diane messias

Having worked for years in professional comedy, Diane is a well-seasoned satirist, whose salty comments are peppered throughout her vinegar observations. A former BBC Comedy Producer and Director, Diane has written for and worked with many of the top names in British comedy and theatre including Alistair McGowan, Harry Hill and Rory Bremner - cop a load of her credits on her website:- wix.com/dianemessias1/dianemessias She also teaches all forms of drama and comedy writing with her company, Secret of Comedy:- secretofcomedy And catch Diane's other blogs:- drivingoverexpats reversingoverexpats Why not follow her on Twitter as @NiceEtoile, along with a load of foodstuffs (who knew banana smoothies had a sense of humour?) and prostitutes - plus a few well-known political names:- twitter.com/NiceEtoile

Homepage: https://amuzenewz.wordpress.com


It’s the heady summer months of the sporting calendar, when soaring temperatures cause soaring tempers at the soaring price of Wimbledon strawberries and cream (£40.30! Advantage The All England Club!), and Angry Murray sorely bites the dust, rather than a juicy Fragaria, in a semi-final; when grown men in lycra so tight, it severely compromises their marbles, congregate for the start of the Tour de France in Yorkshire (yes, I know Yorkshire wants to secede from the UK, but ‘Je vais aller au pied de nos escaliers, mon canard’ might be taking things a little too far); and excitable Uruguayan striker, Luis Suarez, literally sinks his teeth into a World Cup game because ‘he lost his balance’.  Still, at least he left an impression on the other team.

But what can we learn from all this?  Never one to waste an opportunity to educate the British population on how to leave the country the importance of politics, here’s the AmuzeNewz guide to all the facts and stats you need to know about Team Westminster.

N.B.  Readers from overseas are simultaneously fascinated and bemused by our aristocracy, who stretch as far back in history to the very days when duplicitous behaviour, greed, and fornication for self-advancement were first invented. A popular misconception is because the word ‘COUNT’ is the first syllable of ‘country’, the land is ruled by such titled noblemen; it is important to realise, however, that the true pronunciation of ‘country’ is ‘cuntry’, which should give you some idea as to the kind of person to be found at the top echelon of British politics.



CAMERON, David  

Right Wing.  Has been wearing the No. 10 shirt for the past few years, but if current form is anything to go by, it looks like he might soon be on the benches.


Very Right Wing.  So totally unbalanced, he makes Suarez look like a champion tightrope walker.  Ever on the attack, he is known for his vicious, unprovoked fouls on players from poorer, less-priviledged leagues.


Originally a centre half, Clegg has more recently been running alongside the right wingers, to the consternation of season ticket holders.  It was rumoured he was trying to set up a 5-a-side team, but that this had to be abandoned because the players on the pitch would vastly outnumber the fans in the stands.


Reserve.  Dribbler.


Red Card for foul language, inspiration of the modern day chant of the crowd addressed to the referee: “You don’t run this fucking football match”.


Referee.  Often in the press thanks to the questionable antics of his WAG, Sally.  Once a week in the clubhouse he endeavours to explain the offside rule to anyone who’ll listen.  Which is no-one. Favourite intonation: “I run this fucking football match”.


Consist of back benches, cross benches and very cross benches.


Goals – 0

Own Goals – 4,768

Paedophiles – Embargoed until 12th Never




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One of the most gratifying things about writing a blog on topical matters is the opportunity it affords to explain highly-complex geopolitical events in a manner simple enough even for politicians to understand.  And that’s without pictures.  So here’s the Ukrainian Crisis in a nutshell.  (Never heard of the Putin Nut?  It’s found all over Northern Eurasia, and appears to be spreading).


Crimea was until very recently composed of 58% ethnic Russians, 24% Ukrainians, and 12% Crimean Tartars (otherwise known as Cream of Tartar, the elite echelon of the ethnic group, who are noted for an easy ability to stabilise eggs, along with a robust sense of humour known the world over as Tartar Sauce).  However, at time of writing, post illegal and thus non-existent referendum, in which 95.5% of votes cast would have elected, had the referendum existed, to secede from Ukraine and join the Russian Federation, Crimea currently appears to be 95.5% Russian.  Proving that an effective means of Tartar removal does exist after all.

