“Power tends to corrupt,” mused Lord Acton nearly a century and a half ago, ‘and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ He may well have a point but seeing that I now ‘Rule the World’, dangerous thinking like this would, of course, be banned. I’m all for freedom of speech, but only the freedom of MY speech.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. In the first hours of my assuredly uncorrupt reign of peace and pure tranquillity, I’d install machine gun posts at the top of every tube escalator with instructions to open fire on any fool who stands on the left. We all know the left is for walking. I cannot, alas, claim credit for this inspired idea. But it’s as sound, as it is sensible. As long as bodies were disposed of quickly (using gangs of those irritating buskers who assail you between stops with harmonicas and nose flutes), it would greatly assist the smooth running of the London Underground system.

Next, I’d ban middle aged men wearing Lycra. With immediate effect. All violators would be shipped off to the Milton Keynes Leisure Centre, where they’d be forced to watch Dick Whittington (or Mother Goose, or some other wretched pantomime starring The Krankies, Gary Wilmot and that fella off Hollyoakes) again and again, until they devour their own helmet in deranged despair.

It’s bad enough that cyclists (and I mean those lawless desperados, not the small minority of honest, upright, Highway Code hugging heroes) run red lights, ride three abreast, hog the pavement and generally treat cars with disdain. But to do so while crammed into synthetic, Day-Glo material, every last love handle and man boob lovingly caressed, is nothing short of obscene.

Then there is brunch. Any meal that takes two perfectly civilized ones and crams them into one smug, avocado and maple syrup drenched debacle is nothing short of an outrage. Real men don’t eat brunch. Real women neither.

Anyone who plonks a plate of food down before you in a restaurant, followed by the word, ‘enjoy,’ will be made to endure Michael Mcintyre Live!, trussed to a chair, with their eyes taped open, for weeks at a time. ‘Enjoy’ that, you overfamiliar fool. The same goes for anyone taking an order in a restaurant without a notepad, or interrupting a conversation to explain something we’re about to eat. Something we chose barely five minutes ago. If it needs explaining, my interest’s waning. Oh, and anyone who clicks their fingers / waves a napkin / shouts uncouthly to get a waiter’s attention will be dismembered on the spot.

Turkey would be banned from the kitchen table. As would Christmas pudding, mince pies, Christmas cake and all the rest of the stolid, lumpen mess that makes the British Christmas lunch the least joyous meal in existence. The very mention of ‘clean eating’ would become verboten, as it’s not only half-baked and moronic, but nefarious and dangerous too. Food should be enjoyed and adored, not stigmatised and abhorred. Any person asking for ‘gluten free’ (unless they genuinely suffer from the truly debilitating celiac disease) would not just be ignored, but publically pilloried.

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I’d also ban the theatre, with the sole exception of Shakespeare. And ‘Matilda’. In doing so, you, my loyal and adoring subjects, are being spared ratty, moth-eaten and excruciatingly uncomfortable seats, the warm fart whiff of mass smuggery and a tepid, wan and hideously overpriced glass of half time champagne. Yuk. As an important addendum, a special ‘Backroom of Hell’ must be reserved for Restoration ‘comedy,’ which is, as we all know, about as funny as a rusty penile catheter.

Now I’ve decanted most of my everyday rage into the gleaming vessel of my autonomous rule, onto matters more serious. The use of, and research into, medical marijuana would be legalised, with immediate effect. The fact that it cannot be used to treat many serious, hideously painful and often terminal conditions is utterly criminal. Oh, and politicians would not be allowed to stand without at least six years’ experience of the real world.

Finally ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ would become mandatory. I’m convinced the world with be a far better place with a few more manners. Now I couldn’t care less if you dump your elbows on the table, or eat with your mouth open, or lick the plate clean. Piddling infractions, at worse. But saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ is not just polite, but the very foundation of a civilised society. Treat others as you’d expect to be treated yourself. Show a little bloody respect. And if you don’t agree with me, I want your bloodied, hacked off and insolent head served up to me on a plate. Please.