanka folk features no excellent silly japes, duck calls or monocles, it would certainly never be believed or tolerated in today's politically correct society, where free speech is a thing of the past, and swearing — par for the course back then — is practically a hanging offence.

Our newspaper knight insisted on seeing every edition Features page proof (and certain News pages, according to a high-ranking Drone OTP) before they went off stone, even though he was usually 'tired and emotional' by about 8.30pm. One particular evening it was my 'privilege' — my old chum Dave Emanuel and I tossed a coin for the pleasure — to take the Leader pages 8 and 9 into him. I was greeted - and I use the term loosely — by a thick-set figure slumped in his leather chair, clutching a half-empty glass of Scotch.

'What the fuck do you call these?' asked a slightly slurring Larry in his thick Yorkshire accent, looking me up and down as if I had just dropped out of a dog's rear end. 'Pages 8 and 9,' I replied. 'Don't be fucking smart mister!' he snapped back. 'And who wrote the bloody awful headline for page 8?' I reminded him politely that he did, only to be told to fuck off. As I exited stage left I thought to myself 'what a bloody waste of time that was; there's nothing worse than a past-his-best, half-pissed editor trying to recapture his glory days'. And he never even bothered to look beyond the headlines on either page. 

Worse still, the whole pointless exercise had just cost me 10 minutes of valuable drinking time! But I took comfort from the fact that many others, including News middle benchers and even some Night Editors, received similar treatment. 

So, fully expecting the page 8 head to be re-written for the third, I proceeded smartly to the Popinjay. Luckily the page escaped any changes, so I ordered another brace of Toby Lights and joined the usual suspects. I wonder what today's click-bait snowflakes would make of our Larry. Have a quiet weep probably, and then go sick with an anxiety-related disorder (he said harshly). 

JEFF BOYLE

(emailed from a safe house, just in case)

PRIVATE JETS AND A BOOZY BOSANQUET

Sir — Lord Frame of Lud's la-di-dah* view of private jets cannot be shared by those of us parked at the back of the bus. Once, during my years impersonating the venerable William Hickey, I was invited by the jeweller Cartier to a party in Paris.

A limo would pick me up from the Lubjanka and whisk me to the steps of a Lear jet waiting at Luton: my feet were guaranteed to make contact with nothing lowlier than thick red carpet for the entire trip.

Simultaneously, private jets would take off from every other European capital and descend on Charles de Gaulle airport in military order. They'd carry world-famous glitterati — Sophia Loren from Rome, Isabella Rossellini from Capri, a smattering of Rothschilds and Vanderbilts. Elizabeth Taylor was said to be flying in from Gstaad.

 The plan was that as the planes discharged their golden cargo, the paps would get their first-edition pics from the tarmac. Then our fleet of limos would sweep through the streets of Paris — all traffic lights turned to green to ease our path — to arrive at the Place Vendôme, where the champagne would flow and mwah-mwahs fill the air.

 So, we're the British contingent.  Who is our international star, the first out of the door when the Lear touches French soil?

 Reggie Bosanquet.

 Though famed throughout Britain for his lenient approach to drinking on the job, the French paps wouldn't know Reggie from yesterday's croissant, so as a flag-waver the UK contribution to the festivities was doomed from the start.  But what Lord Frame failed to mention was that, on private jets, there's a beaker of champagne in your fist before you've even had a chance to buckle your seatbelt.  And the beaker, miraculously, never empties for the entire flight.

 So Reggie made the French front pages after all.  Falling down the steps, hogwhimperingly drunk, as the plane door opened. 

He managed to weave his way over to the limo but when we arrived in the Place Vendome he got out, took one look at the most lavish party ever thrown in 50 years, climbed into the back seat and had a refreshing nap until it was time to go home.

 Landing at Luton he was given a gentle nudge. Eyelids fluttering, he drawled in that beguiling upper-class-toff voice: "Aha! Nous sommes arrivés! Let the party begin!"