During its history Crimea has been ruled by the Cimmerians, Bulgars, Greeks Scythians, Goths, Huns, Khazars, Byzantine Greeks, Kipchaks, Ottoman Turks, Golden Horde Tartars and Mongols; the Venetians and Genoese, the Crimean Khanate and Ottoman Empire, the Russian Empire, Germany, the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic, the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, Romulans, Klingons, Malcolm Glazer and the East Sheen Acacia Close Residents Association.  (Next AGM at No. 7 on August 4th. Please confirm attendance with Shirley for cupcake reasons).  Whatever makes the Crimeans imagine they have no friends is anyone’s guess.

Anyway, the most pressing question of serious global import is obviously: what will Crimea be performing at the forthcoming Eurovision Song Contest?  (And who knew President Obama took an interest in such matters?)

Answers on the back of a weak sanction, but ten roubles it’s the title of this blog post.


P.S.  It’s the Chorno by-the-way.




Never mind those you love, let’s not forget those you hate

1.   A must-have for every Portuguese/Russian Jewish satirist, Good Tidings and Great Joy – Protecting the Heart of Christmas is a tome on the meaning of Christmas as seen by Sarah Palin, one of America’s most stupid stupendously ambitious politicians.  It’s a 200-odd page (and they are indeed odd, believe me) bible of anti-secularism.  We’ve forgotten what Christmas is supposed to represent, Ms Palin proclaims, as she scratches beneath the surface of this seasonal celebration – something she maintains should not be called ‘a holiday’, but ‘Christmas’; a word which has been airbrushed out of the dictionary (a gift once given to her by her parents instead of a Sony Walkman, but which taught her “words matter”.  If only they’d given her some IQ tests the following year) by atheists and non-believers. Christmas doesn’t mean shopping (read all about it in Good Tidings and Great Joy, only $22.99 from Amazon, buy it now!), it means shooting things (a gun is an excellent gift, opening up a whole new world of accessories!): the breeze, non-Christians, gays…

Why, Thomas Jefferson himself would be standing with her, were he able to stand, in her quest to counter the ‘War on Christmas’ waged by “those who would want to try to abort Christ from Christianity.”  Leaving, er, ‘ianity’.  Which is about as close to sanity as the former Vice-Presidential candidate gets.

From the woman who recently intoned in an interview: “I love the commercialization of Christmas, because it spreads the Christmas cheer”, this book is a testament to the strict moral framework she’s instilled in her children, Trig, Track, Ku, Klux and Klan.

So pistol whip the parsnips, snipe a few sprouts, execute some liberals  bread sauce, and celebrate the life of Baby Jesus, who would also be standing alongside Thomas Jefferson were he 1. alive, and 2. not a baby.

God Help You Merry Gentlemen.

(Is it a 12 bore for a turkey?  Or is that just gobbledegook?)


2.  As if there was ever any doubt, this past week has confirmed that the nation’s favourite buxom chef (no, not Paul Hollywood, he’s a baker, get with the jargon) has a nose for expensive ingredients. Which explains the swift follow up to Nigella Lawson’s last venture, Nigellissima, with her surprise new autobiographical volume, Nigellsniffia.  Whilst the former makes an attractive coffee table book, the sequel will undoubtedly be a favourite in the smallest room in the house, and it comes with an attractive tin foil wrapper.  Little wonder people can’t wait to whip out their credit cards.

I’m euphoric that I can share with you some exclusive recipes Nigella bade me look after while she went off to powder her nose:-


Grab some petty cash, buy a large bag of coke.


Cake your nostrils with white powder, sit back and enjoy.


Take a large bag of coke, throw the onions in the bin.

Umm, delicious.  Man.


3.   Mary Baker’s Berry Recipes.




Joan Collins’ Her Passion For Life has just been published.  Send us £109.65 and we won’t mail it to you.




This is the story of Chris and Vicky. Chris was married to Vicky, which he remembered in campaign leaflets for the 2010 General Election, when he wrote how important family was to him, but forgot a couple of months later when he set up home with Carina. Chris also forgot he was driving when he was given speeding points, but luckily Vicky remembered she’d forgotten she was driving instead. But then Vicky forgot she’d remembered she was driving after she’d forgotten, and told Vince, Miriam, Lord Matthew, Nick’s closest aides, the lady in the post office and Sooty that she’d remembered she’d forgotten Chris had forced her to take his points, something that Vince, Miriam, Lord Matthew, Nick’s closest aides, the lady in the post office and Sooty deny ever having forgotten they’d remembered.

Confused?  It’s a good job the sentencing judge on Monday won’t be.


Next Time:  Nick remembers he forgot he used to be a Liberal Democrat, and Lord Rennard forgets he forgot how liberal he’s been with his sexual advances towards every woman on the planet, in a democratic kind of a way.

