Here we go again, another Day of Shame/December 30th 2010.
Richie - With nothing but strikes, riots, economic armageddon, VAT increases, fuel hikes, pay cuts, unemployment and all round misery to look forward to in 2011 (courtesy of this vile, unelected CONDEM govt) Mrs Bob No 3 and I will, on New Year's Day, descend into our home-made nuclear bunker and not re-appear until the foul troughing Tories and LibDems have been driven from office! The bunker, situated in our garden, is well-stocked and comfortable with enough snifters, books, board games, and I-Spy material to keep us occupied for a full 12 months (the expected life-span of ShamCam n Cleggy's Coagulation govt). After a rousing send-off on New Year's Eve in the snug Wob Boberts' postings will fall silent in protest at the authoritarian pygmies who are dragging this great and proud nation of ours through the gutter. I say, let us all hope that the democracy-loving forces of Britain sweep away this awful administration pronto! Farewell Lord Richie Littlewon of Windbag Way! (Hic!)
Thursday
Tuesday
You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows/December 28th 2010.
Richie - With the vile ConDem austerity measures just around the corner Mrs Bob No 3 and I have been working hard over Xmas preparing for the economic armageddon that surely awaits us all. Our garden shed has been transformed into a nuclear bunker complete with snifters and snacks for a full twelve months (the expected life of this wretched govt) and today I'll be lowering my comfy chair into this underground chamber before locking up Castle Roberts and clambering down the ladder myself when the VAT increase kicks in. Even though I'm more than a tad sceptical about this climate charge malarkey I've had solar panels and a wind turbine installed so that I can at least watch Premier League footy as well as live pictures of the nationwide riots that will be a feature of 2011. My next project is a tunnel linking our bunker with the local snug which should help keep me sane until the glorious day when the ConDems fall and life returns to normal. Mad in ShamCam n Cleggy's nutjob UK I say!
Richie - With the vile ConDem austerity measures just around the corner Mrs Bob No 3 and I have been working hard over Xmas preparing for the economic armageddon that surely awaits us all. Our garden shed has been transformed into a nuclear bunker complete with snifters and snacks for a full twelve months (the expected life of this wretched govt) and today I'll be lowering my comfy chair into this underground chamber before locking up Castle Roberts and clambering down the ladder myself when the VAT increase kicks in. Even though I'm more than a tad sceptical about this climate charge malarkey I've had solar panels and a wind turbine installed so that I can at least watch Premier League footy as well as live pictures of the nationwide riots that will be a feature of 2011. My next project is a tunnel linking our bunker with the local snug which should help keep me sane until the glorious day when the ConDems fall and life returns to normal. Mad in ShamCam n Cleggy's nutjob UK I say!
Friday
Happy Christmas, now call off the war on Christians/December 24th 2010.
Richie - Taking inspiration from the Telegraph's intrepid band of teenage journalists I borrowed one of Mrs Bob's wigs, slipped into an XXL festive frock and fishnets, and infiltrated the local Tory party Xmas knees up held in an 80s wine bar. My daring undercover operation was to find out the true state of our Coaliton govt. and what I discovered, Rich, was shocking! Tarquin, a merchant winker, dismissed the Lib Dems as a bunch of "pink commie hoes"; Rupert, a company director, said that Clegg couldn't be trusted to send in the army when the anti-cut riots kicked off next year; and Lady Mimsy Fullerton-Breakwater, the local treasurer, said all Lib Dems should be excluded from govt because they didn't know how to hold a fish knife properly! However, I had to escape pronto when the inebriated chairman, attracted to my chest hair, popped one of my latex falsies and rumbled my disguise causing old Wob Boberts to flee down Worcester high street to shouts of "Vile Labour filth!" Mad I say!
Richie - Taking inspiration from the Telegraph's intrepid band of teenage journalists I borrowed one of Mrs Bob's wigs, slipped into an XXL festive frock and fishnets, and infiltrated the local Tory party Xmas knees up held in an 80s wine bar. My daring undercover operation was to find out the true state of our Coaliton govt. and what I discovered, Rich, was shocking! Tarquin, a merchant winker, dismissed the Lib Dems as a bunch of "pink commie hoes"; Rupert, a company director, said that Clegg couldn't be trusted to send in the army when the anti-cut riots kicked off next year; and Lady Mimsy Fullerton-Breakwater, the local treasurer, said all Lib Dems should be excluded from govt because they didn't know how to hold a fish knife properly! However, I had to escape pronto when the inebriated chairman, attracted to my chest hair, popped one of my latex falsies and rumbled my disguise causing old Wob Boberts to flee down Worcester high street to shouts of "Vile Labour filth!" Mad I say!
Tuesday
Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells... chaos all the way/December 21st
Richie - Our village has been submerged beneath tons of snow for the past few days, limiting the delivery of provisions. But, in a display of fine British values, a workers' co-op has been set up in the local snug so that the vulnerable and needy don't go without. My good friend Lady Tabitha Willmot-Brown donated several Harrods Xmas hampers to the cause and Mrs Bob No 3 has been rustling up a daily pot of her famous Thai stew. Needless to say, the frozen evenings are filled with merriment and the best of local entertainment! We've had Arthur Groat playing his spoons, Dr Singh performing his magic tricks, and Marcia Braithwaite's saucy XXL burlesque show is the talk of the county! On Saturday we're holding a Julius Assange benefit night with locals performing versions of your witty Xmas song re-writes! So your labours will, in a small way Rich, be supporting the cause of free speech and helping a truly brave man in his battle against authoritarianism! Well done Littlejohn I say!
Richie - Our village has been submerged beneath tons of snow for the past few days, limiting the delivery of provisions. But, in a display of fine British values, a workers' co-op has been set up in the local snug so that the vulnerable and needy don't go without. My good friend Lady Tabitha Willmot-Brown donated several Harrods Xmas hampers to the cause and Mrs Bob No 3 has been rustling up a daily pot of her famous Thai stew. Needless to say, the frozen evenings are filled with merriment and the best of local entertainment! We've had Arthur Groat playing his spoons, Dr Singh performing his magic tricks, and Marcia Braithwaite's saucy XXL burlesque show is the talk of the county! On Saturday we're holding a Julius Assange benefit night with locals performing versions of your witty Xmas song re-writes! So your labours will, in a small way Rich, be supporting the cause of free speech and helping a truly brave man in his battle against authoritarianism! Well done Littlejohn I say!
Friday
Why can't our own Cybermen zap the WikiLeaks man?/December 17th 2010.
Richie - How right you are to criticise namby-pamby whistleblower Julius Falange! How dare this Wikipeek supremo expose the slaughter of innocent men, women, children and journos in Afghanistan! These towel-heads are of no consequence, eh Rich ? and, as you said about the Ipswich prossies, weren't exactly gonna discover a cure for cancer! This androgenous Swedish mischief-maker should stick to front page headlines about wheelie-bins, the vile Labour Trots and trans-sexual tittle-tattle - the meaty stuff that really matters to alpha scribes, eh Rich ? And as for that multi award-winning Leftist traitor John Pilger, well, I say that his brand of campaigning journalism has no place in modern-day Britain and he should be embedded up to his eye-balls in concrete, preferably somewhere on the M6. You know, since I've been taking my new medication I've been coming round to your point of view on a number of issues, Rich. (Ketamine IS ok for a tickly cough, eh Rich ? Rich ? You there Rich ?)
Richie - How right you are to criticise namby-pamby whistleblower Julius Falange! How dare this Wikipeek supremo expose the slaughter of innocent men, women, children and journos in Afghanistan! These towel-heads are of no consequence, eh Rich ? and, as you said about the Ipswich prossies, weren't exactly gonna discover a cure for cancer! This androgenous Swedish mischief-maker should stick to front page headlines about wheelie-bins, the vile Labour Trots and trans-sexual tittle-tattle - the meaty stuff that really matters to alpha scribes, eh Rich ? And as for that multi award-winning Leftist traitor John Pilger, well, I say that his brand of campaigning journalism has no place in modern-day Britain and he should be embedded up to his eye-balls in concrete, preferably somewhere on the M6. You know, since I've been taking my new medication I've been coming round to your point of view on a number of issues, Rich. (Ketamine IS ok for a tickly cough, eh Rich ? Rich ? You there Rich ?)
Monday
Is this Paradise? Nah, Luton Airport/December 15th 2010.
Richie - Would you adam and eve it! Mrs Bob No 3 and I have just returned from a 10 day cruise round the Med. We steamed back into Southampton chirpy as can be and as the liner prepared to dock I left Mrs Bob on deck while I collected our luggage. I oversaw the transit of our bags onto dry land and into the boot of my trusty XJ6 and then set off on the long drive towards Worcester. It was only when I reached home and was settled in my comfy chair with a double snifter that I realised my terrible mistake. Yes, you've guessed it - I'd forgotten Mrs Bob! I called the cruise company who confirmed that a rather agitated Thai lady was seated in their office threatening divorce if I didn't return pronto to pick her up! I too suggested a courier service to my front door but the idea was rudely rejected in the strange Thai dialect that is her mother tongue. So, I drove all the way back to Southampton only to find that she'd fled to her sister in Epping where she's stubbornly remained! Mad I say!
Richie - Would you adam and eve it! Mrs Bob No 3 and I have just returned from a 10 day cruise round the Med. We steamed back into Southampton chirpy as can be and as the liner prepared to dock I left Mrs Bob on deck while I collected our luggage. I oversaw the transit of our bags onto dry land and into the boot of my trusty XJ6 and then set off on the long drive towards Worcester. It was only when I reached home and was settled in my comfy chair with a double snifter that I realised my terrible mistake. Yes, you've guessed it - I'd forgotten Mrs Bob! I called the cruise company who confirmed that a rather agitated Thai lady was seated in their office threatening divorce if I didn't return pronto to pick her up! I too suggested a courier service to my front door but the idea was rudely rejected in the strange Thai dialect that is her mother tongue. So, I drove all the way back to Southampton only to find that she'd fled to her sister in Epping where she's stubbornly remained! Mad I say!
Friday
World Cup Willie must be turning in his grave/December 3rd 2010
Richie - We locals gathered in the snug yesterday to watch the world cup draw. Arthur Groat and Dr Singh were in high spirits, re-enacting Hurst's 66 winner, and Marcia Braithwaite was flashing her St George bloomers to anyone willing to pay 50p into the charity Xmas fund. But what a disappointment, eh Rich ? We were let down by snake oil salesman Cameron, who sounded more like Toff Spice pleading with delegates that he "really really" wanted the World Cup to come to England. And what with Barmy Boris adding his size 11's to the mix the game was up well before Goldenballs started jerking the heart strings. What was needed was a world statesman on our team, a Blair or a Brown, not a 2nd rate unelected PM. Needless to say there was much dejection when the winning bid was announced but a few pints were downed and a rousing rendition of "There'll Always Be A Multi-Cultural England" saw us through. And who knows - a cryogenically frozen Wob Boberts might still be around for the 2030bid!