 Reggie, we'll always have Paris. Or at least I will.

CHRISTOPHER WISLON

*La-di-dah — a phrase uttered by the fabled Terry Ryle when occasionally seconded to subbing the Hickey page. As in: "What's this rooody la-di-dah roobish?" Bless you Terry — it was.

ALL SET FOR THE F-FEST

Sir — I was thrilled to read of the Drone plan for an F-FOR-FUCK-OFF FEST to mark the legendary Kelvin MacKenzie-Felicity Green stand-off.

As one of the 10,003 subeditors in the packed newsroom who overheard the memorable exchange, I have decided to get up a party of survivors to attend.

So far, including carers, it would seem you need to substantially increase the size of the beer tent, as well as arranging parking for an estimated 17 coaches.

See you there!

RICK McNEILL

ANYONE REMEMBER RAY PURCELL?

Sir — My name’s Chris Purcell, son of Ray Purcell who was a reporter, features writer and sub-editor at the [Daily Express] Manchester office between around 1962 and 1987. Sadly he died in an accident in 1987. I’m just trying to piece together more details of his working life. I was lucky enough to be given a tour by him in the late 70’s and got a flavour of the place. I was extremely inspired by the experience and put down my life in the media having been sparked by that event.

I wondering if and how I can access more of his writings — I have an assortment of cuttings from the ’60’s but I know there must be much more. I know for instance he was photographed with his colleagues circa ’86 just as the offices were converting to new technology. I have a vague memory that the photo was taken by Brian Duff, whom Dad worked with a lot in his reporting days. 

I would be extremely grateful for any help or advice you can offer.

CHRIS PURCELL

Right Angle Films

HE KHAN’T BE SERIOUS

M’Lud — Mayor Khan has blamed the capital's 50 per cent surge in shoplifting on the fact that — wait for it — London has 'a lot of shops' compared with other parts of the country. Nice try, 'Sir' Sadiq. But that's like saying the 17,000-plus black cabs in the capital suffer more breakdowns or punctures because of their sheer volume and the boundaries within which they operate. Whatever Khan's limp excuse, shoplifting — or robbery as it should be called — from our fast-diminishing number of stores is simply down to rising crime rates, not helped by the lack of plods on the beat for which Khan is responsible. Perhaps the good knight's attention should be drawn to this fact so he can raid his ULEZ- funded piggy bank and pay for some more police.

JEFF BOYLE

REACHING THE BOTTOM

M'Lud — No Sunday Express. No Editors as we know them. Few experienced hacks. Clickbait copy only. Probably the end of the print Daily Star. And now no Cocklecarrot & Co. What on earth does ex-bookie's runner Jim Mullen think he's doing with Retch, all in the name of cost-saving and digitalisation? Madness is one word, although bloody criminal probably sums it up better. In Jim's hands we could well be witnessing the beginning of the end of this once-great national newspaper group. The Beaver must be turning in his grave. Thank goodness The Drone still keeps the spirit of the Express alive.

SAD EXPRESS PENSIONER

LEAVE IT TO THE SUBS

M'Lud — Fears of over-reach at publications dispensing with night lawyers are very real, although it is well-known that the old Daily Telegraph did not have a resident attendee.

It was the view of Peter Eastwood — whose notoriety was more suited to a slit-eyed assassin than managing editor — that familiarity with the law was included in a journalist's responsibilities.

This occasionally led to marginal over-caution, but as a paper of record, the narrative soon caught up.

The key was in having genuinely solid, seasoned sub editors.

Where are they to be found nowadays, apart from at retirement birthday parties or The Daily Drone?

Your humble servant, 

BARRY STAR

WONKY IDEA

The lunatics really are running the asylum! Unbelievable bollocks.

