Throughout the New Labour years – that decade of deceit, that era of wretched wriggle – the Daily Mail’s Quentin Letts has maintained a lonely, vehement vigil. Like a lone clay pigeon shot squinting through his sights at a sky black with targets, he has fired his daily bullets at the poseurs and pooh-bahs of British public life.
John Prescott? BANG! Alan Sugar? BANG BANG!
Peter Mandelson, Harriet Harman, and the Commons Speaker Letts nicknamed ‘Gorbals Mick’? Bullseyes – every single one.
In this collection of anguished and often snortingly funny political sketches and journalism, Letts lets off more steam than a Chinese laundry. The modern Establishment won’t like it. They tried to gag him. Smear him. Even tried to get him fired. Quentin Letts: The man they could not silence. As his wife will be the first to tell you.
Praise for Quentin’s previous books:
‘I salute Mr Letts’s one-man stand against the ugly and brainless Bog-Folk.’ Daily Mail
‘[Quentin Letts] discharges his duty with flair and tracer precision…an angry book, beautifully written.’ The Spectator