Richie - We locals gathered in the snug yesterday to watch the world cup draw. Arthur Groat and Dr Singh were in high spirits, re-enacting Hurst's 66 winner, and Marcia Braithwaite was flashing her St George bloomers to anyone willing to pay 50p into the charity Xmas fund. But what a disappointment, eh Rich ? We were let down by snake oil salesman Cameron, who sounded more like Toff Spice pleading with delegates that he "really really" wanted the World Cup to come to England. And what with Barmy Boris adding his size 11's to the mix the game was up well before Goldenballs started jerking the heart strings. What was needed was a world statesman on our team, a Blair or a Brown, not a 2nd rate unelected PM. Needless to say there was much dejection when the winning bid was announced but a few pints were downed and a rousing rendition of "There'll Always Be A Multi-Cultural England" saw us through. And who knows - a cryogenically frozen Wob Boberts might still be around for the 2030bid!
Tuesday
WikiLeaks latest... the Pope may be Catholic/November 30th 2010.
Richie - I was snoozing in my comfy chair after breakfast when Mrs Bob No 3, my Thai wife, came running in to the lounge holding a substantial-looking document. "Wob!" she squealed. "ShamCam n Cleggy have sent govt happy form for us to fill in! I so so happy alweddy!" As you can imagine, Rich, Mrs Bob has been eagerly awaiting the ConDem govts 'happy survey' so that she can officialy tell them what a pig's ear they're making of things. However, upon closer inspection I realised the document was in fact a hitherto unreleased Wikileaks dossier giving details of US diplomatic messages regarding British journalists. I opened it and read the first entry. 'SUBJECT/NOFORN. From: Troy Eagleburger CIA op London. To: Langley HQ. Dated: 1/11.08 Name redacted. Subject writes 2 x weekly column in national daily. Right wing fruitcake of highest order. Obsessed with garbage collection, Gordon Brown, and gays. Compared to Tolstoy but closer to Toys R Us! Threat level zero.' Mad these Wikileaks I say!
Richie - I was snoozing in my comfy chair after breakfast when Mrs Bob No 3, my Thai wife, came running in to the lounge holding a substantial-looking document. "Wob!" she squealed. "ShamCam n Cleggy have sent govt happy form for us to fill in! I so so happy alweddy!" As you can imagine, Rich, Mrs Bob has been eagerly awaiting the ConDem govts 'happy survey' so that she can officialy tell them what a pig's ear they're making of things. However, upon closer inspection I realised the document was in fact a hitherto unreleased Wikileaks dossier giving details of US diplomatic messages regarding British journalists. I opened it and read the first entry. 'SUBJECT/NOFORN. From: Troy Eagleburger CIA op London. To: Langley HQ. Dated: 1/11.08 Name redacted. Subject writes 2 x weekly column in national daily. Right wing fruitcake of highest order. Obsessed with garbage collection, Gordon Brown, and gays. Compared to Tolstoy but closer to Toys R Us! Threat level zero.' Mad these Wikileaks I say!
Thursday
Justice stabbed in the heart by yuman rites/November 26th 2010.
Richie - In keeping with ShamCam's fruitcake idea of the Big Society I took up my clip-board, donned my elf n safety goggles, and went off to find out if people were happy or not. I must say the response wasn't good and my survey soon changed tack, ditching the question of happiness and asking folk instead what made them feel so depressed. Of course, the unelected ConDems came top, closely followed by bankers, the weather, and those nutty reality tv stars that seem to dominate our screens. But the name of one group cropped up with alarming regularity. Old Mrs Thomas from No 75 summed em up a treat. "Ooh, those Right-Wing windbags in the media get right up my goat!" she said with a huff. "With their badly-researched, overwhelmingly biased columns they terrify the heebie-jeebies out of poor old folk like me!" If only Wisteria had the power to sack the Right Wing whingers and moaners the world it seems would be a better place. What do you reckon Richie ? Richie ? Are you there, Rich...?
Richie - In keeping with ShamCam's fruitcake idea of the Big Society I took up my clip-board, donned my elf n safety goggles, and went off to find out if people were happy or not. I must say the response wasn't good and my survey soon changed tack, ditching the question of happiness and asking folk instead what made them feel so depressed. Of course, the unelected ConDems came top, closely followed by bankers, the weather, and those nutty reality tv stars that seem to dominate our screens. But the name of one group cropped up with alarming regularity. Old Mrs Thomas from No 75 summed em up a treat. "Ooh, those Right-Wing windbags in the media get right up my goat!" she said with a huff. "With their badly-researched, overwhelmingly biased columns they terrify the heebie-jeebies out of poor old folk like me!" If only Wisteria had the power to sack the Right Wing whingers and moaners the world it seems would be a better place. What do you reckon Richie ? Richie ? Are you there, Rich...?
Tuesday
Oi, Bish... 'Er Indoors at Buck House wants a word/November 23rd 2010.
Richie - I was lying in bed reading the latest instalment of the Coulsen fiasco when Mrs Bob No 3 started giving the feisty Bishop a right good bashing. As a Thai national she has a mystical, divine reverence for royalty and can't understand the Briish attitude towards the Windsors. "Why this man say bad things about Big Willie and Waity Katie ?" she asked. I tried to explain that the fruity God-botherer of Willesden occupied the liberal wing of the C of E but of course this only confused her further and I spent the next hour or so giving a potted history of our religion from the building of Stonehenge onwards. Needless to say my ramblings sent her into a deep slumber so the next day I invited happy clappy Rev Crisp of this parish round for tea and cake to help Mrs Bob grasp the finer points. "In a nutshell" he sighed "we Brits are agnostic towards our church and somewhat catholic towards our monarchy" before smiling meekly and helping himself to a third slice of Battenburg! Mad innit!
Richie - I was lying in bed reading the latest instalment of the Coulsen fiasco when Mrs Bob No 3 started giving the feisty Bishop a right good bashing. As a Thai national she has a mystical, divine reverence for royalty and can't understand the Briish attitude towards the Windsors. "Why this man say bad things about Big Willie and Waity Katie ?" she asked. I tried to explain that the fruity God-botherer of Willesden occupied the liberal wing of the C of E but of course this only confused her further and I spent the next hour or so giving a potted history of our religion from the building of Stonehenge onwards. Needless to say my ramblings sent her into a deep slumber so the next day I invited happy clappy Rev Crisp of this parish round for tea and cake to help Mrs Bob grasp the finer points. "In a nutshell" he sighed "we Brits are agnostic towards our church and somewhat catholic towards our monarchy" before smiling meekly and helping himself to a third slice of Battenburg! Mad innit!
Thursday
A very British Royal Wedding... and the bride wore a burka!/November 19th 2010.
Richie - This week rekindled memories of Chaz n Di's big day in 1981. Young Wob Boberts, along with the girl who would eventually become Mrs Bob No 1, cut dashing New Romantic figures then, with bouncy quiffs and spangly buccaneer trousers and walkmans that constantly played Spandau Ballet and ABC. In those days I drove a souped-up Ford Escort (complete with fluffy dice and halogen spots) and like many patriotic young couples on July 29th we headed off along the M40 to experience the great event first hand. Disaster struck, though, at Banbury when the escort blew a gasket! Left high and dry a Cornish pig farmer offered passage in the back of his truck to Swindon bus station. But the heat of the journey lulled us into slumber next to the porkers and we woke up in Newquay, clothes smeared in dung and quiffs askew! The rest of the day was spent near-starkers on an idyllic beach which, thanks to the royal nupitals, remained pleasantly deserted! All in all, a right royal day out, I say!
Richie - This week rekindled memories of Chaz n Di's big day in 1981. Young Wob Boberts, along with the girl who would eventually become Mrs Bob No 1, cut dashing New Romantic figures then, with bouncy quiffs and spangly buccaneer trousers and walkmans that constantly played Spandau Ballet and ABC. In those days I drove a souped-up Ford Escort (complete with fluffy dice and halogen spots) and like many patriotic young couples on July 29th we headed off along the M40 to experience the great event first hand. Disaster struck, though, at Banbury when the escort blew a gasket! Left high and dry a Cornish pig farmer offered passage in the back of his truck to Swindon bus station. But the heat of the journey lulled us into slumber next to the porkers and we woke up in Newquay, clothes smeared in dung and quiffs askew! The rest of the day was spent near-starkers on an idyllic beach which, thanks to the royal nupitals, remained pleasantly deserted! All in all, a right royal day out, I say!
Monday
Next time the Chandlers should stick to the Solent/November 16th 2010.
Richie - How right you are to criticise this bonkers couple who sailed into pirate-infested waters! However, the Chandler's plight reminded me of the story of Great-grandpop Roberts who went on missionary work in darkest Africa back in the late 1800s. He too was kidnapped by members of a savage tribe who threatened to cook him in their giant pot unless the good people of Worcester sent them a hundred bags of silver. Well, needless to say, the local populace weren't bothered about the old duffer in the slightest and rejoiced that it would put an end to his insufferable street-corner preaching. But Great-grandpop Roberts proved a redoubtable customer and managed to secure his release just as the pot began to bubble! What's more he lived out his remaining years with his captors and sired twenty three offspring which is why to this day certain African tribes greet one another with the words "I say!" and enjoy a mid-afternoon snooze in their comfy chairs after a snifter or three! Mad innit!
Richie - How right you are to criticise this bonkers couple who sailed into pirate-infested waters! However, the Chandler's plight reminded me of the story of Great-grandpop Roberts who went on missionary work in darkest Africa back in the late 1800s. He too was kidnapped by members of a savage tribe who threatened to cook him in their giant pot unless the good people of Worcester sent them a hundred bags of silver. Well, needless to say, the local populace weren't bothered about the old duffer in the slightest and rejoiced that it would put an end to his insufferable street-corner preaching. But Great-grandpop Roberts proved a redoubtable customer and managed to secure his release just as the pot began to bubble! What's more he lived out his remaining years with his captors and sired twenty three offspring which is why to this day certain African tribes greet one another with the words "I say!" and enjoy a mid-afternoon snooze in their comfy chairs after a snifter or three! Mad innit!
Thursday
Toytown Trots, Twitter and the Trumpton riots/November 12th 2010.
Richie - Yesterday I helped my artistocratic neighbour Lady Tabitha Wilmot-Brown decorate her home for Xmas. Beautiful Lady Tab, a crypto-anarchist of the highest order, had just returned from the Millbank riot. While I held the ladder - and she attached festive figures of Marx and Engels to her grade 2 listed manor - Tab told me all about her fun-packed day. "It was glorious, Bob darling" she purred. "After the demo I met with friends in Mayfair and we went for a scrumptious meal at Le Gavroche before partying the night away at Stringfellows! Why didn't you tag along, you old trout ?" I must admit, Richie, as I peered up the ladder and spied the shapely form of Lady Tab's derriere it was difficult to engage in meaningful conversation. "Not to worry sweetie" she sighed. "Plenty more riots against the vile ConDems next year. Now, is Trotters looking ok peeps ?" at which point her inflatable neon Trotsky lit up and the Song of the Volga Boatmen blared out from a giant pair of speakers!
