William Dartmouth MEP is another one of the titled UKIP higher-ups, his full official title is LORD LEGGE OF THE DEEP WATER PORT OF DARTMOUTH, BARON OF THE WHALERIDERS, ENEMY OF DOLPHINS.
Looking like a stouter, less Welsh, Sir Anthony Hopkins has been both a burden and a boon to the career of William. 
Like many of the men of UKIP he has been pigeon-holed by jealous Lib Dims and ZaNuLieBore types as ‘just another gorgeous face’.
However, his facial similarity to Sir Hopkins has proved invaluable in making a splash in Brussels.
He often gives speeches in parliament in full Hannibal Lecter regalia and tells flirty female MEPs  that he’ll eat them with a nice Chianti. 
As I mentioned to him in the covering letter for my application to be his valet and bodyguard, there’s more than one dish of his I’d like to eat.
Primarily, his bum.
I’d approach it like David Bellamy rooting around a particularly fragrant clump of moss; wildly oscillating my tongue like an outboard motor I’d work my way from his island of taint all the way to the swirling brown whirlpool of Dartmouth.
There would be no stopping my feverish tongue, and to add some humour to the proceedings I’d utilise my ventriloquist skills to simultaneously sing ‘Rule Britannia’ and do some of my favourite Jethro jokes while I tossed his salad.
I mentioned this to Jethro on the phone to him late last night.
He told me he’s trying not to work so blue any more, and asked me again how I got his number.Silly Jethro. Always having a laugh.

William Dartmouth MEP is another one of the titled UKIP higher-ups, his full official title is LORD LEGGE OF THE DEEP WATER PORT OF DARTMOUTH, BARON OF THE WHALERIDERS, ENEMY OF DOLPHINS.

Looking like a stouter, less Welsh, Sir Anthony Hopkins has been both a burden and a boon to the career of William. 

Like many of the men of UKIP he has been pigeon-holed by jealous Lib Dims and ZaNuLieBore types as ‘just another gorgeous face’.

However, his facial similarity to Sir Hopkins has proved invaluable in making a splash in Brussels.

He often gives speeches in parliament in full Hannibal Lecter regalia and tells flirty female MEPs  that he’ll eat them with a nice Chianti. 

As I mentioned to him in the covering letter for my application to be his valet and bodyguard, there’s more than one dish of his I’d like to eat.

Primarily, his bum.

I’d approach it like David Bellamy rooting around a particularly fragrant clump of moss; wildly oscillating my tongue like an outboard motor I’d work my way from his island of taint all the way to the swirling brown whirlpool of Dartmouth.

There would be no stopping my feverish tongue, and to add some humour to the proceedings I’d utilise my ventriloquist skills to simultaneously sing ‘Rule Britannia’ and do some of my favourite Jethro jokes while I tossed his salad.

I mentioned this to Jethro on the phone to him late last night.

He told me he’s trying not to work so blue any more, and asked me again how I got his number.

Silly Jethro. Always having a laugh.

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