BILL WHEELER

HI-TECH HOPEFULS

M’Lud — Along with Heathrow's third runway and nine reservoirs, our Rachel's other wizard wheeze to kickstart the economy is her announcement that the Oxford-Cambridge corridor has 'the potential to be Europe's Silicon Valley'. She also told us the country has been 'held back' and accepted 'stagnation' for too long. Hang on, let's run that statement again. 'Held back, 'stagnation'? Obviously the Chancellor has forgotten that it was her catastrophic October Budget which held back, and is continuing to hold back, business, employment and entrepreneurship, as well as causing the economy and investment confidence to stagnate in the first place. 

Son of toolmaker has also muscled in on the hi-tech bandwagon, AI being his latest cool-sounding buzzword. Earlier this month he proclaimed: 'Britain will be one of the great AI superpowers'. Really? That's quite a boast from someone whose first six months in the job have been blighted by a series of unfulfilled, lacklustre announcements and pisspoor decisions. 

These two exciting-sounding projects seem to suggest the Government is banking mainly on technology to get it looking, er, governmental. If only. Sadly, No 10 and 11's temporary lodgers will have to come up with something a lot better than 'Silicon Valley, AI superpower' etc to be taken with more than a pinch of salt. John McEnroe's famous centre court cry 'You CANNOT be serious!' springs to mind. 

Starmer won last year's General Election by promising the country a Plan for Change (and people fell for it) but he conveniently forgot to mention it would be his and the Government's own unachievable pledges and promises that would be subject to constant and almost desperate change.

JEFF BOYLE (one of Labour's hated non-working people)

ARRESTING PREFIX

Sir — As part of their policy on diversity, equality and inclusion (DEI), Bedfordshire police and Hertfordshire and Cambridgeshire constabularies have been told to avoid using terms such as blacklisted, black sheep and black mark in case it 'causes offence'. As a cheerleader for this policy will the Government now follow suit and cease referring to the '£20bn black hole'? I think the PM should let the country know — or risk being accused of a whitewash.

LOU NATTICKS (retired WPC)

SHH! SNITCH AT THE BAR

M’Lud — Well known Ibiza raver and Deputy PM Angela Rayner is proposing to prevent pub customers from discussing anything controversial in case it 'causes harassment' to bar staff should they overhear opinions they don't like. Try enforcing that rule in pubs full of regular drinkers such as could be found in the long-gone glory days of Fleet Street. George Orwell wrote in his 1946 essay on the perfect pub that regulars go 'for the conversation as much as the beer'. Amen to that!

So here's a piece of totally free advice for any would-be bar staff from someone who, like other Drone readers, has used and enjoyed the hospitality of just about every hostelry in and around The Street of Shame. Don't work in a bloody pub if you're offended that easily. And if you must, don't eavesdrop on other people's conversations.

A final message to our Ange — who has been known to like a drink or three herself. National newspaper journos were years ahead of your sinister snitching plan, thanks to the unwritten golden rule: No discussions in the pub about politics, sex or football — even after a few too many sweet sherries had been taken.

TOBY LYTE (an old drinking chum of Jeff Boyle)

A WEATHER EYE

Sir — Watching the winter getaway weather forecast on my oak-panelled televisual device yesterday I noted that it was 'raining Canaries'. Was this the (non-pc alert!) yellow peril the West is constantly being warned about? Donning my trusty Old-Etonian tortoiseshell and ivory monocle I saw that it actually read 'rain in Canaries'. Relief all round — Chinese invasion threat not imminent after all. Working people would have gone to Specsavers for an eyesight check-up, but I feel sure your impeccably-attired, public school educated readers would agree that for someone of my standing it would be a shortsighted move.

SIXTUS RIDICULOUS REES-SMUG,

Somerset

FAECING AN ALARMING FUTURE

Sir — I was intrigued by the recent letter A Moving Moment from The New Faeces and was wondering if the writers are by any chance related to the 1960s UK popular beat combo The Faeces. Also, I am having little success obtaining the specific piece of medical technology — featuring the all-important alarm as mentioned. It sounds ideal for my personal needs, not being as fleet of foot as I once was.