Richie - Yesterday I helped my artistocratic neighbour Lady Tabitha Wilmot-Brown decorate her home for Xmas. Beautiful Lady Tab, a crypto-anarchist of the highest order, had just returned from the Millbank riot. While I held the ladder - and she attached festive figures of Marx and Engels to her grade 2 listed manor - Tab told me all about her fun-packed day. "It was glorious, Bob darling" she purred. "After the demo I met with friends in Mayfair and we went for a scrumptious meal at Le Gavroche before partying the night away at Stringfellows! Why didn't you tag along, you old trout ?" I must admit, Richie, as I peered up the ladder and spied the shapely form of Lady Tab's derriere it was difficult to engage in meaningful conversation. "Not to worry sweetie" she sighed. "Plenty more riots against the vile ConDems next year. Now, is Trotters looking ok peeps ?" at which point her inflatable neon Trotsky lit up and the Song of the Volga Boatmen blared out from a giant pair of speakers!
Monday
And this year's Most Diabolical Recycling Regime award goes to.../November 9th 2010.
Richie - In these tough economic times, and with Slasher Osbourne's cuts on the horizon, the elders of our village have been scratching their wizened heads trying to come up with ideas to raise much-needed revenue. One such idea was the hosting of an awards ceremony. With just about every industry having an annual shin-dig to hand out meaningless prizes these ceremonies have become something of a cash-cow, generating torrents of income for the chosen venue. So, you'll be pleased to hear that our village has decided to host the first Right-Wing Windbag of the Year award! We envisage thousands of Right-Wing loonies from around the globe will attend, not least the complete and utter fruitcakes who make up the ludicrous Tea-Party in the USA! In fact, Richie, as an eminent and much-loved British Right-Wing Windbag, you're our first choice as patron! If you're interested drop me a line at: Bob Roberts, Village Hall, Come-to-Piddle, Worcestershire. Mad in unelected ShamCam's barmy Uk innit!
Richie - In these tough economic times, and with Slasher Osbourne's cuts on the horizon, the elders of our village have been scratching their wizened heads trying to come up with ideas to raise much-needed revenue. One such idea was the hosting of an awards ceremony. With just about every industry having an annual shin-dig to hand out meaningless prizes these ceremonies have become something of a cash-cow, generating torrents of income for the chosen venue. So, you'll be pleased to hear that our village has decided to host the first Right-Wing Windbag of the Year award! We envisage thousands of Right-Wing loonies from around the globe will attend, not least the complete and utter fruitcakes who make up the ludicrous Tea-Party in the USA! In fact, Richie, as an eminent and much-loved British Right-Wing Windbag, you're our first choice as patron! If you're interested drop me a line at: Bob Roberts, Village Hall, Come-to-Piddle, Worcestershire. Mad in unelected ShamCam's barmy Uk innit!
Thursday
Fireworks, gunpowder, treason ... and Plod/November 5th 2010.
Richie - Earlier this week we villagers held our annual pre-bonfire night pow-wow to choose a deserving effigy to burn on the village green and the candidates were many! Gideon Osbourne (the man who stole your retirement years), Wisteria Cameron (the man who sold our military to the French), Iain Dunkin Donut (king of the ideological fruitcakes), Squire Pickles, Fag-Ash Clegg, Danny the Ginger Rodent...the list seemed endless! Deliberations went on until late into the night and several hearty snifters all round were sunk! Eventually, though, a name was chosen. The effigy will be that of a man who is well used to breathing hot air in public; a man whose whingeing and whineing about the police and our public servants is legendary; a man whose lack of research and objectivity is matched only by his bigoted, Right-Wing views. Yes, Richie, congratulations old son! Tonight Lord Littlewon of Windbag Way will grace the top of our village bonfire and what a spectacle it will be! Makes you proud to be British I say!
Richie - Earlier this week we villagers held our annual pre-bonfire night pow-wow to choose a deserving effigy to burn on the village green and the candidates were many! Gideon Osbourne (the man who stole your retirement years), Wisteria Cameron (the man who sold our military to the French), Iain Dunkin Donut (king of the ideological fruitcakes), Squire Pickles, Fag-Ash Clegg, Danny the Ginger Rodent...the list seemed endless! Deliberations went on until late into the night and several hearty snifters all round were sunk! Eventually, though, a name was chosen. The effigy will be that of a man who is well used to breathing hot air in public; a man whose whingeing and whineing about the police and our public servants is legendary; a man whose lack of research and objectivity is matched only by his bigoted, Right-Wing views. Yes, Richie, congratulations old son! Tonight Lord Littlewon of Windbag Way will grace the top of our village bonfire and what a spectacle it will be! Makes you proud to be British I say!
Monday
Tony Martin would know how to deal with Google/October 26th 2010.
Richie - My precocious ten year old grandson Bob jnr is staying with us this week and what a punishing schedule he follows! He's up with the lark to dash off a few Oxbridge test papers before sweet Mrs Nagoya arrives at 7am for his daily Japanese language lesson. Yet more reading, language learning and prepping follows, all with the intention of becoming British Labour PM by the time he's forty. Of course, young Bob reads your column avidly, Rich, and was enthralled by today's effort. "This Littlejohn bloke is a bit of a grade-one fruitcake, isn't he grandad ?" he said with a huff. "I mean, if people were allowed to shoot one another the country would descend into anarchy!" I tried to defend your honour, Rich, but the little chap wasn't having it. "And when's Littlenutter going to write about the Coulsen affair! The old windbag's silence is deafening I say!" and with that he skipped off into the study for a primer in international relations with Mrs Nagoya's daughter. Mad in Sham n Cleggie's austerity Britain innit!
Richie - My precocious ten year old grandson Bob jnr is staying with us this week and what a punishing schedule he follows! He's up with the lark to dash off a few Oxbridge test papers before sweet Mrs Nagoya arrives at 7am for his daily Japanese language lesson. Yet more reading, language learning and prepping follows, all with the intention of becoming British Labour PM by the time he's forty. Of course, young Bob reads your column avidly, Rich, and was enthralled by today's effort. "This Littlejohn bloke is a bit of a grade-one fruitcake, isn't he grandad ?" he said with a huff. "I mean, if people were allowed to shoot one another the country would descend into anarchy!" I tried to defend your honour, Rich, but the little chap wasn't having it. "And when's Littlenutter going to write about the Coulsen affair! The old windbag's silence is deafening I say!" and with that he skipped off into the study for a primer in international relations with Mrs Nagoya's daughter. Mad in Sham n Cleggie's austerity Britain innit!
Friday
Next case, m'lud: Clegg v Cameron pre-nup/October 22nd 2010.
Richie - How right you are to highlight the absurd meddling of the pond warden! I've been feeding the birds in our village pond for longer than I care to remember! Almost every day, in between breakfast and my mid-morning snifter, I spend a few minutes in the fresh air offering morsels to our feathered friends. And not only do our local ducks enjoy white bread, they flap their wings in unconcealed joy when I bring them chocolate-covered bagels, jam-infused hot cross buns and tea-scones with clotted cream. In fact, I once fed them bacon butties and Taste the Difference chorizo sausages and I can tell you Richie that ducks, mandrakes and assorted gulls flew in from miles around to enjoy the feast! Only once, when a few ducks succumbed to the pleasures of my hip flask and came to a sticky end in the storm drain, was there a problem. However, I managed to fish out these unfortunates and stuff them in the local pub wheelie bin before any do-gooders noticed! Mad in the ConDem's Austerity Uk innit!
Richie - How right you are to highlight the absurd meddling of the pond warden! I've been feeding the birds in our village pond for longer than I care to remember! Almost every day, in between breakfast and my mid-morning snifter, I spend a few minutes in the fresh air offering morsels to our feathered friends. And not only do our local ducks enjoy white bread, they flap their wings in unconcealed joy when I bring them chocolate-covered bagels, jam-infused hot cross buns and tea-scones with clotted cream. In fact, I once fed them bacon butties and Taste the Difference chorizo sausages and I can tell you Richie that ducks, mandrakes and assorted gulls flew in from miles around to enjoy the feast! Only once, when a few ducks succumbed to the pleasures of my hip flask and came to a sticky end in the storm drain, was there a problem. However, I managed to fish out these unfortunates and stuff them in the local pub wheelie bin before any do-gooders noticed! Mad in the ConDem's Austerity Uk innit!
Tuesday
The police should be feeling a few ermine collars too/October 19th 2010.
Richie - Your mention of the Stones brought back memories of a dinner date I had with one of Jagger's exotic girlfriends back in the early 80s. I was in scintillating form and immediately engaged in thought-provoking conversation. As we ate our prawn cocktail I outlined the plots of all my favourite Freddie Forsyth novels. Then, as we tucked in to salmon and spinach lunghi (I dribbled a little salmon down the front of my tuxedo and had to discreetly remove my dentures after a rogue slither of spinach got caught up in my windpipe) I moved on to camshafts and rocker valves! I could see by the glazed look in her eyes that she was entranced, so much so that she got up, threw down her napkin and walked out of the restaurant. Clearly my eloquent conversation had worked the poor girl into a passionate frenzy of lust and she simply couldn’t wait for some late night satisfaction on my Chesterfield sofa but would you adam and eve it Richie she disappeared never to be seen again! Mad innit!
Richie - Your mention of the Stones brought back memories of a dinner date I had with one of Jagger's exotic girlfriends back in the early 80s. I was in scintillating form and immediately engaged in thought-provoking conversation. As we ate our prawn cocktail I outlined the plots of all my favourite Freddie Forsyth novels. Then, as we tucked in to salmon and spinach lunghi (I dribbled a little salmon down the front of my tuxedo and had to discreetly remove my dentures after a rogue slither of spinach got caught up in my windpipe) I moved on to camshafts and rocker valves! I could see by the glazed look in her eyes that she was entranced, so much so that she got up, threw down her napkin and walked out of the restaurant. Clearly my eloquent conversation had worked the poor girl into a passionate frenzy of lust and she simply couldn’t wait for some late night satisfaction on my Chesterfield sofa but would you adam and eve it Richie she disappeared never to be seen again! Mad innit!
Thursday
These armchair ghouls couldn't even point to Chile on a map/October 15th 2010.