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Credit agency Moody’s has downgraded the UK’s rating from AAA to AA1, thereby buggering up Chancellor George Osborne’s nailing of his reputation to previous assertions that any downgrading would be disastrous and totally humiliating.

Despite Moody’s explanation that the decision was based on a lack of growth prospects, the Chancellor stated the Tories austerity programme, which was not creating growth, was clearly justified by Moody’s non-creation of growth downgrading, and that he would not be changing course on delivering non-growth to an economy in dire need of growth.

Luckily, this complex philosophical conundrum can be reduced to a simple mathematical equation:-


                                      __________________           =      2015 XPM


The agency especially singled out problems from “the ongoing domestic public-and-private-sector deleveraging process”.  Which is another way of saying that going from AAA to AA means the Tories’ Energizer Bunny is totally fucked.



Britian’s most senior Catholic cleric, Cardinal Keith O’Brien, has been sacked by the outgoing Pope (although he’s always looked pretty miserable to me) for allegations by four clerics of his ‘Catholic tastes’. Plainly, many upstanding men of the cloth understand celibacy merely as something long and thin you stick into a Bloody Mary.  O’Brien, known for his hardline stance against gay marriage, and friend of Jimmy Savile (which is similar to being a friend of Dorothy), will not now be eligible to cast his vote for the next former-Nazi octogenarian leader of the world’s Catholics.  He has apologized, whilst not admitting any wrongdoing, for something he didn’t do but is apologizing for.  Which makes about as much sense as requiring red-bloodied men to forego having sex for life, whilst at the same time showing their flock that the Church is relevant to them.

No wonder the 12th Century Prophecy of the Popes predicts that the next Pope will be the last.  Pope on a rope, anyone?



As if the Liberal Democrats weren’t in enough trouble now they’ve become Tories, hapless leader Nick Clegg is in a political spin about having ordered a 2008 investigation into Lord Rennard’s alleged sexual improprieties with assorted women five years before he just recently heard about them in 2013.

Mr Clegg told the media he was “angry and outraged” at the suggestion he would not have acted had he heard about these “indirect and non-specific” allegations in 2008, but that he had acted to deal with them anyway, even though he hadn’t then heard about them.

Lord Rennard – an instrumental figure in the modern-day success of the Lib Dems, personally responsible for Clegg’s initial safe Sheffield seat, and subsequently his winning of the party leadership – is well-known for playing dirty in his political career, as well as being exposed (sorry) as having something of a dirty mind. Though I’m sure it will eventually transpire that the overweight, balding, bespectacled Baron simply relied on his charm when conveying to female party members that they would make no further progress unless they partied with his member.


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Going – Tough


1         So Hungry I Could Eat A Lasagne

2         Bolognaise Bolognaise

3         Aintree Aintbeef

4         Aldi N’Eati (Dead Cert)

5         Red Rum Baba

6         Buy One Get 17 Free (Favourite)

7         Finest Filly Steak

8         Finest Filler Steak

9         One Hundred Per Cent Beef (Non-Runner)

10        Lidl Label Lies

11        Stable Diet

12        My Little Pony Unhappy Meal

13        Hot to Trots (Chase)

14        Testing Testing (Out of All In A Stew)

BETTING – Tote Unbelievable

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No, I’m not reacting to the 3 snowflakes that fell last week, naturally bringing the whole country to a standstill (we Brits may be plucky, but we no longer appear to have grit), I’m trembling at the thought of the new British Citizenship Test for would-be immigrants that’s just been published.

How so?  After all, I was born in North London at a very early age, educated entirely in the UK, and my dad was an ardent Tottenham supporter. (He also liked football). I speak enough English to get me by, know that a pound of carrots is the same weight as a pound of feathers (not entirely sure of the answer in kilos), and like cats. So what’s the problem?

Well, on trying the old Citizenship Test when an American friend of mine had to swot for it, I discovered that I really don’t meet the standard for being British after all: ashamed to say I was totally stumped at a good many of the 19,000 multiple choice questions that every fellow citizen of this noble state apparently knows, apart from me.

For instance (I’ll override my considerable embarrassment here), I had absolutely no idea what percentage of 16 – 18 year-olds went into further education in NE England from September 2009 – September 2010.  (There, done it. Wasn’t as horrendous as I thought it would be. Thank you for your sensitivity).

So hopeless was I, I dug out my passport to reassure myself the words BRITISH CITIZEN were still firmly stamped next to my mug shot, and hadn’t dissolved into a small chalky smudge of invisible ink.

