Jeremy Clarkson on fine form.

Clarkson who so accurately called our one eyed Scottish PM an idiot.

He discusses the snot gobbler saying that he won't be raising taxes to much on booze yet as it will cost him votes in the run up to an election.

Brown, however, wasn’t having any of it because he realised the new tax would penalise the vast majority of people who drink moderately and sensibly.

Quite right too. Why should the chap who stops off for a pint after work be bashed in the wallet just because some town centre yobbos threw a wheelie bin through a shop window on Saturday night?

However, this begs a question. Why doesn’t Brown apply the same logic to everything else?

My ten-year-old daughter is not allowed to take a tube of toothpaste on a plane because of some angry Muslims in a cave in Afghanistan.

My car costs a fortune to insure because people in Peugeots can’t go to the shops without mowing down a bus queue.

I can’t let my dogs kill a rat because of some vegetarians in Hackney.

Soon, you will have to carry an ID card because of a bunch of Somalian turnip pickers in East Anglia.

My tax bill is horrendous because a tiny number of people claim they are too fat to get a job.

And all this is before we get to the roads, where I have to dawdle home at 50mph because 60 is deemed too dangerous for the tiny minority of useless, weak, muddle-headed imbeciles who think that driving a car is somehow difficult.

This is odd because you can apply exactly the same logic to lower speed limits as you can with drinking.

A few blatantly drive way too fast. A few crash and burn.

But surely, there is no need to impose draconian speed limits and come down hard and heavy on the vast majority who occasionally travel 3mph too quickly.

**- I shall finish with the words of Stephen Fry which I aim at the empty eye socket of one James Gordon Brown:

"I hate you, I despise you, I loathe you. Everything about you DISGUSTS me. Your ears, eyes, nose, mouth, tongue, legs, knees, stomach, ribs and bottom make me want to vomit up.
You're repulsive, loathsome, grotesque and insupportable. I want to kill you, I want to twist your nipples off and throw them to the dogs. You scum. You low, corrosive lump of fecal horror,you maniac bastardly turd.

I would rather drink stale urine from Norman Fowler's arse-pit than remain one moment more in your defiling company. You're filth, you're cack, you're the ooze of a burst boil; I abominate you, you towering mound of corrupted slime. Your every utterance is like the slithering hiss of a fat maggot in the putrid guts of a decomposing rat; your face is fouler than the unwiped inner ring of Satan's rectum."

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