Richie - The scenes in Chile this week reminded me of an incident that occurred on the outskirts of our village several years ago. Bob Eagleburger, a US reporter from the Florida Daily Mash, was researching an article on English pond life when he fell down a disused mine shaft. The emergency services swung into action and within minutes the area was alive with police, ambulance and fire rescue teams. It was soon established that although the shaft was dangerous it had long since been filled in and the intrepid journo had only fallen a few feet, receiving minor injuries. But when, after a couple of hours, no attempt had been made to pull him out, the attitude of the rescue services was questioned. They seemed content to chat and drink tea while the poor chap fretted below the earth's crust! Was it a case of our lunatic elf n safety laws we wondered ? Richie - they mistakenly thought that YOU had fallen down the shaft and when they realised their error pulled out Mr Eagleburger pronto!
Richie - The scenes in Chile this week reminded me of an incident that occurred on the outskirts of our village several years ago. Bob Eagleburger, a US reporter from the Florida Daily Mash, was researching an article on English pond life when he fell down a disused mine shaft. The emergency services swung into action and within minutes the area was alive with police, ambulance and fire rescue teams. It was soon established that although the shaft was dangerous it had long since been filled in and the intrepid journo had only fallen a few feet, receiving minor injuries. But when, after a couple of hours, no attempt had been made to pull him out, the attitude of the rescue services was questioned. They seemed content to chat and drink tea while the poor chap fretted below the earth's crust! Was it a case of our lunatic elf n safety laws we wondered ? Richie - they mistakenly thought that YOU had fallen down the shaft and when they realised their error pulled out Mr Eagleburger pronto!
Tuesday
You're nicked, boyo! I'll put you down as 'White Other'/October 11th 2010.
Richie - A long-awaited report into waste and inefficiencies in your twice weekly column was delivered in the snug of our village local last week. The report was commissioned by local readers and authored by Arthur Groat, the eminent spoon-playing octogenarian of these parts. As a lifelong farmer Arthur was thought to be well-qualified to wade through the slurry and compost that such a project might involve. Richie, his findings were shocking! Arthur said that no column could survive the level of mediocracy and bias that was inherent in the 200 pieces he reviewed. He also said that new injustices could be highlighted "if only the author did simple things like checking sources and carying out elementary research". But the most damning indictment was the perceived fear you have of upsetting your Tory friends. The avoidance of commenting on the Coulson story in favour of anti-Labour tittle-tattle and petty sexual innuendo, said Arthur, was "a crime against the noble art of investigative journalism." Mad these reports, eh Rich!
Richie - A long-awaited report into waste and inefficiencies in your twice weekly column was delivered in the snug of our village local last week. The report was commissioned by local readers and authored by Arthur Groat, the eminent spoon-playing octogenarian of these parts. As a lifelong farmer Arthur was thought to be well-qualified to wade through the slurry and compost that such a project might involve. Richie, his findings were shocking! Arthur said that no column could survive the level of mediocracy and bias that was inherent in the 200 pieces he reviewed. He also said that new injustices could be highlighted "if only the author did simple things like checking sources and carying out elementary research". But the most damning indictment was the perceived fear you have of upsetting your Tory friends. The avoidance of commenting on the Coulson story in favour of anti-Labour tittle-tattle and petty sexual innuendo, said Arthur, was "a crime against the noble art of investigative journalism." Mad these reports, eh Rich!
Friday
Benidorm and boob jobs on benefits/October 8th 2010.
Richie - Residents of our village were invited to meet our new neighbours this week - a couple who've snapped up one of the prime locations in our neck of the woods for a cool five million or so. Mrs Bob No 3 was very excited and dressed appropriately (she wore a traditional Thai ensemble and her much loved Dr Marten boots) for an afternoon of cream teas and canapes, served in the sumptious grounds of the house. We all had a swell time and the new owners, a bank exec and his glam and giggly young trophy wife, were the perfect hosts. The highlight of the afternoon was when our hostess bared her newly inflated breasts for all to see much to the delight of Arthur Groat, spoon-playing octogenarian of these parts. There was no shame and why should there have been ? As our beaming host said: "It's only right and proper that the general public is given a glimpse of her magnificent frontage. After all, the op was paid for by my taxpayer-funded bonus!" Mad in Sham n Cleggy's unfair uk innit!
Richie - Residents of our village were invited to meet our new neighbours this week - a couple who've snapped up one of the prime locations in our neck of the woods for a cool five million or so. Mrs Bob No 3 was very excited and dressed appropriately (she wore a traditional Thai ensemble and her much loved Dr Marten boots) for an afternoon of cream teas and canapes, served in the sumptious grounds of the house. We all had a swell time and the new owners, a bank exec and his glam and giggly young trophy wife, were the perfect hosts. The highlight of the afternoon was when our hostess bared her newly inflated breasts for all to see much to the delight of Arthur Groat, spoon-playing octogenarian of these parts. There was no shame and why should there have been ? As our beaming host said: "It's only right and proper that the general public is given a glimpse of her magnificent frontage. After all, the op was paid for by my taxpayer-funded bonus!" Mad in Sham n Cleggy's unfair uk innit!
Welcome to Brucie's 'New Generation' Game/October 1st, 2010.
Richie - Mrs Bob No 3, my Thai wife, is currently swotting up on comprehension for her citizenship test and today, reading the DM, she let out a sudden high-pitched shreik of such alarming frequency that I'm sure it interfered with the nation's air traffic control. "See, Wob - Littlewon interview Broocie!" As a devotee of "Strictly" Mrs Bob is a big fan of the showbiz veteran, so much so that she even sends the old duffer a Xmas card. However, I explained to her that it was not an interview she was reading but a rather pitiful attempt by your good self to mock poor Ed Miliband by likening him to a horse and gave her 3 out of 10 for effort. Later, as she browsed our encyclopaedia, she let out yet another high-pitched wail. "See Wob - it Littlewon!" and pointed to a photo of a rather ugly-looking overweight vampire moth sitting alone in a tree. Richie, such was the uncanny resemblance that I spat out my afternoon snifter and almost choked on my hob-nob! Full marks to Mrs Bob I say!
Richie - Mrs Bob No 3, my Thai wife, is currently swotting up on comprehension for her citizenship test and today, reading the DM, she let out a sudden high-pitched shreik of such alarming frequency that I'm sure it interfered with the nation's air traffic control. "See, Wob - Littlewon interview Broocie!" As a devotee of "Strictly" Mrs Bob is a big fan of the showbiz veteran, so much so that she even sends the old duffer a Xmas card. However, I explained to her that it was not an interview she was reading but a rather pitiful attempt by your good self to mock poor Ed Miliband by likening him to a horse and gave her 3 out of 10 for effort. Later, as she browsed our encyclopaedia, she let out yet another high-pitched wail. "See Wob - it Littlewon!" and pointed to a photo of a rather ugly-looking overweight vampire moth sitting alone in a tree. Richie, such was the uncanny resemblance that I spat out my afternoon snifter and almost choked on my hob-nob! Full marks to Mrs Bob I say!
Monday
Earth to Mister Ed: Who's the Daddy?/September 27th 2010.
Richie - A very smart, professional, upwardly-mobile couple moved to our sleepy village only a few weeks ago and were well received by locals until - horror of horrors! - it was discovered that they were not married and had a child out of wedlock! Well, as you an imagine, there were numerous grumblings among the upstanding residents amongst us, not least my good self whose belief in marriage remains undaunted, so much so that I'm now trying it out for a third time! But I digress. This couple were naturally given the moral cold shoulder. Prayers were offered in church and a member of the local hunt even tried to refuse them entry to the village fete! Things came to a head when masked men captured the poor fellow and placed him in the village stocks so that he might see the error of his ways! Needless to say they scarpered pronto back to the left-wing, devil-worshipping metropolitan cess-pit from whence they came. A great victory for Cam and Cleggy's all-new shiny loony-bin UK I say!
Richie - A very smart, professional, upwardly-mobile couple moved to our sleepy village only a few weeks ago and were well received by locals until - horror of horrors! - it was discovered that they were not married and had a child out of wedlock! Well, as you an imagine, there were numerous grumblings among the upstanding residents amongst us, not least my good self whose belief in marriage remains undaunted, so much so that I'm now trying it out for a third time! But I digress. This couple were naturally given the moral cold shoulder. Prayers were offered in church and a member of the local hunt even tried to refuse them entry to the village fete! Things came to a head when masked men captured the poor fellow and placed him in the village stocks so that he might see the error of his ways! Needless to say they scarpered pronto back to the left-wing, devil-worshipping metropolitan cess-pit from whence they came. A great victory for Cam and Cleggy's all-new shiny loony-bin UK I say!
Friday
Why decent folk deserve better from cops who let yobs run amok/September 23rd 2010.
Richie - I was lying in bed last night enjoying a pleasant game of I-Spy with Mrs Bob No 3 when I was alerted to an unholy commotion coming from the direction of the village duck pond. With health and safety in mind I put on my safety goggles and armed myself with a rolled up copy of the DM before venturing out. Imagine my consternation when I saw three figures who I identified as Margaret Thatcher, Ronald Reagan and General Augusto Pinochet engaging in foul and lewd anti-social behaviour! It transpired the three figures were, in fact, young members of the Tory Party who had been on a boisterous fancy-dress night out to celebrate the upcoming public sector cuts. I tried my best to temper their outrageous behaviour but was greeted with abuse, including shouts of "Peasant!" "Vermin!" and "Oik!" Eventually, I rang the police who, I'm pleased to say, arrived pronto and gave the noisome threesome a bit of "how's your father" (nudge, nudge, wink, wink! which was no more than they deserved I say!
Richie - I was lying in bed last night enjoying a pleasant game of I-Spy with Mrs Bob No 3 when I was alerted to an unholy commotion coming from the direction of the village duck pond. With health and safety in mind I put on my safety goggles and armed myself with a rolled up copy of the DM before venturing out. Imagine my consternation when I saw three figures who I identified as Margaret Thatcher, Ronald Reagan and General Augusto Pinochet engaging in foul and lewd anti-social behaviour! It transpired the three figures were, in fact, young members of the Tory Party who had been on a boisterous fancy-dress night out to celebrate the upcoming public sector cuts. I tried my best to temper their outrageous behaviour but was greeted with abuse, including shouts of "Peasant!" "Vermin!" and "Oik!" Eventually, I rang the police who, I'm pleased to say, arrived pronto and gave the noisome threesome a bit of "how's your father" (nudge, nudge, wink, wink! which was no more than they deserved I say!
Monday
Give lie detector tests to MPs, not taxpayers/September 21st 2010.