I have searched pooingforwrinklies.co.uk and the kiwi site beautbogging.nz.com on the computer at my local library (where I spend a lot of time during the cold weather, as the toilets have heated seats) and scoured Faecesbook as suggested, but to no avail. I even joined the WhatsCrapp messaging app which all the trendy young folk use nowadays. But that was a bum steer as they say, so no luck there either. Enquiring at my local pharmacy, the nice young gel Miranda behind the counter said that eventually they will be able to supply the device — but only the bog standard NHS Mk 2 model without the alarm.

She also warned that there is a two-year waiting list, which is a bit of a crap excuse considering my age. This is obviously very disappointing, and I am hoping The New Faeces can suggest where I might flush out the model they have been test-sitting. Must dash now as I need the bathroom somewhat urgently, and if I don't get along the hall in time... bugger — too late!

DAI RHEA (aged 101),

Loose, Near Maidstone

(That’s enough lavatory gags — Ed)

TIME TO BEAR UP

M'Lud — With recent correspondence being dominated by some sort of pseudonym argy-bargy (yawn) permit me to lighten the Letters columns a little by posing the following. Am I the latest in a long line of Drone readers to notice the rather unfortunate, but geographically amusing, connection between the Chancellor and the good folk she represents in Leeds West and Pudsey? It could well mean this area of Yorkshire is home to most of the country's Children in Need. There is, of course, no suggestion that she is using part of the constituency name to siphon off charity donations to fill yet another of her imagined black holes. But in the light of the UK's current financial woes, our Rach will need to bear up — in more ways than one. Might I humbly suggest that the country deserves an independent Lord Drone-led inquiry.

JEFF BOYLE

An AI-generated name

CLERICAL ERROR

Sir — We write regarding Stercus Accidit's grovelling apology letter More Waffle. His verbal assault on The Drone's mild-mannered Social History Editor, the Rev Terence Frame, was unjustified and totally unnecessary, and he should quite rightly hang his head in shame. But we would implore him not to don a hair shirt and beat himself with birch twigs, or contemplate self-harm. Life's just too short — and as he knows only too well, shit happens! Regarding the demise of Joy Beffle, Mr A will be pleased to know she was given a dignified Roman Catholic send-off, followed by a quiet wake in a tiny Italian restaurant in Muswell Hill's Latin quarter.

CAINE & BAKER,

Counsellors for intimidated clerics

MORE WAFFLE

Sir — I wish to apologise to the Rt Rev Terence Frame of St Bride's — to give him his full title — for any hurt caused by my ill-judged observations about one of his other names on the Drone. Therefore [takes out onion] I offer my heartfelt sympathy and condolences to his family, loved ones, friends, neighbours and members of the wider Neasden bus depot community for their loss of safe space. It is not who I am etc etc.

I also accept that my comments may have breached the Not Being Very Nice provisions of the government's latest Shut the Fuck Up (Amendment) Act, now awaiting Royal Assent.

However, if I may correct the Rt Rev. (Get on with it — Ed) He mentioned Caine and Baker as heroes of the Rorke's Drift battle with the Zulus. Alas, I am unable to confirm their participation, as the last time I was there the chiselled memorial plaque had been covered by layers of silver paint, making it unreadable. The vandal was not caught, but from the description — a white man wearing oversized khaki shorts, woollen socks and open-toed sandals — the blame must lie with one or other UK anti-colonialism activist groups.

Finally, I would like to express my congratulations that, not before time, the fragrant Joy Beffle has been laid. (Laid to rest, shurely? —Ed)

STERCUS ACCIDIT

My real name

14 January 2025

SILLY SAUSAGE

My Dear Lordship — Prosaic? Implausible? Once again we have the stalking native of South Africa playing out his own Bore Wars by throwing verbal spears at your hard-working columnists in this letters column.

