Aydriyun Choyles, he was the face of the One Show, the man with a voice like kidney pain, Brummying-away on the sofa with some simpering, shitbrain Ulster bint; why on Earth would anyone watch that awful programme? Surely it's for those, farting and dribbling, gathered around the telly in a carehome, having their thighs pinched black and blue by Polish care assisants. But uncaptive people do watch it and thousands of them apparently felt that it was demeaned by the presence of the noisesome, bloated dingleberry Clarkson, floundering around in a beerbellyfull of faux provocation, and all for a bit of publicity - you know, as if the One Show and Top Gear were made by different networks. Fuck him and fuck them. I don't care that thousands of nurses' and teachers' children went to bed and dreamt of Mummy and partner being stood up in front of a firing squad consisting of Michael Spit-Gove, Jacob ReesMogg and Francis Maude, the one with the receding bouffant. Even though they didn't.
Poor old Clarkson, though, got no friends apart from Rebekka Brookes and David Cameron. And himself. Jeans and trainers, eh, waytogo Jerry.
Wonder if the boldly outspoken one will take the piss out of the Chinks, the worthless, fat cunt.