Richie - I was snoozing in my comfy chair when I was awoken by the piercing laugh of my Thai wife, Mrs Bob No 3, who was perusing your esteemed column. "Littlewon - he so fanny!" she giggled and pointed to the photos of Bob Crow and neanderthal man. "See, Wob - Littlewon and his brother!" I tried to explain that the photos were not of Richie and his brother but of a well known trades union leader who Littlejohn, with the help of some dotty Oxford professor, had likened to a cave man. Mrs Bob looked puzzled. "Why he do that, Wob ?" "Because, my sweetness, union leaders like Bob Crow want to protect the pay and conditions of workers whereas Tory Boy Littlejohn wants to drive down wages to third world levels and put an end to universal benefits and the minimum wage." Mrs Bob scratched her head and pointed out that by advocating a dog-eat-dog society in which people were left to fend for themselves Littlejohn had far more in common with Neanderthal Man than Bob Crow! "Oxford prof not werry bright!" she said and went off to cook one of her delicious insect based Thai curries! Mad innit!
Richie - I was snoozing in my comfy chair when I was awoken by the piercing laugh of my Thai wife, Mrs Bob No 3, who was perusing your esteemed column. "Littlewon - he so fanny!" she giggled and pointed to the photos of Bob Crow and neanderthal man. "See, Wob - Littlewon and his brother!" I tried to explain that the photos were not of Richie and his brother but of a well known trades union leader who Littlejohn, with the help of some dotty Oxford professor, had likened to a cave man. Mrs Bob looked puzzled. "Why he do that, Wob ?" "Because, my sweetness, union leaders like Bob Crow want to protect the pay and conditions of workers whereas Tory Boy Littlejohn wants to drive down wages to third world levels and put an end to universal benefits and the minimum wage." Mrs Bob scratched her head and pointed out that by advocating a dog-eat-dog society in which people were left to fend for themselves Littlejohn had far more in common with Neanderthal Man than Bob Crow! "Oxford prof not werry bright!" she said and went off to cook one of her delicious insect based Thai curries! Mad innit!
Friday
Money back on the bottle? Lovely jubbly/September 17th 2010.
Richie - I was lying in a darkened room listening to "Interstellar Overdrive" when Mrs Bob No 3 alerted me to a group of people praying in our garden. It transpired that they were pilgrims from southern Germany who were walking to see the Pope and had stopped by believing our garden to be the site of a martyred Catholic nun from the twelfth century. They were convinced that my patch of green is a holy place of healing and great fortune to anyone who spends time here, which was news to me as I've spent many an hour lolling in my hammock with a snifter and still suffer jip in the old left leg. When the group had gone on their way I decided to investigate further and started digging up the rockery in search of the ancient nun's remains. Needless to say, Rich, the legend turned out to be the usual mumbo-jumbo, although I did find several empty Tizer bottles buried which I'll wash and return once the CONDEM recycling project gets underway! Mad in ShamCam and Cleggy's loony-atheist UK innit!
Richie - I was lying in a darkened room listening to "Interstellar Overdrive" when Mrs Bob No 3 alerted me to a group of people praying in our garden. It transpired that they were pilgrims from southern Germany who were walking to see the Pope and had stopped by believing our garden to be the site of a martyred Catholic nun from the twelfth century. They were convinced that my patch of green is a holy place of healing and great fortune to anyone who spends time here, which was news to me as I've spent many an hour lolling in my hammock with a snifter and still suffer jip in the old left leg. When the group had gone on their way I decided to investigate further and started digging up the rockery in search of the ancient nun's remains. Needless to say, Rich, the legend turned out to be the usual mumbo-jumbo, although I did find several empty Tizer bottles buried which I'll wash and return once the CONDEM recycling project gets underway! Mad in ShamCam and Cleggy's loony-atheist UK innit!
Tuesday
Be careful what you wish for, Batman!/September 14th 2010.
Richie - My old friend Dave Salt, trades union stalwart and Labour veteran from oop north, paid me a visit en route to the comrades conference. "The Tories want to impose drastic cuts for purely ideological reasons" he said as we chatted over a snifter or three. "They're using the defecit as a smokescreen to drive down ordinary workers' pay and conditions. It's an unelected govt that doesn't represent the voters of this country and there's gonna be trouble, Bob - big trouble." I pointed Dave in the direction of your esteemed column, Richie, in order to offer an unbiased, more balanced view of the situation. "Littlejohn is balanced! Don't make me laugh!" he snorted. "I remember that old windbag when he was desperate to become a Labour MP. He got the hump because the comrades thought he was a lightweight and has been moaning about it ever since!" Needless to say, Richie, I showed the insolent braggard the door. How dare these vile lefties insult this country's answer to Tolstoy, I say!
Richie - My old friend Dave Salt, trades union stalwart and Labour veteran from oop north, paid me a visit en route to the comrades conference. "The Tories want to impose drastic cuts for purely ideological reasons" he said as we chatted over a snifter or three. "They're using the defecit as a smokescreen to drive down ordinary workers' pay and conditions. It's an unelected govt that doesn't represent the voters of this country and there's gonna be trouble, Bob - big trouble." I pointed Dave in the direction of your esteemed column, Richie, in order to offer an unbiased, more balanced view of the situation. "Littlejohn is balanced! Don't make me laugh!" he snorted. "I remember that old windbag when he was desperate to become a Labour MP. He got the hump because the comrades thought he was a lightweight and has been moaning about it ever since!" Needless to say, Richie, I showed the insolent braggard the door. How dare these vile lefties insult this country's answer to Tolstoy, I say!
Thursday
The Bunfight at the Burn-a-Koran Corral/September 9th 2010.
Richie - I was fixing new fluffy dice to the interior of the XJ6 when Mrs Bob No 3 informed me that a VIP had arrived. It was none other than my good friend Reverend Crisp, head God-botherer of this parish, and, after pouring him a large snifter, I discovered the reason for his visit. "Unfortunately a number of local hotheads are planning to burn a pile of Littlejohn's DM columns in protest at his extreme witterings" he said. "They accuse him of being offensive about women, gays, immigrants, the police, public servants, the obese, sex-workers, trans-gender patients, gypsies, and anyone else who is not a member of the Tory party." Well, I was shocked! "Lord Littlewon has a yuman right to air his primitive views!" I countered. "Can we not find a compromise to put a stop to this heinous act ?" Rich, you'll be pleased to hear that your columns will not now be burned - instead they will be re-cycled into loo roll for the benefit of all in the community, a victory for common sense I say!
Richie - I was fixing new fluffy dice to the interior of the XJ6 when Mrs Bob No 3 informed me that a VIP had arrived. It was none other than my good friend Reverend Crisp, head God-botherer of this parish, and, after pouring him a large snifter, I discovered the reason for his visit. "Unfortunately a number of local hotheads are planning to burn a pile of Littlejohn's DM columns in protest at his extreme witterings" he said. "They accuse him of being offensive about women, gays, immigrants, the police, public servants, the obese, sex-workers, trans-gender patients, gypsies, and anyone else who is not a member of the Tory party." Well, I was shocked! "Lord Littlewon has a yuman right to air his primitive views!" I countered. "Can we not find a compromise to put a stop to this heinous act ?" Rich, you'll be pleased to hear that your columns will not now be burned - instead they will be re-cycled into loo roll for the benefit of all in the community, a victory for common sense I say!
Monday
Juicy Jeni and the jewellery ambassador for Argos.../September 7th 2010.
Richie - Would you adam and eve it! Our local has now become the official residence of a pub (wait for it...) boar! Frances the landlady (formerly Big Frank, local BNP hard nut before his gender re-alignment op) saved the boar from being terminally roasted at a summer fete and hid it in the snug before a new home could be found. But such is the boar's popularity that Frances has now decided on permanent adoption! Indeed, having aquired a taste for ale, the swine has become something of a local celebrity, entertaining punters for hours with its hearty boozing. But the animal's piece de resistance has to be seen to be believed. The hairy hog clambers onto a stool whereupon someone reads aloud one of your esteemed columns. Lo and behold the almighty porker rises up onto its hind quarters and knocks its front hooves together in appreciation whilst gargling a pint of best! Needless to say, we've christened the old oinker "Littlejohn" the Pub Boar in honour of your good self! Mad innit!
Richie - Would you adam and eve it! Our local has now become the official residence of a pub (wait for it...) boar! Frances the landlady (formerly Big Frank, local BNP hard nut before his gender re-alignment op) saved the boar from being terminally roasted at a summer fete and hid it in the snug before a new home could be found. But such is the boar's popularity that Frances has now decided on permanent adoption! Indeed, having aquired a taste for ale, the swine has become something of a local celebrity, entertaining punters for hours with its hearty boozing. But the animal's piece de resistance has to be seen to be believed. The hairy hog clambers onto a stool whereupon someone reads aloud one of your esteemed columns. Lo and behold the almighty porker rises up onto its hind quarters and knocks its front hooves together in appreciation whilst gargling a pint of best! Needless to say, we've christened the old oinker "Littlejohn" the Pub Boar in honour of your good self! Mad innit!
Friday
We REALLY don't need to know these politicians' gory details/September 3rd 2010.
Richie - We were in the snug reading Tony Blair's memoirs (and having a thorough giggle at the toilet references - what a fine sense of humour our esteemed ex-PM has been blessed with!) when a well-known local Tory Turnip called by for an post-work snifter. Of course, we expected him to turn the colour of a kipper and hurl mouth-foaming insults at our reading matter. Blair has that effect on Turnips - understandable considering he consigned Thatcher's Colonel Blimp-Blue-Rinse brigade to the margins of British politics! So imagine our surprise when said Turnip sat at our table all dewey-eyed for the heady days of Nu Labour! "I made a fortune during Blair's watch" he sighed. "The country was stable, we stood firm with our closest ally in the war against terror, public services were well-funded...now we've got the brokeback coalition making up policy on the hoof and a Foreign Secretary reducing the UK to a laughing stock! How I miss Blair!" Mad in ShamCam and Cleggie's loonybin UK innit!
Richie - We were in the snug reading Tony Blair's memoirs (and having a thorough giggle at the toilet references - what a fine sense of humour our esteemed ex-PM has been blessed with!) when a well-known local Tory Turnip called by for an post-work snifter. Of course, we expected him to turn the colour of a kipper and hurl mouth-foaming insults at our reading matter. Blair has that effect on Turnips - understandable considering he consigned Thatcher's Colonel Blimp-Blue-Rinse brigade to the margins of British politics! So imagine our surprise when said Turnip sat at our table all dewey-eyed for the heady days of Nu Labour! "I made a fortune during Blair's watch" he sighed. "The country was stable, we stood firm with our closest ally in the war against terror, public services were well-funded...now we've got the brokeback coalition making up policy on the hoof and a Foreign Secretary reducing the UK to a laughing stock! How I miss Blair!" Mad in ShamCam and Cleggie's loonybin UK innit!
Tuesday
Welcome home - to an avalanche of junk mail!/August 31st 2010.