Why can't he get over the fact that British heroes Michael Caine and Stanley Baker were awarded VCs at Rorke’s Drift in the Zulu Wars? Or that the only royalty South Africa ever knew was Sausage King Bill O'Hagan.

Groucho Marks impressionist, Mr McNeill (if that is his name), must learn to live with these things. Something is bothering him.

Rule Britannia.

TERRY FRAME

Neasden.

KILLED JOY

M'Lud — So the eagle-eyed 'Nick Mercill' has spotted my alter ego, thus blowing my carefully-constructed cover. A tad inconvenient though, as I was beginning to enjoy my Jekyll and Hyde existence. My good friend Anna Gram was not best pleased to say the least, especially at the news of my 'outing', as Mr Mercill suggests. Guess it's time to swap the dress, long blonde wig and high heels for one of your Lordship's old country tweed suits, brogues and a deerstalker — and kill off Joy forever. For the record, my spies tell me that Helena Handcart is none other than the well-known Irish gambler and socialite Lance Threadnah.

Farewell,

JOY BEFFLE (gone, and thankfully forgotten)

NAME DROPPERS

Sir — Your lordship should not be surprised at the rash of noms de plume on your website. One of your most diligent correspondents, the fragrant Ms Joy Beffle, continues to write under her pseudonym “Jeff Boyle” despite outing herself some time ago.

What of other Drone regulars? Are we seriously expected to believe that the real names of your award-winning (Eh? — Ed) columnists are the prosaic and unoriginal “Terry Manners”, “Richard Dismore” and the even more deeply implausible “Alan Frame”? Pull the other one, squire.

Thank goodness for Helena Handcart, who is clearly proud to be known as herself. 

RICK McNEILL

Not my real name, obviously.

SILLY NAMES GAME

M'Lud — I agree wholeheartedly with your plea for readers to use their real names rather than hiding behind silly pseudonyms. If it's good enough for The Drone's excellent columnists Messrs Dismore, Manners and Frame to write fearlessly as themselves, then it's good enough for me. Could you please send the £200 you promised for this letter in crisp tenners by Wednesday? Don't ask — suffice to say it involves a slow horse and a pissed off bookmaker. If I don't receive the cash by then I'll either have fled to Spain or be part of one of HS2's concrete tunnels.

JEFF BOYLE

Cheque in post, Jeff — Ed

13 January 2025

X-RATED OFFER

Hey blokes — Well that's what you quaint folks on the other side of the pond say isn't it? As the richest man in the universe and owner of social media platform X and the Tesla auto brand I've been too busy to message you until now. 

As the whole world knows, I've been preparing to be anointed President of the good ol' Yooessofay — helped by my buddy The Don (poor people have to call him Mr President Trump). That's in between supporting Germany's AfD leader Alice Weidel, as well as putting the Commie British Government right, with a capital R, on its politics. 

One thing puzzles me. Why does your Prime Minister call his ministers the cabinet? I always thought a cabinet was made of thick steel, had a combination lock, and was where you kept your millions of bucks in loose change. You Brits are weird! 

Anyway, been following your online paper The Daily Drone (does that mean it takes to the air every day?) when I'm not concentrating on landing a man on Mars, and wonder if the $100m I was going to give to Nigel Failurage, who was my friend for about a fortnight, would come in handy. 

If you don't want the cash I can always use it as a down payment to buy Wales, Greenland or the Panama Canal. I may even put in a bid for the Chagos Islands to help you Brits out, but as I lose interest in things pretty quickly I may not bother. After all, why should I worry about US/UK security when I'm so rich the Chinese will stay exactly where I tell them — in their own country, like the Mexicans! 

Stay safe, but not poor, and never give to charity — an invaluable tip my Dad Errol gave me as a kid. That's why I'm where I am today.

Your friend (for now)

NOEL SKUM,

@Noel Skum

11 January 2025

VOTING RIGHTS — OR WRONGS?

