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  • When all the shops that sell school uniforms are urging parents to purchase September's clothing ahead of the annual growth spurt.  You'll just have to guess what size the ankle-snappers will squeeze into in six, seven weeks time because in September the shops will be full of ski wear and winter tops for the New Year's bash.  Make sure you pick up their Halloween outfits at the same time as their oversized uniforms, because all that will be left at the end of the school holidays will be Boris Johnson and Michael Gove masks left over from the lock-down Halloween sales. 


  • When all the roads are incredibly quiet.  Apart from the roads leading to the coast, ports, North, South, East and West.  They'll be log-jammed for at least eight weeks, until the final British holidaymaker is forcibly repatriated by Haven Resorts.


  • When sales of Union Flag sleeveless tops soar in specific seaside resorts, along with Nazi tattoos and far right hatred, which apparently can be purchased in bottle form, useful for filling with stolen petrol for throwing at police vehicles.  Outrage, like child growth, also increases exponentially at this time.  Allow for full meltdown on Twitter by the second week.  It's probably in full meltdown in the first week, but you'll be too busy buying school uniforms and won't notice.


  • When Nigel Farage appears on any remotely topical political TV show, despite only having four (at time of writing, could be less by now) MPs, fewer than practically every other political party, and none of which we ever see. Despite being platformed, he won't answer any policy questions and nobody, but no-bloody-body will ask him how Brexit is doing.


Correction, the fourth point is true all year round.  Unfortunately.


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In order to arrest falling numbers, and ensure marching season in 2025 doesn't look like a group of friends on a summer stroll, the Orange Order yesterday held open auditions to find the next group of people who'll don the famous bowler hats and ensure the future of blocking traffic across Northern Ireland.


Outside the event, Gavin Campbell paces the floor nervously. He knows once he's inside, he's got 60-seconds to impress the judges and show his skills. "It's always been a dream to wear the orange sash," he told us as he collected himself for the audition. "I'm hoping my ability to keep a stony expression and my perfect timing get me through to the next phase. That's when we know if we'll just be in the crowd of marchers, or given a front-line job like holding a sign, or beating a drum."


Greg Bradley, head of the judges, says it's really tough to cut people from the process. "Ultimately, it's awful," he tells us. "We don't want to do it, but it's important we find the right kind of person to wear the uniform and march like our fathers and grandfathers did. We advertised that it's suitable for everyone, but we were secretly glad to see that the only people who turned up were good honest white protestant Ulstermen."


Back outside and Gavin is overjoyed to get through the tough first round. "They loved my marching," he said, "and my head staying forward, even when they threw a rock at me. I'm already preparing for the next round where we've got five minutes to sell ourselves, I've already sketched up a mural that'll blow their socks off!"


image from pixabay


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