Richie - I was lounging in my outdoor comfy chair with a Bank Holiday snifter when I heard the unmistakable sound of Ma Roberts' Range Rover crushing the gravel on my drive. My mother, a feisty 75 year old Tory activist from the shires, has a habit of making unannounced visits, usually when she is engulfed in some sort of crisis. And sure enough, once she had reduced my Thai wife to tears by calling her "the maid" and parked her ample suitcase in the spare room, she began to unburden herself of her woes. "I've had it with this foul Coalition govt" she gasped. "The Tory party is now a mish-mash of Liberals, wets, and others who belong in the bally SWP! They're cutting this, cutting that - even talking about getting rid of the fuel allowance! And horror of horrors, news is we're going to share an aircraft carrier with the awful French!" Later, in the snug, she heard the news they were disbanding the Gurkhas and was last seen sobbing near the duck pond and calling for Gordon's return!
Richie - I was lounging in my outdoor comfy chair with a Bank Holiday snifter when I heard the unmistakable sound of Ma Roberts' Range Rover crushing the gravel on my drive. My mother, a feisty 75 year old Tory activist from the shires, has a habit of making unannounced visits, usually when she is engulfed in some sort of crisis. And sure enough, once she had reduced my Thai wife to tears by calling her "the maid" and parked her ample suitcase in the spare room, she began to unburden herself of her woes. "I've had it with this foul Coalition govt" she gasped. "The Tory party is now a mish-mash of Liberals, wets, and others who belong in the bally SWP! They're cutting this, cutting that - even talking about getting rid of the fuel allowance! And horror of horrors, news is we're going to share an aircraft carrier with the awful French!" Later, in the snug, she heard the news they were disbanding the Gurkhas and was last seen sobbing near the duck pond and calling for Gordon's return!
Friday
A walkway for dormice is a bridge too far.../August 27th 2010.
Richie - Mrs Bob No 3 and her pals from the amateur operatic society have been hijacking Castle Roberts as they begin rehearsals for their autumn production of Hello Dolly, set during the time of the Black Death. Needless to say, yours truly is turfed out from his comfy chair and told not to return until the day's warbling and screetching has ended. I usually go to the snug for a snifter or two but this morning decided to venture to the nearby forest. Oh the joy of nature, Richie! I spotted foxes, badgers, squirrels, all manner of winged creature - and also dormice by the dozen, scurrying between the trees as they stocked their underground larders with whatever it is dormice eat. In fact, I was so taken by these delightful creatures that I captured three in my tuck box and took them home as pets, which sent Mrs Bob's am dram group fleeing and screaming from the house pronto vowing never to return! 200k seems the least we can do if it allows Wob to re-claim his comfy chair I say!
Richie - Mrs Bob No 3 and her pals from the amateur operatic society have been hijacking Castle Roberts as they begin rehearsals for their autumn production of Hello Dolly, set during the time of the Black Death. Needless to say, yours truly is turfed out from his comfy chair and told not to return until the day's warbling and screetching has ended. I usually go to the snug for a snifter or two but this morning decided to venture to the nearby forest. Oh the joy of nature, Richie! I spotted foxes, badgers, squirrels, all manner of winged creature - and also dormice by the dozen, scurrying between the trees as they stocked their underground larders with whatever it is dormice eat. In fact, I was so taken by these delightful creatures that I captured three in my tuck box and took them home as pets, which sent Mrs Bob's am dram group fleeing and screaming from the house pronto vowing never to return! 200k seems the least we can do if it allows Wob to re-claim his comfy chair I say!
Tuesday
Since when was a Ladyshave razor tax deductible?/August 24th 2010.
Richie - As Mrs Bob No 3 has corralled Castle Roberts for a rehearsal of the local amateur operatic society (this year's offering is Hello Dolly set during the time of the Black Death) I decided to slope off to the local snug for a full English and snifter. It's now six months since our landlady, green campaigner Frances -formerly Big Frank, BNP local hard-nut - underwent his/her gender-bending operation. It's all worked out jolly fine, especially with Frank/Frances' wife and kids who are overjoyed at having two mums for the price of one. Needless to say Frances read your esteemed column today with interest. "Richard is so macho" she purred. "He writes about gay and transgender issues with such passion that I have a sneaky feeling he's a closet queenie. What do you think Bob ?" Well, I almost choked on my chipolata! In fact the thought of Lord Littlewon camping it up in his star-spangled boxers at G.A.Y put me right off my brekkie and I legged it pronto! Mad in Cam's loonybin UK innit!
Richie - As Mrs Bob No 3 has corralled Castle Roberts for a rehearsal of the local amateur operatic society (this year's offering is Hello Dolly set during the time of the Black Death) I decided to slope off to the local snug for a full English and snifter. It's now six months since our landlady, green campaigner Frances -formerly Big Frank, BNP local hard-nut - underwent his/her gender-bending operation. It's all worked out jolly fine, especially with Frank/Frances' wife and kids who are overjoyed at having two mums for the price of one. Needless to say Frances read your esteemed column today with interest. "Richard is so macho" she purred. "He writes about gay and transgender issues with such passion that I have a sneaky feeling he's a closet queenie. What do you think Bob ?" Well, I almost choked on my chipolata! In fact the thought of Lord Littlewon camping it up in his star-spangled boxers at G.A.Y put me right off my brekkie and I legged it pronto! Mad in Cam's loonybin UK innit!
Friday
It's yet another fine mess as councils fight dog dirt menace/August 20th 2010.
Richie - This morning my precocious 10 year old grandson was busy doing his mock-Oxbridge entrance exams when I suggested he take a break, enjoy a soda-pop and read your esteemed column. You see having declared his intention to become Britain's Labour PM in the year 2050 I've been keen to engage him in the great issues of the day. After giving your column the once over he looked up and snorted: "Blimey, grandad - this Littlejohn bloke is on to a good thing! A few hundred words about dog poo, the usual Blair, BBC and plod-bashing...and you say he's paid a fortune for writing this garbage ?" As usual, Richie, I defended your honour. "Lord Littlewon is one of this country's foremost thinkers" I said. "Well" said Bob jnr "when I'm PM I'm going to appoint him Head Poo Cleaner of the UK's parks and pavements. It's about time serial moaners like him stepped up to the plate I reckon!" and before I could answer young Bob had skipped off to play PMQs with the girl next door. Kids today eh Rich?
Richie - This morning my precocious 10 year old grandson was busy doing his mock-Oxbridge entrance exams when I suggested he take a break, enjoy a soda-pop and read your esteemed column. You see having declared his intention to become Britain's Labour PM in the year 2050 I've been keen to engage him in the great issues of the day. After giving your column the once over he looked up and snorted: "Blimey, grandad - this Littlejohn bloke is on to a good thing! A few hundred words about dog poo, the usual Blair, BBC and plod-bashing...and you say he's paid a fortune for writing this garbage ?" As usual, Richie, I defended your honour. "Lord Littlewon is one of this country's foremost thinkers" I said. "Well" said Bob jnr "when I'm PM I'm going to appoint him Head Poo Cleaner of the UK's parks and pavements. It's about time serial moaners like him stepped up to the plate I reckon!" and before I could answer young Bob had skipped off to play PMQs with the girl next door. Kids today eh Rich?
Thursday
If a mosque opens at Ground Zero on 9/11 next year, Obama can kiss the White House goodbye/August 19th 2010.
Richie - My precocious 10 year old grandson, Bob Roberts III, is staying with us and, having declared his intention to become Britain's PM in 2050, I've been probing his opinions on the great issues of the day. As usual he read through your esteemed column with interest. After doing so he scratched his head and said: "Does Littlejohn actually get paid for writing this right-wing nonsense ?" I assured him that as one of the country's foremost intellectuals Lord Littlewon does indeed get paid for his witterings. "Well" said Bob jnr, "as I understand it, the perpetrators of 9/11 were a bunch of authoritarian fanatics. By supporting the building of a mosque at ground zero Obama is merely upholding the sacred principles of Western democratic freedom. And anyway, in the US, religion and the state are seperate. Doesn't Littlejohn know that ?" Before I could answer young Bob had heard the alluring jingle of the ice cream van and run off to spend his pocket money. Kids today, eh Rich ?
Richie - My precocious 10 year old grandson, Bob Roberts III, is staying with us and, having declared his intention to become Britain's PM in 2050, I've been probing his opinions on the great issues of the day. As usual he read through your esteemed column with interest. After doing so he scratched his head and said: "Does Littlejohn actually get paid for writing this right-wing nonsense ?" I assured him that as one of the country's foremost intellectuals Lord Littlewon does indeed get paid for his witterings. "Well" said Bob jnr, "as I understand it, the perpetrators of 9/11 were a bunch of authoritarian fanatics. By supporting the building of a mosque at ground zero Obama is merely upholding the sacred principles of Western democratic freedom. And anyway, in the US, religion and the state are seperate. Doesn't Littlejohn know that ?" Before I could answer young Bob had heard the alluring jingle of the ice cream van and run off to spend his pocket money. Kids today, eh Rich ?
Monday
The secret diary of Nick Clegg aged 43¾ (with apologies to Sue Townsend)/August 17th 2010.
Richie - We've got my 10 year old grandson, young Bob Roberts III, staying with us for a week. He's a bright little lad and has decided to become Labour Prime Minister around the year 2050 in order to repair the damage caused by successive Tory governments. As part of his apprenticeship I make him read the DM every day so that he gets a balanced, non-partisan view of national events. After studiously perusing your esteemed column today he looked at me and snorted: "Blimey - there are kids in year 2 at my school who can write better political satire than this garbage!" Naturally, Richie, I sprang to your defence. "I'll have you know that Lord Richie Littlewon of Windbag Way is the bestest and most favourite political columnist in all the land!" "Well" said young Bob "if he's the best, god help the worst! If I was Sue Townsend I'd be on the blower to my lawyers right now!" And with that he ran off into the garden to play MPs and interns with the girl next door. Kids of today, eh Rich!
Richie - We've got my 10 year old grandson, young Bob Roberts III, staying with us for a week. He's a bright little lad and has decided to become Labour Prime Minister around the year 2050 in order to repair the damage caused by successive Tory governments. As part of his apprenticeship I make him read the DM every day so that he gets a balanced, non-partisan view of national events. After studiously perusing your esteemed column today he looked at me and snorted: "Blimey - there are kids in year 2 at my school who can write better political satire than this garbage!" Naturally, Richie, I sprang to your defence. "I'll have you know that Lord Richie Littlewon of Windbag Way is the bestest and most favourite political columnist in all the land!" "Well" said young Bob "if he's the best, god help the worst! If I was Sue Townsend I'd be on the blower to my lawyers right now!" And with that he ran off into the garden to play MPs and interns with the girl next door. Kids of today, eh Rich!
Tuesday
Juliet Bravo is taking the proverbial by splashing the cash on Shewees/August 10th 2010.
