So the goverment say it is going to ban junk food from skools. The new rools rashun us pore boys to two portions of chips per week. And force us to eat (ha ha) “pukka” nosh like lettis, obergines, yogsquirt, and such muck. Chiz. Swiz. They are going to close the tuckshop and ban the vending machine. But those are the only places a growing boy can buy the wizard fizzy soda pop, sossage rolls and donuts that keep him going through IT. Fancy a grown man saying REBOOT and DOWNLOAD as if he were proud of it it is not english and do not make SENSE.

This is all the fault of sum celery chef called Jammy Liver. He has pannicked this uterly wet and weedy govment into forking out squillions of pounds to rebuild skool kitchens and retrain dinner ladies. But Mrs Grimes, our dinner lady at st custards, already kno how to cook only too well. On Fridays she cook the piece of cod that passeth all understanding, and the only plaice to put oily fish is in your spongebag when old chalky isnt looking. My grate friend Peason will smuggle in a tuckbox. And we shall just go to town to refuel on chips and chokolate. Hist say a tribe called the Inkers live entirely on chokolate, until a cad called Pizzaro stopped them. What a cheek with a name like Pizza, which the fude fashists call JUNK. But pies, sossages and cake made britain grate. Why do you think he was called friar TUCK? Falstaff, henry 8 and billy bunter are national heroes. Before gurlies fussed about there figgers, Daisy pulled it off with more than paster in her dormy feasts. My cozen harry potter dines on better than tofu at Hogwarts. For junk food is our nashunal heritage, just as much as fantasy boreding skools.