Winged Messenger, Flat Feet

Days after his party lost a thousand council seats and the Greens gained two hundred, Fishy Rishi has defied the woke tree-hugging tofu-slurpers in characteristic style, raising up his little chopper for a quick trip to the chemist. The establishment in question was in Southampton, and the people who manage Fishy Rishi's more mundane affairs had determined that it would constitute a suitable setting for an announcement about chemists. One would not, after all, wish to mislead the plebs by giving them the impression that they will soon be able to cash their prescriptions by taking them to a press conference in London. More pressingly still, one would not wish to risk encountering the said plebs on a seventy-five-minute train journey, especially so soon after so many of them had been sufficiently deceived to vote as if the party in power for the past decade and a half were somehow responsible for the state of the country. In a further demonstration of concern for local issues, the provincial press were not invited to view the festivities, and a reporter from the Southern Daily Echo was refused entry when they proved so lacking in nuance as to try and gatecrash.