Richie - With profits at Bob Roberts Security Services 4 U going through the roof on the back of the vile, unelected Con-Dem government's public sector cuts I've jetted off on yet another foreign jolly jaunt with Mrs Bob No 3, this time to her sunny homeland Thailand. And would you adam and eve it, while enjoying a pre-lunch snifter at a sports bar in downtown Bangkok I ran into one of your biggest fans! Ex-con "Chopper" Douglas fled from Blighty in the late 90s after being persued by HM plod for GBH and money laundering. "Lttlejohn's right on the money" he told me. "Ex-pats like me look forward to takin' a peek at Richie's esteemed column every Tuesday and Friday. He writes wot we fink! The UK's goin' down the plughole! BNP and EDL all the way mate!" You'll be pleased to know, Rich, that "Chopper" is back on the straight and narrow, happily married to his ladyboy friend Supaporn and awaiting his gender-bending re-alignment op on the NHS! Mad outside Sham n Cleggie's loony UK innit!
Richie - With profits at Bob Roberts Security Services 4 U going through the roof on the back of the vile, unelected Con-Dem government's public sector cuts I've jetted off on yet another foreign jolly jaunt with Mrs Bob No 3, this time to her sunny homeland Thailand. And would you adam and eve it, while enjoying a pre-lunch snifter at a sports bar in downtown Bangkok I ran into one of your biggest fans! Ex-con "Chopper" Douglas fled from Blighty in the late 90s after being persued by HM plod for GBH and money laundering. "Lttlejohn's right on the money" he told me. "Ex-pats like me look forward to takin' a peek at Richie's esteemed column every Tuesday and Friday. He writes wot we fink! The UK's goin' down the plughole! BNP and EDL all the way mate!" You'll be pleased to know, Rich, that "Chopper" is back on the straight and narrow, happily married to his ladyboy friend Supaporn and awaiting his gender-bending re-alignment op on the NHS! Mad outside Sham n Cleggie's loony UK innit!
Friday
Who wants to be a billionaire? Brits sadly lacking in the 40 super-rich giving away fortunes/August 6th 2010.
Richie - I was sitting in my comfy chair stroking the silky hindquarters of Mrs Bob No 3's pet ferret when I received a letter imploring me to support a new charitable cause. As a well-known small businessman of this parish - and with my company, Bob Roberts' Security Services 4 U, doing very nicely thank you on the back of public sector cuts - I'm often asked to provide philanthropic donations. I usually refuse, in the simple belief that it is governments' job to keep the homeless housed and the vulnerable protected, not poor old Wob Boberts'. That said, the project in need of support that appeared through my letterbox fired my imagination. The Gay & Lesbian Asylum Seekers' Yoghurt Knitting & Organic Lentil Centre offer abused people the opportunity to unleash their creative potential in a peaceful, non-threatening environment. I'm sure you'll agree, Richie, it's a very worthy cause. I donated £100 and I urge DM readers to do the same. Support Sham n Cleggie's Big Society I say!
Richie - I was sitting in my comfy chair stroking the silky hindquarters of Mrs Bob No 3's pet ferret when I received a letter imploring me to support a new charitable cause. As a well-known small businessman of this parish - and with my company, Bob Roberts' Security Services 4 U, doing very nicely thank you on the back of public sector cuts - I'm often asked to provide philanthropic donations. I usually refuse, in the simple belief that it is governments' job to keep the homeless housed and the vulnerable protected, not poor old Wob Boberts'. That said, the project in need of support that appeared through my letterbox fired my imagination. The Gay & Lesbian Asylum Seekers' Yoghurt Knitting & Organic Lentil Centre offer abused people the opportunity to unleash their creative potential in a peaceful, non-threatening environment. I'm sure you'll agree, Richie, it's a very worthy cause. I donated £100 and I urge DM readers to do the same. Support Sham n Cleggie's Big Society I say!
Tuesday
And the same to you, Jackboots!/August 3rd 2010.
Richie - There was an unsavoury incident in the snug a few days ago involving your esteemed column! I'd ambled down to our local after a late breakfast and was sitting reading the DM with Arthur Groat, Dr Singh and Marcia Braithwaite when a stranger entered and ordered a large g n t. It so happened that, as I turned to your latest dirge and began to read, the stranger in question gave out a loud snort and proclaimed: "Pah! Littlejohn! He's just a useless, fat, ugly, untalented, right-wing rent-a-gob who should be put against a wall and shot!" Well, Richie - the atmosphere could've been cut with a butter knife! Needless to say, I stood and defended your good reputation. "How dare you say such a thing about Lord Littlewon!" I shouted. "I'll have you know that he may well be a useless, ugly, untalented, right-wing rent-a-gob but he certainly isn't fat! He's just big-boned!" whereupon the lentil-knitting, yoghurt-munching bounder scarpered pronto! Mad in Sham n Cleggy's loonybin uk innit!
Richie - There was an unsavoury incident in the snug a few days ago involving your esteemed column! I'd ambled down to our local after a late breakfast and was sitting reading the DM with Arthur Groat, Dr Singh and Marcia Braithwaite when a stranger entered and ordered a large g n t. It so happened that, as I turned to your latest dirge and began to read, the stranger in question gave out a loud snort and proclaimed: "Pah! Littlejohn! He's just a useless, fat, ugly, untalented, right-wing rent-a-gob who should be put against a wall and shot!" Well, Richie - the atmosphere could've been cut with a butter knife! Needless to say, I stood and defended your good reputation. "How dare you say such a thing about Lord Littlewon!" I shouted. "I'll have you know that he may well be a useless, ugly, untalented, right-wing rent-a-gob but he certainly isn't fat! He's just big-boned!" whereupon the lentil-knitting, yoghurt-munching bounder scarpered pronto! Mad in Sham n Cleggy's loonybin uk innit!
Thursday
Obese? Big-boned? No, just fat/July 30th 2010.
Richie - Would you adam and eve it! In an attempt to help me slim down and lose my sagging man-baps before I turn 55 Mrs Bob No 3 has put me on the diet from hell! She has devised a protein-rich insect-based concotion of currys and broths from her native Thailand for me to eat and which, she says, contain magical powers that will re-fashion the excessive Roberts corsage. Needless to say I usually feed Mrs Bob's fried bamboo worms and pickled wood beetles to the dog before scarpering towards the village local to enjoy a steak-and-kidney pie or three. However, a couple of days ago she caught me red-handed in the snug and dragged me back to the dinner table by my ear! I countered by telling her that the vile ConDem govts plans to make all Uk pensioners paupers will ensure that in my retirement I'll never be able to over-indulge again! But she wasn't buying it, and got Arthur Groat to hold open my mouth while she force-fed me a baked locust casserole! Mad in Sham & Cleggy's loonybin innit!
Richie - Would you adam and eve it! In an attempt to help me slim down and lose my sagging man-baps before I turn 55 Mrs Bob No 3 has put me on the diet from hell! She has devised a protein-rich insect-based concotion of currys and broths from her native Thailand for me to eat and which, she says, contain magical powers that will re-fashion the excessive Roberts corsage. Needless to say I usually feed Mrs Bob's fried bamboo worms and pickled wood beetles to the dog before scarpering towards the village local to enjoy a steak-and-kidney pie or three. However, a couple of days ago she caught me red-handed in the snug and dragged me back to the dinner table by my ear! I countered by telling her that the vile ConDem govts plans to make all Uk pensioners paupers will ensure that in my retirement I'll never be able to over-indulge again! But she wasn't buying it, and got Arthur Groat to hold open my mouth while she force-fed me a baked locust casserole! Mad in Sham & Cleggy's loonybin innit!
Tuesday
End of the war on motorists? You'll be lucky/July 27th 2010.
Richie - I was buffing up the crankshaft bearings on the XJ6 when Mrs Bob no 3 summoned me to the kitchen. "Look Wob Boberts" she said excitedly waving a copy of today's DM. "Littlewon come back!" Well, Richie, as you can imagine I rushed down to the snug, paper in hand, where I found the regulars of our local busily calculating who had won the "Where's Richie" sweepstake. You see, the absence of your esteemed column had given rise to all kinds of scurrilous rumours. Dr Singh wagered that you had been engulfed in BP oil whilst swimming off the Gulf coast. Arthur Groat bet that you had finally retired to watch endless repeats of Dad's Army dvds. And Mad Mick, our local toilet cleaner and rabid BNP activist, suggested that you were putting the finishing touches to your long-awaited comeback album (although I think he's mixing you up with Meatloaf.) However, I claimed the fifteen pounds prize, betting that you would return today with a methane-filled article about Gordy & gays! Mad innit!
Richie - I was buffing up the crankshaft bearings on the XJ6 when Mrs Bob no 3 summoned me to the kitchen. "Look Wob Boberts" she said excitedly waving a copy of today's DM. "Littlewon come back!" Well, Richie, as you can imagine I rushed down to the snug, paper in hand, where I found the regulars of our local busily calculating who had won the "Where's Richie" sweepstake. You see, the absence of your esteemed column had given rise to all kinds of scurrilous rumours. Dr Singh wagered that you had been engulfed in BP oil whilst swimming off the Gulf coast. Arthur Groat bet that you had finally retired to watch endless repeats of Dad's Army dvds. And Mad Mick, our local toilet cleaner and rabid BNP activist, suggested that you were putting the finishing touches to your long-awaited comeback album (although I think he's mixing you up with Meatloaf.) However, I claimed the fifteen pounds prize, betting that you would return today with a methane-filled article about Gordy & gays! Mad innit!
Monday
Balls bawled a mix of abuse and socialism/July 19th 2010.
Quentin - I returned from a glorious two week cruise round the med with Mrs Bob No 3 bronzed and re-puckered to find our village in a dreadful state. Coke cans bobbing in the duck pond, fag butts filling the gutters and our hallowed green littered with fish n chip paper. So, in a post-holiday flush of national pride, I decided to invoke the PM's Big Society to clear up the mess. I went to BnQ and spent thirty quid on refuse bags and gloves and merrily knocked on my neighbours' doors for willing hands. Quenty - the response wasn't good. Twenty five per cent of inhabitants said they were too busy & another twenty five per cent groaned and said they were incapacitated. The other fifty per cent laughed in my face and said they paid enough tax, suggesting dozy Cameron come round and clean it up himself! So, thoroughly disheartened with the Big Society, I dumped the bags and gloves in the nearest skip and retired to the snug for a snifter or three! Mad in Sham n Cleggy's not-so-big uk innit! (Richie is away)
Quentin - I returned from a glorious two week cruise round the med with Mrs Bob No 3 bronzed and re-puckered to find our village in a dreadful state. Coke cans bobbing in the duck pond, fag butts filling the gutters and our hallowed green littered with fish n chip paper. So, in a post-holiday flush of national pride, I decided to invoke the PM's Big Society to clear up the mess. I went to BnQ and spent thirty quid on refuse bags and gloves and merrily knocked on my neighbours' doors for willing hands. Quenty - the response wasn't good. Twenty five per cent of inhabitants said they were too busy & another twenty five per cent groaned and said they were incapacitated. The other fifty per cent laughed in my face and said they paid enough tax, suggesting dozy Cameron come round and clean it up himself! So, thoroughly disheartened with the Big Society, I dumped the bags and gloves in the nearest skip and retired to the snug for a snifter or three! Mad in Sham n Cleggy's not-so-big uk innit! (Richie is away)
Friday
This torture inquiry adds insult to injury/July 8th 2010.
