Katie Hopkins – my week Sir – as told to Otto English


Just a year ago my life was going very wrong indeed Sir. I had my own LBC show and a column in the Mail online. My salary, let me tell you Sir, was well into six figures and I was regularly being invited onto National television to share my opinions about fat people, left wing fat lesbian ‘feminazis’ and women of Muslim heritage in big fat burqas – who were fat. Some people called me a modern Gandhi for suggesting that migrant children fleeing wars should be shot dead in the water. Others suggested that I should be given a Nobel Peace Prize, while countless fans hailed me as a latter day Buddha for daring to say that bed blocking Alzheimer’s sufferers should be euthanized. Nothing upsets me – but that did – because the Gautama Buddha was famously very fat indeed.


Those dark days are now behind me Sir, but on reflection it was the worst period of my life. I looked on in horror – as my bank balance grew obese. I was waiting for the call. Not the call that would say: ‘we are going to tell them we are parting company by mutual consent and suggest you do the same’ but the other one from the world famous Rebel Media that would say: “Katie leave all of that lucrative mainstream media work behind you and come and work for an obscure, right wing, dubiously funded, Canadian website instead.” I can tell you, Sir, that when that call came I cried with relief. Great things followed. Shortly afterwards I was obliged to sell my house and ‘downsize’ to thinner premises and a slimmed down mortgage – so that we might be able to eat. Not that I let my children eat. In case they get fat.


Oh I see, you want it to be more like a diary Sir. Thank you for pointing that out Madam but no. Take me or leave me you cannot ignore me. I play by ‘Katie’ rules and that means I do what I like and say whatever I like – even if it does cost me hundreds of thousands of pounds in the libel courts. This week I have been in Belgium investigating and exposing the shocking truth of this emerging extremist Caliphate. The Muslim migrant population of Belgium has exploded and I was stunned to see ‘croissants’ that had clearly been made in the shape of the Islamic half Moon. My lands have been invaded. As I walked through the streets of Brussels I heard nobody speaking English at all. In their race to integrate and not upset ‘minorities’ the Belgians have made themselves extinct. In Antwerp my interpreter explained that they don’t even speak French anymore. I remember Belgium from my childhood as a place of young boy detectives and David Suchet in a moustache. Let me tell you Sir – that Belgium has gone – Madam.

Belgian men are now being obliged to wear burqas


Mass uncontrolled immigration. Three words. But what do they mean Sir? Well – on a recent trip to Canada I was able to find out. Canada will be familiar to those who have never been there as the land of maple syrup, lumberjacks, mooses and men in bright scarlet tunics – this was not the Canada I saw. In a Mexican restaurant in Ottawa I was disgusted to find no maple syrup or pancakes on the menu and when I accused the waiters of being Islamic terrorists they asked me to leave. These people are cowards but they are also invaders; foreigners in my lands. Worse was to come. Outside the main towns I was stunned to find that there were hundreds of ‘Indian reservations’ where Indian people – or ‘economic migrant rapists’ as we should rightly refer to them have set up camps that would put the makeshift Jungle at Calais to shame. I took a local police unit to one of these shanty towns and was disgusted to be told: “they were here first – they’re the indigenous people.” When the lumberjacks’ dogs are being turned into halal meat, their daughters are being forced to recite the Mahabratma and their wives are being sold in slave markets in Toronto to Bedouin tentmakers from Saudi Arabia, I wonder if they will feel quite the same way, Sir.

Canada before Mass immigration


Like Donald Trump, I first came to fame on The Apprentice. Being in a reality TV show is perfect preparation for life as a world famous writer and journalist. President Trump can grope me any time. Indeed, if a woman doesn’t want to be groped by President Trump, then she is probably a poor, fat, lesbian. And Donald wouldn’t want to grope her anyway would he Sir. No Madam.

Canada after mass uncontrolled immigration


The weekends are for my children. Sometimes I Skype them, and occasionally they pick up.


I, Sir, am a Christian Conservative White woman and as such I am the most vilified species on the planet after Christian Conservative White men. People ask me if I go to Church and my response to that is: ‘I have no need because I am a church.’ I am a church and a fortress and a bastion against the hateful invasion of my lands by foreign people – Madam. On a recent trip to South Africa I was stunned to discover that that beautiful countrt has now been invaded by black people. As a Christian Conservative Woman that left me devastated not just for the White indigenous people who have lost their lands, but on Jesus’s behalf as well. Did he die on the cross for nothing Sir? Don’t you care Madam? Does that not bother you Sir? Am I getting paid for this? Because I really need the money.