Lord Layard! Lord Layabout, more like. Kindly take your fucking happiness campaign and shove it up the gaspipe of a pissed-off honey badger. No, I'm serious. If some twatting fox flange comes up to me outside Sainsbury's and says "Have a free hug to increase your happiness quotient" I will probably retort "Have a bunch of fives up the snotbox in order to increase my happiness quotient". I do not need a Lord to tell me to be happy, nor do I need a cunting fuckstick of a The Prime Minister to measure it. Give me a pipeline from the Balvenie distilerry to the Great Hall of Larrington Towers, and a Ferrari, and I'll keep out of your face. I am a BRITON and therefore reserve the right to be a miserable fucking gronk about the weather, the deplorable sho by the mcc a lot of rabits, the state of popular "music" and being at jbex and terminally arsed off when I'd rather be at home in bed with my Imaginary Friend.
I need one of those LWB Binz E-class hearses as you can't fit a half-ton of cross ursine in the back of a Roomster. All donations gratefully received.