Sir — Under current UK law it is illegal to buy cigarettes, tobacco, 

e-cigarettes or e-liquid until you are 18; those under 18 cannot marry without parental consent; and the minimum age to join all branches of the military is 17. All very sensible for good health and mature thinking. But it seems that despite these existing age restrictions and safeguards the Government intends to fulfil its Manifesto promise (surely not?) and follow Scotland and Wales by giving the vote to 16 and 17-year-olds. For those in the armed forces there could well be an argument for lowering the age to 17, because if you are old enough to serve your country then you should be allowed a say in how it is run. But at 16 many youngsters are still at school or college and probably more interested in sport, studying or partying than politics.

This move is just part of planned wider electoral reforms, after the Institute for Public Policy Research (IPPR) called for ID regulations being either watered down or axed altogether before the next General Election. Deputy PM and Communities Secretary Angela Rayner has already confirmed to MPs that she is following up this recommendation (that's a yes, then) saying she would 'look at the requirements around photo ID'. First used in 2023 to prevent voting fraud, critics at the time said it would discriminate against certain groups, such as ethnic minorities and travellers. As for electoral fraud, Rayner claims it is a 'very minor' problem. So that's all right then!

These proposed changes may well be examples of forward-thinking democracy at work. Or, as cynics claim, could they be a blatant case of simply altering the rules to secure more influence and votes, thus tilting the electoral balance in favour of the current administration? Surely not.

GERRY MANDER,

East Cheam

10 January 2025

SEZ WES

M'Lud — Just prior to this recent cold snap, with its warning of zero temperatures, snow and ice, Health Secretary Wes Streeting advised pensioners to 'make sure you wrap up warm,' adding 'and it's definitely a weekend to turn the heating on'. Really? Thank goodness he was on the ball — sharp as a marble. And to think, I was going to open all the windows, and sit around in a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. But was our hero daydreaming — or possibly Googling NHS on his phone — back in July when his Cabinet colleague Rachel Reeves told the Commons she was axing pensioners' universal winter fuel payments? Had he been paying full attention he just might have spotted that come the winter this would result in thousands of older folk being unable to follow his ill-advised piece of advice.

He surely can't be unaware that thanks to the combination of ever-rising fuel prices and Reeves' announcement, many are unable to afford the luxury of simply 'turning the heating on', despite his protestations that the triple lock makes pensioners better off. Labour MPs — some in Government — have been quite happy to claim over £400,000 of taxpayers' money to heat their own homes (Streeting not being among them) while at the same time patronising voters with hasty, hollow-worded soundbites. Maybe at the end of this year the PM will honour 'Sir' Wes in recognition of services for both stating the obvious and being totally tactless.

JEFF BOYLE

7 January 2025

A BURNING ISSUE

Sir — Ever since Energy Secretary Ed Miliband attempted to play his ukulele in an empty field, most sane people have come to realise that his Net Zero plans are nothing more than a ridiculously expensive vanity project. His and the PM's pledge for the UK to lead the world by eliminating all zero carbon emissions by 2050 - probably impoverishing the country along the way - will be in tatters if the Government goes ahead with plans to add a further 40 waste incinerators to the 50 or so already operating. Hopefully Mad Ed will then be taken away by the men in white coats and sedated for the remainder of this Parliament. 

Designed to burn an annual 500,000 tonnes of household and commercial rubbish, the practice has been called the UK's dirtiest form of power. Scientists have warned that incinerators are a 'disaster for the climate', and it has been found that burning waste (think disposable nappies, pet waste, plastic bags and cement sacks) produces the same amount of greenhouse gases for each unit of energy as, er, coal power, which Miliband killed off last September. Good move there Ed!