However, the good news is, having perused the brand spanking new questions – which require, among other things, an in depth knowledge about Morecambe and Wise (the popular comedy duo of the 1970s, an obvious prerequisite of expertise for aspiring 21st Century Brits) and Monty Python (don’t mention Evelyn Waugh) – I appear to be every bit as British as the next 2nd generation Portuguese/Russian satirist. (Phew).

The even better news is that I bring you an exclusive extract from said questionnaire, which ‘goes live’ in March. Enough time to do your homework, wouldn’t you say?

[With thanks to the Assistants in the Selection of Suitable Eligibility Status, otherwise known as A.S.S.E.S.]


1.       Do you have a silly walk?

2.       What have the Romans ever done for you?

3.       Why are all Australians called Bruce?

4.       What is Bruce Forsyth’s first name?

5.       Why isn’t he Australian?

6.       Which is the one with the short, fat, hairy legs?  Is it: a) John Prescott; b) Tony Hair; c) Ann Widdecombe

7.        Why is Mary Beard?

8.        What do you think of it so far?  Is it: a) Rubbish

9.        Has your parrot fallen off its perch?  Please show your working.

10.      How much is £10 worth of Venezuelan Beaver Cheese?

11.      What is the next word in this sequence?  Spam, spam, spam, spam ….

12.      What is your position on fucking gondolas?

13.      What percentage of a 100% beefburger should be horse meat?  Answer to the nearest 80%.

(Private Tuition available from D. Messias, ‘Headbangers’, Losingit Lane, Little Effinghope, TWA ATS)

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Raindrops on noses and

Whiskers on Wiggins,

Taxes on pasties and

Sod all with Biggins,

Hadron Collider

Olympics’ five rings,

These are a few of my 2012 things.


Hobbits and Boris and

Jim Fixed Them shocker,

Dorries in Jungle,

Queen jumps out of chopper,

Hagman and Brubeck, Neil Armstrong all snuffed,

Never mind, Wills has got Kate up the duff.


UKIP gaining, Lib Dems waning,

Wave goodbye to Clegg,

It’s been a memorable year after all,

Despite the fact we’re all plebs.





It’s been a bad week for what I shall loosely refer to as ‘the Government’.  <HAHAHA>

For a start, His Majesty Andrew Mitchell finally fell onto his exquisite, hand-crafted by plebs, doubtless purchased-on-expenses sword (what’s that saying again?  Could it be “You don’t run this fucking country now, Andrew“?) bringing into question once again the judgement of the person who appointed him a mere month ago to the position of Chief Toff, namely David ‘the Prime Minister’ <SNIGGERS> Cameron.  Who personally took the trouble to announce that energy companies – in the wake of raising their charges well above the rate of inflation, just in time for winter – would be obliged to place their shivering fuel-poverty customers onto a default lowest tariff, before he reversed his position on that too (if I had a pound for every policy the Tories have come up with on which they haven’t backtracked since May 6th 2010, I’d have 47p).  But the cherry on the cake (nobody can afford bread these days) has to be multi-millionaire ‘Chancellor’ <GUFFAWS> George Osborne sitting in a First Class carriage on a train with only a Pleb Class ticket, trying to get away with not paying the difference of 160 quid.  Which is, I think you’ll agree, quite a large sum.  Indeed, for that money you could heat a small bedsit with one bar of an electric heater for almost half an hour.

Thus it became increasingly obvious to the No.10 ‘advisers’ <LIES ON THE FLOOR IN HYSTERICS KICKING LEGS IN THE AIR> that there was nothing else to be done other than employ the complicated, highly intricate, don’t-try-this-at-home politically-expedient manoeuvre of ‘Oo, look over there!’  

And so Mr Cameron was accordingly wheeled out in front of the cameras to announce his thoroughly researched and well-formulated policy (look, if a week is a long time in politics, imagine what you can achieve in a whole 3 minutes) of  ‘An Intelligent Approach to Crime’.  (My god, we’re all bloody doomed).

In a strange quirk of fate (though I’ve yet to experience an altogether unremarkable quirk of fate), I happened to happen upon David Cameron’s first draft of said presentation whilst I was ambling past Lord Snooty’s Top Hat and Snuff Emporium in Sloane Square (I can’t stand seeing the backs of old envelopes littering the street), and so it is with great delight that I reproduce the scrawlings most cogent notes here.


