I’ve been meaning to steal this for some time, but have been holding off because the blogger from whom I stole it was threatened right off the Internet by that anal retentive egotist “Hitchens‘ little brother,” not to be confused with his more powerful and eloquent brother, nor with The Hitch, who is far more amusing and not afraid of god or man, much less a snivelling, brittle journalist. I was hoping she’d come back online, but “the other Hitchens” has probably gone so far as to rip up the power lines delivering electricity to her house, restoring her to a state not unlike those pre-Industrial peasants for whom he bears such apparent fondness.

But she’s gone. Hope somewhere a desperately enema-deprived hack is happily snickering into his posset. And drunkenly spilling it right into his shrivelled and dusty lap.

Anyway, here’s four whining Yorkshiremen: Eddie Izzard, Harry Enfield, Vic Reeves and the Voice of God himself, Alan Rickman.

And transcript, courtesy of BadKittyCat over the jump.

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