To add fuel to the fire, so to speak, the campaign group UK Without Incineration Network (UKWIN) claims that 'for every tonne of plastic incinerated, more that two tonnes of carbon dioxide are being released', which makes a total farce of Labour's net zero agenda. Although official figures show that energy from waste plants now provides about three per cent of the UK's generation capacity (no bragging from the Government about that) it still looks suspiciously like a case of 'greenwashing' the claimed benefits of incinerators, which not only hampers recycling but also releases the very greenhouse gases and health dangers Miliband says he is going to eradicate - with our cash. 

I'm no Save the Planet fanatic, but clean energy is exactly what it says on the tin. Even Miliband must see that in no way does waste incineration fit that description. But, perhaps I am being unfair and this is a devilish cunning way to deliver that much-promised £300 savings on our bills. Only one man can answer that, the Rt Hon Member for Doncaster North. Over to you Ed.

MILLY PEDE (a confused pensioner),

Runcorn

6 January 2025

BARMY ARMY

Dear Lord Drone —With the Government's constant dilly-dallying over the defence budget the MoD is being forced to make drastic cuts, meaning we squaddies have been told to make sacrifices. In other words 'shut up and suffer'. A battalion, for instance, traditionally comprises up to 1,000 soldiers. But under Labour this has been reduced to 300. We have to share unloaded rifles, shouting 'BANG!' on manoeuvres, and when on parade we are only permitted to come to attention, stand at ease, present and slope arms on a strictly daily alphabetical surname basis:  A-M Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, N-Z Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. 

As if this were not enough we now have to share beds (which is all right for some if you know what I mean) and go without lunch on alternate days because the NAAFI staff are on reduced hours. Tanks, armoured vehicles and medals are being flogged off on Ebay, and old uniforms are not being replaced. Me and my oppos are near to breaking point with two of our platoon going AWOL after Christmas and the sick bay fast filling up with anxiety-related cases. 

Knowing your millions of readers to be great supporters of the military I am appealing for your excellent organ to start a campaign for the defence budget to be increased immediately to at least 3% of GDP, as well as contacting Defence Secretary John Healey direct. Without your intervention I fear this country's military will be in deep doo-doo and become the laughing stock of the world.

Your obedient servant, Sir!

PRIVATE PARTS,

Catterick

4 January 2025

OFF-SONG MESSAGE

M’Lud — Just one day after being honoured with a knighthood, London mayor 'Sir' Sadiq Khan seemed determined to unnecessarily politicise the capital's New Year's Eve fireworks display. He has come under fire for including the songs 'Why Does It Always Rain on Me' and 'Things Can Only Get Better' in the celebrations. Critics allege that this was a not-so-hidden message (or piss-take if you prefer) about former PM Rishi Sunak's umbrella-less 2024 election announcement in the pouring rain, to the loud accompaniment by an ant-Brexit activist of Tony Blair's 1997 election anthem — plus, a celebration of last July's Starmer 'landslide'. 

The crowds paid to watch fireworks and see in 2025, not to be preached at by this dictatorial incumbent of City Hall. Khan said he was 'truly humbled' to be knighted, and it was 'the honour of my life to serve the city I love'. As a plain Mr, might I suggest he practises some of that humility and honour, and makes a New Year resolution to cease the constant, unwanted peddling of his brand of Left-wing idealism, call a halt to unwanted vanity projects, and actually get down to the mundane but important business of tackling London's housing crisis and growing crimewave. Actions, as they say, speak louder than words.

JEFF BOYLE

A MOVING MOMENT

Sir — Radio 4 obsessed for hours this week about the centenary of the Shipping Forecast. So tedious, so detailed, it gave you a pain in the North Utsire.  But it reminded me of a medical breakthrough I share with my wife, Quarantine. One of those commendable NHS pioneers selected us to test run a device which warns you, in good time, of an impending bowel movement, aptly entitled The Shitting Forecast. An internal alarm goes off when you are within 15 minutes of needing to go, giving you time to reach the appropriate ablutions. There’s a shared experience website, Faecesbook, to compare notes with others and to guard against failure, if Rockall happens, you can take out turd party insurance. 