1.       When endeavouring to travel First Class on a Standard Class ticket, put a paper bag over your head so journalists can’t recognize you.

2.       If you purchase a floating duck house for your moat on public money, have it made in a Third World country and list it on your expenses form as ‘overseas aid’.

3.       As an MP renting out a house you own one mile away from Parliament, whilst claiming rent for a dwelling you use yourself, tape up your tenants mouths so they can’t talk to the press about who their landlord is.

4.       Should you forget one of your children at a country pub to which you’ve paid a visit one summer’s afternoon with the family, deny all knowledge of ever having seen the girl before and have her adopted.

5.       After swearing at and otherwise abusing officers of the law, in order to ensure you’re not taken to the cells and subsequently prosecuted as the law prescribes, hide behind the Prime Minister.

Oddly, Mr Cameron must have completely rewritten his speech (yet another example of backtracking!) because for some reason, none of the above points appeared in the final draft.  Possibly this was unwise, as he ended up talking about ensuring young people were given the chance to escape the route to crime, the obvious flaw being where then will the next generation of politicians come from?

I didn’t notice, by-the-way, any more ‘Hug a Hoodie’ entreaties.  Presumably this has been relegated to the ‘Unintelligent Approach to Crime’ bin?  So perhaps now, with this ‘intelligent’ lark, we’re expected to sit them down and read them Roman poetry.  Let’s ‘Horace a Hoodie!’

If you want my advice (and I know you do), the most intelligent approach to crime I can think of is to change the locks on Nos.10 and 11 Downing Street.

I didn’t spend three years studying Politics for nothing, you know.



It comes to something in the 21st Century when a Government Minister, unable to persuade police to open the main gates of Downing Street so he and his bicycle (and you thought he was too posh to pushbike) wouldn’t suffer the total indignity of having to pass through one of the side gates – and yes, they’re calling it GateGate – can’t express himself in the entirely reasonable manner of a toff scorned by stating: “Best you learn your fucking place. You don’t run this fucking government. You’re fucking plebs“.

(And before you ask, let me say now I’m completely certain Andrew Mitchell has never fucked a pleb in his whole life.  Unless you count Naughty Nellie, of course – £7.50 a pop in Mount Street, Chief Whip extra, John Lewis List approved. Oh, Chief Whips are located along the left hand side of the sub-basement, one down from the pelvic floor.  Which is a coincidence, seeing as most of the Tories populating the Cabinet are cunts very hard-working indeed).

The problem stems from the fact that it’s not that the Tories are too grand, it’s that the rest of the population is, well, too infra.  (Just my little dig there).

Sadly, it does little to dispel the notion that the Upper Classes are obsessed with class.  Which is odd, since most of them possess no class whatsoever.

So to repair the considerable damage Mr Mitchell has caused the newly-reshuffled Cabinet (is this record timing for whiplash injuries?),  to reconnect with the plebs, er, general populace  – who just might pool their braincell(s) together at the next General Election and vote Labour – erstwhile Culture Secretary, Jeremy Cunt  Hunt, has suggested a charm offensive (and let’s face it, the Conservatives are pretty offensive):- a popular singing combo targeted at the hoi polloi for when we’re eating our tripe and downing our meths of a Saturday evening, to give us something to tap our down-at-heel er, heels to.

Ladies and Gentlemen (not in the figurative sense, of course – unless there are any Tories amongst you reading this?  Shouldn’t you be out in your grounds supervising the moat-cleaning?) I give you The Spice Boys:-


David Cameron (the one on the right) attended one of the top public schools in the country, and thus is perfectly qualified to make a meringue of his own Eton mess.


Francis Maude (the one on the right) is a multi-millionaire businessman, who argued on national TV that cutting his £65,738 salary by 5% was similar to the pain felt by the country’s poor.


Iain Duncan Smith (the one on the far right) is Work and Pensions Secretary, who is planning to stop top-up benefits for those who can only find part-time work, demanding they earn a minimum amount each week from their jobs.  That the Government is not creating.


Andrew Mitchell is, at time of writing, Chief  Whip, although ask me again in half an hour.  Right, but not very Honorable, he called two policemen ‘plebs’ a few days after two police officers were murdered for being police officers.  Responsible for the best-known Spice Boys songs:-

Who do you think you are?



Goodbye  (Soon to be released)
George Osborne’s middle name is Gideon and he’s Chancellor of the Exchequer.  AAaarrggghhhh!!!!
(And if anyone can tell me why this site will only let me write in italics now, I won’t make you listen to them sing)