Imagine my shock when I turned on the telly the other night and these horrors leaped out at me. Jamie Oliver (who appears to be wearing a fat suit in order to blend in with the natives) has gone to Rotherham in order to teach them how to cook.
He was talking to some wretch who couldn't be bothered to learn how to cook for her 22 kids and preferred instead to sit in front of a colossal plasma screen TV bathed in the flickering blue light of ignorance whilst counting her Benefit Cheques. Why he didn't just pull out a gun and shoot her, I'll never know.
The man has the patience of a Saint. If I had half as much money as he does, I'd be swanning around on my yacht in the Med, surrounded by beautiful women, drinking cold beer and eating olives (me not them).
I've been to Rotherham once and can say that at least it is better than nearby Doncaster.