Don’t look away – Greta’s back.

We’d all rather hoped she’d discovered rough cider and cock by now – perhaps even grunted out a spazzer or three – but no, the slacktivist gravy train – or rather the gravy boat – is still chugging. That’s in both the ‘moving slowly making muffled explosive sounds’ and the ‘charity mugging’ senses of the word.

She’s flipped, not only in terms of sanity, but in focus. Her eyes like pissholes in the snow have now swivelled from hummus to Hamas. The climate bollocks is, after all, old hat.

This week, she’s bobbed up (in terms of both flotilla and He-Man coiffure) to the North African coast, supposedly en route to Gaza, asserting that her gang had been fired upon by an Israeli drone.

Somebody has clearly slipped an extra chromosome into her Kombucha because people Israel takes seriously eat a few hundred tons of what was spunked out into Doha.

Princess Flid probably hasn’t tumbled that a regime that has no qualms about offing prime ministers, whizzing missiles into foreign capitals, and mashing a civilian population in the full gaze of the world’s media – all without fear of repercussions – won’t think twice about banging up a gobby mong who rocks up in a glorified junk.

That’s probably why she’s been dicking about in Tunis, 1,475 miles away from the action. They’re unlikely to waste even a shell to dispatch her to Jesus, though.

As it happened, one of her own activist gimps had sparked up a flare, which had dropped back into the boat, freaking everyone out. This ‘attack’ was nevertheless extensively reported in the scum media.

Disturbingly, the bogus firecracker folly did throw up some distraction from the Doha doozy, so perhaps Netanyahoo! might send her over a bunch of something to mark his appreciation.

A bunch of psycho commandos would be my suggestion, but hey.

Meanwhile, the mental millennial’s mission – not to save Gaza but her own relevance – will bobble on.