Good afternoon. Here is the news.

Her Majesty the Queen has recovered from the slight sniffle that prevented her usual attendance at church on Sunday, and is thus well enough to present her annual Xmas message to her subjects, at the usual strategically-chosen time slot of 3 pm, by when much of the nation will be sufficiently stuffed and inebriated such that a quarter of an hour recovering in front of the royal propaganda box to watch the monarch’s ritual reassurance that she shares the 3D pulse of her people is just the job for bringing on a little doze before the hams and the pies and the pickles and the trifles are dished up. Patriotism and pride re-stirred, with remarks on HM’s sacrifice at taking time out from her own family’s celebrations, as she PR-basks in a marvellous year for the Britain she symbolises: the coincidence of her jubilee and the Olympics; the news of the continuation of her line; her relevance having recently been endorsed by her attendance at Cabinet. Unfortunately, Lady Thatcher is a tad under the weather; but we can all take heart in the assurance that Wills will not bang his head on any beams. And don’t worry if you miss it; the news will repeatedly re-grovel it anyway, chipping away at any apathy. And then there’s the Soaps to follow. What better way to spend the holiday? It doesn’t get any better for Britain. We truly are all in this together.