Crappy New Year,

THE NEW FAECES

(Silly arse — Ed)

1 January 2025

TAKING THE ARISE

Sir — Perusing the New Year Honours list, many recipients across all fields have quite rightly been awarded gongs. But three of the PM's knighthood choices seem to be rewards for failure inasmuch that they have done practically little or nothing to deserve this high honour. Quite frankly it makes a mockery of the awards system which should be reserved for real achievement.

First, and most controversially, is our old friend London mayor Sadiq Khan, who over his three terms in office has overseen knife and violent crime in the capital spiral, declared war on motorists with his idealogical ULEZ cash-grab, and spent millions renaming Overground lines with history and culture-friendly names. And who can forget his charming — racist even — message that 'white families don't represent real Londoners'?

Equally puzzling is former England football manager Gareth Southgate, a likeable enough chap and, some would argue, England's most successful manager. But a knighthood? Surely not. In his eight years in the job he somehow managed to get our lacklustre men's squad to two successive Euros finals and a World Cup semi-final, but failed to win a single trophy. David Beckham must be really pissed off.

Beleaguered rail travellers everywhere will also be scratching their heads over the inclusion of the boss of Network Rail, Andrew Haines no less —currently overseeing the transition to Great British Railways. His addition to this once exclusive club is despite the fact that over recent years the UK rail network has faced a miserable catalogue of cancellations, delays and safety failures. 

There are those who may well say cronyism has played a big part (when hasn't it?) regarding this trio. But could there be another reason, such as the PM's shared loves of Labour ideology, our beautiful game, and re-nationalisation? I think Buck House should be informed before the King removes his sword from its scabbard and gets a-dubbing.

N. VIOUS-B'STARD (still waiting)

31 December 2024

A TALE OF TWO SIR NAMES

M'Lud — Discussing the state of UK politics with a couple of old chums over the festive season (admittedly after a few sweet sherries) the subject of our PM came up. Chum number one said his family had taken to calling him 'Drill Bit'. I asked if the reason was because he was the son of a toolmaker. 'No,' came the reply. 'It's because he's a boring little tool.' 

Not to be outdone, my other companion — no fan of the PC or trans lobbies — said he had dubbed Starmer 'A Bit of Skirt'. 'Anything to do with women having penises?' I ventured. 'Wrong again,' he laughed. 'It's because he'd rather be a broad, geddit?' I did, and felt that rather than the usual 'Two-tier Keir', 'Farmer Harmer' etc these gems deserved to be shared with other Drone readers, who probably have their own nicknames for 'Sir'. Might I humbly suggest a Name that Knight competition?

Respectfully yours,

TOBY THYME,

The Mucky Duck EC4

27th December 2024

SAD SIGN OF THE TIMES

Sir — Now it's official — the lunatics really are running the asylum. A convicted terrorist is suing one pub and threatening at least two others with legal action as he finds the depiction of an Arab or Turk on their signs, er,  'offensive and liable to incite violence'. Oh dear, poor fellow —apologies all round! Maybe he would be happier if they were all renamed The Jolly Jihadi. How long before the very thought of Saracens Rugby Club, established 1876, makes him so anxious that he will suffer sleepless nights?

And in another attempt to rewrite our history, so-called 'activist' councils are renaming streets, squares and buildings with 'links to slavery and the Empire', without allowing residents the right of veto. Black Boy Lane in the London borough of Haringey, for instance, has been given the insipid monicker La Rose Lane. How long before this undemocratic practice spreads further afield and is applied in non-activist council areas such as East Sussex, where the town of Blackboys, founded in the 14th Century, could in future be known as the catchy Ethnicminoritypersons? Perhaps those who live there should be warned.

 COL. BARKING-MADLY (retd),

Ashdown House,

East Sussex

26th December 2024

MORE LETTERS