Hallelujah! T’is the season of gaslighting!

Spunk sponge Omid Scobie has been probing the shallow waters of incredulity in suggesting that a mistranslation of his book led to the unmasking of the ‘royal racist’.

Around the globe, translators are flummoxed because they’ve spent a lifetime translating verbs, nouns, adjectives, and other units of language that this stuff rolls into. You know, like sentences.

It beggars belief how he thought that batshit line might fly.

But he’s not been alone this week in floating flim-flam.

In London, professional Paddies (hey, none of them actually live there, do they?) are aghast at the idea that friendly, forward-thinking fraternity across the water could really have mass of far-right hatred bubbling under its cheery rump.

Wake up and smell the petrol, chaps.

Ireland is as liberal and as pro-European as Italy.

They’ve only ever promoted a gregarious front for the loot, and the lust for filthy Euro lucre no longer cuts it when they can smell their social fabric rotting from within.

For all the leprechaun hats and accordion-squeezing bonhomie, the country has long since been overrun by gangsters and hardened thugs that are too extreme even for the terrorists and tarmac gangs to stomach.

This brings us nicely on to Guy Verhofstwat, who has been spitting chips – reeling from the Dutch election result and railing against unanimity in the EU. He’s pleading with fellow bloc gravy-trainers to bin it in order to regain their individual sovereignty.

You couldn’t make it up.

Unanimity is a negative only when a decision is one Guy doesn’t like. During Brexit negotiations, he snorted up unanimity like a phat line off Von Der Liar’s fried eggs.

At the time he also punted the line that sovereignty no longer existed, but now gives tearful rants supporting the need to defend it at all costs.

Roll on the New Year, when we’ll ring out the old and ring in the, er, old.