Quick, speed dial the 'chinky'. Whoops! Forgot we can’t say that anymore. Scrub that last sentence, replace with – telephone the purveyor of Oriental world cuisine. I’ll have Singapore noodles, spare ribs with a side of sweet and sour chicken balls. Don’t spare the horses though, I’m starving!!
What sort of horsey year will 2026 turn out to be, I wonder? Let’s see what’s in my fortune cookie…
What sort of horsey year will 2026 turn out to be, I wonder? Let’s see what’s in my fortune cookie…
| I can predict the future |
Will it be a Red Rum sort of year? Yay or neigh? By some peculiar quirk of fate, this load of jockeys in charge of the country might actually smash the gangs, boost growth and lower our energy bills in an unprecedented grand national triple win much like our four-legged hero did back in the 70s. Don’t bet on any winnings from this ‘acca’ any time soon says the cookie.
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| Red Rum - three times Grand National winner |
My second cookie predicts a Shergar scenario where our once mighty ‘island of strangers’ (he said it not me) mysteriously disappears, sunk by a tidal wave of protests, pollution and poverty. No-one ever did find out what happened to this infamous nag. By the same token, no-one is ever likely to pin-point exactly where it all went wrong for Britain.
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| Whatever happened to Shergar? |
And a third cookie (munch, munch) reveals hot-to-trot fortunes may well turn out to be a Mr Ed. Muppet Miliband wakes in the shower one morning to find that all his crazy net zero schemes were just a bad dream. As he soaps his nether regions, he wonders if the pits have re-opened, Government coffers are flowing with revenue generated from North Sea fossil fuels or Britain’s motor industry is booming thanks to increased production of petrol cars. Hang on, was that all a dream?
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| Trust me - I'll bring down your energy bills |
Bollocks! I’ve just dropped a sauce-smeared chicken ball onto the keyboard. This is what happens when you’re lunching and blogging on the hoof.
These fortune cookies are so scrummy though, I’m just going to have to continue chomping my way through the entire box until I’ve uncovered a fortuitous prediction featuring golden unicorns or a sure-fire winner in the 3.30 at Kempton Park.