Richie - My grandson, Bob Roberts III, is staying with us. A bright little lad he is understandably seething about the unholy ConDem government of the unelected. His school, earmarked for a million pound upgrade under Labour, was at first reprieved from cuts and then, in a farcical about-turn by the incompetent plummy-voiced Tory Ed Sec Gove, not reprieved causing outrage in hard-working communities in the Midlands. Little Bob asked me explain how such a miserable state of affairs had come about and I decided to give him a crash-course in British politics. "Well the Tories are a nasty bunch of self-serving shysters who only help their rich friends while the Lib Dems are a dithering tribe of two-faced lentil-munching wimps. Labour is the only party that helps ordinary working chaps like us." Little Bob then declared that one day he would become Labour PM and fix all the schools in the land. Richie - I wiped a tear from my eye. PM Bob Roberts! Has a certain ring to it doncha think ?
Richie - My grandson, Bob Roberts III, is staying with us. A bright little lad he is understandably seething about the unholy ConDem government of the unelected. His school, earmarked for a million pound upgrade under Labour, was at first reprieved from cuts and then, in a farcical about-turn by the incompetent plummy-voiced Tory Ed Sec Gove, not reprieved causing outrage in hard-working communities in the Midlands. Little Bob asked me explain how such a miserable state of affairs had come about and I decided to give him a crash-course in British politics. "Well the Tories are a nasty bunch of self-serving shysters who only help their rich friends while the Lib Dems are a dithering tribe of two-faced lentil-munching wimps. Labour is the only party that helps ordinary working chaps like us." Little Bob then declared that one day he would become Labour PM and fix all the schools in the land. Richie - I wiped a tear from my eye. PM Bob Roberts! Has a certain ring to it doncha think ?
Tuesday
Remake The Sweeney? Don't do it, Guv'nor, it's not worth it/July 6th 2010.
Richie - Now that Wisteria Cameron and VAT bombshell Clegg's ConDem government of the unelected has started decimating the public sector you'll be pleased to hear that Bob Roberts Security Services 4 U is going from strength to strength. In fact, business is so brisk that I've had to employ extra staff to act as guards in the many dormant public buildings my company is now under contract to protect. Interviews were held last week and would you believe there were a hundred applicants for just three posts! And what a motley crew of shirkers, moaners and naer'do wells turned up Richie - a veritable cross-section of the UK's under-achieving Tory-led society! And if I tell you the successful candidates were a Lithuanian cage fighter named Zoltan, a transgender former squaddie named Dorothy, and a Goth single mother known simply as Princess Delora Hemlock of Deep Space 9 it will give you some clue as to the quality of the other 97 job seekers! Mad in ShamCams clogged-up Clegged-out UK innit!
Richie - Now that Wisteria Cameron and VAT bombshell Clegg's ConDem government of the unelected has started decimating the public sector you'll be pleased to hear that Bob Roberts Security Services 4 U is going from strength to strength. In fact, business is so brisk that I've had to employ extra staff to act as guards in the many dormant public buildings my company is now under contract to protect. Interviews were held last week and would you believe there were a hundred applicants for just three posts! And what a motley crew of shirkers, moaners and naer'do wells turned up Richie - a veritable cross-section of the UK's under-achieving Tory-led society! And if I tell you the successful candidates were a Lithuanian cage fighter named Zoltan, a transgender former squaddie named Dorothy, and a Goth single mother known simply as Princess Delora Hemlock of Deep Space 9 it will give you some clue as to the quality of the other 97 job seekers! Mad in ShamCams clogged-up Clegged-out UK innit!
Thursday
No offence, but what an ugly bunch of coconuts!/July 2nd 2010.
Richie - Would you Adam and Eve it! The conversation in our local settled on dwarves only the other day! I was telling a few regulars - including our landlady Frances, Arthur Groat and my good friend Lady Tabitha Wilmott-Brown - about one of Mrs Bob No 3's uncles in Thailand. A dwarf, he makes a very healthy living in the underground dwarf-tossing championships which are held in various tourist bars throughout the year. He's either thrown onto a padded mat or else dressed in a velcro suit and hurled against a specially constructed wall, sticking to it like a mini-bluebottle! His fame is such that he is regularly seen in trendy Bangkok nitespots with a stunna or two on his arm! Of course Lady Tabitha squealed with delight and suggested that our village organise a similar event in the summer. However the idea was dropped on elf n safety grounds when Arthur, having a practice run in the beer garden, hurled Dr Singh through the window of the ladies! Mad in ShamCam's Clegged-up UK innit!
Richie - Would you Adam and Eve it! The conversation in our local settled on dwarves only the other day! I was telling a few regulars - including our landlady Frances, Arthur Groat and my good friend Lady Tabitha Wilmott-Brown - about one of Mrs Bob No 3's uncles in Thailand. A dwarf, he makes a very healthy living in the underground dwarf-tossing championships which are held in various tourist bars throughout the year. He's either thrown onto a padded mat or else dressed in a velcro suit and hurled against a specially constructed wall, sticking to it like a mini-bluebottle! His fame is such that he is regularly seen in trendy Bangkok nitespots with a stunna or two on his arm! Of course Lady Tabitha squealed with delight and suggested that our village organise a similar event in the summer. However the idea was dropped on elf n safety grounds when Arthur, having a practice run in the beer garden, hurled Dr Singh through the window of the ladies! Mad in ShamCam's Clegged-up UK innit!
Tuesday
Black magic, online poker - just another slow day at the Town Hall/June 29th 2010.
Richie my old mukka - As a successful small businessman of this parish I must take issue with your constant spit-wippling of the public sector. My company, Bob Roberts Security Services 4 U, would be lost without public sector contracts and has been feeding off the fatted public sector calf for many years, as have many businesses throughout the land. What's more, my private sector clients tend to be unreliable, notoriously bad at settling their bills, and forever trying to get owt for nowt, as our nothern bretheren would say. The public sector is the spine, the solid base of all economic activity in this great land I say! And what with Slasher Osbourne - the man who stole your disability benefit - ready to embark on another frenzied attack it looks as though there will be plenty of disused and empty public buildings - including libraries, hospitals and schools - for my lads to take care of I say! (My company motto: When Bob does well everyone else suffers!) Mad in ConClegg's UK innit!
Richie my old mukka - As a successful small businessman of this parish I must take issue with your constant spit-wippling of the public sector. My company, Bob Roberts Security Services 4 U, would be lost without public sector contracts and has been feeding off the fatted public sector calf for many years, as have many businesses throughout the land. What's more, my private sector clients tend to be unreliable, notoriously bad at settling their bills, and forever trying to get owt for nowt, as our nothern bretheren would say. The public sector is the spine, the solid base of all economic activity in this great land I say! And what with Slasher Osbourne - the man who stole your disability benefit - ready to embark on another frenzied attack it looks as though there will be plenty of disused and empty public buildings - including libraries, hospitals and schools - for my lads to take care of I say! (My company motto: When Bob does well everyone else suffers!) Mad in ConClegg's UK innit!
Friday
If Britain's broke, how can so many people afford a new iPhone?/June 25th 2010.
Richie - Our village, Come-to-Piddle, has been at the centre of a sex scandal! It seems that Marcia Braithwaite, the baker's assistant, has been dilly-dallying in smutty sex sessions and her cellar has been exposed as a wheelie-bin dungeon, no less! Perverts from as far as Barking have been bringing their bins and carrying out sordid acts with their rubbish depositories! Marcia, a demure woman in her late 50s, has been exposed as a wheelie-bin fetishist of the highest order and, after a raid by Health and Safety officers, a number of shackled and hooded bins were rescued from an abject life of sex slavery! Needless to say, our upstanding village is reeling from this news and Rev Pritchard will be conducting a special service on Sunday so we can atone for the heinous bin-abuse that has been taking place on our doorstep. Defending her actions Marcia said she needed to find a new income stream due to the fact that Iain Dunkin Donut was raising the retirement age! Mad in ShamCams uk innit!
Richie - Our village, Come-to-Piddle, has been at the centre of a sex scandal! It seems that Marcia Braithwaite, the baker's assistant, has been dilly-dallying in smutty sex sessions and her cellar has been exposed as a wheelie-bin dungeon, no less! Perverts from as far as Barking have been bringing their bins and carrying out sordid acts with their rubbish depositories! Marcia, a demure woman in her late 50s, has been exposed as a wheelie-bin fetishist of the highest order and, after a raid by Health and Safety officers, a number of shackled and hooded bins were rescued from an abject life of sex slavery! Needless to say, our upstanding village is reeling from this news and Rev Pritchard will be conducting a special service on Sunday so we can atone for the heinous bin-abuse that has been taking place on our doorstep. Defending her actions Marcia said she needed to find a new income stream due to the fact that Iain Dunkin Donut was raising the retirement age! Mad in ShamCams uk innit!
Tuesday
It's Chris Huhne's hypocrisy and lies that matter - not his sex life/June 22nd 2010.
Richie - There was serious concern over the weekend when Arthur Groat, octogenarian spoon-playing virtuoso farmer of these parts, announced in the snug that he was "gay". Arthur, who usually says very little and, when he does, has a habit of mumbling into his pint glass, proudly announced with a smile that he was now "swinging the other way" and was partial to "a bit of rough". Dr Singh was summoned pronto to try and get to the bottom of the matter, although Arthur's thick worcester accent and the docs dulcet Mumbai inflections meant the conversation was difficult to say the least. Thankfully Arthur's sexuality was eventually clarified. It transpired that he was not "gay" but guest of honour at the annual "hay" throwing festival in which competitors "swing" a bale in the opposite direction to their opponent, the winner being the person whose bale lands nearest the rough edge of the field. Needless to say, we red-blooded locals breathed a sigh of relief and ordered pints all round!
Richie - There was serious concern over the weekend when Arthur Groat, octogenarian spoon-playing virtuoso farmer of these parts, announced in the snug that he was "gay". Arthur, who usually says very little and, when he does, has a habit of mumbling into his pint glass, proudly announced with a smile that he was now "swinging the other way" and was partial to "a bit of rough". Dr Singh was summoned pronto to try and get to the bottom of the matter, although Arthur's thick worcester accent and the docs dulcet Mumbai inflections meant the conversation was difficult to say the least. Thankfully Arthur's sexuality was eventually clarified. It transpired that he was not "gay" but guest of honour at the annual "hay" throwing festival in which competitors "swing" a bale in the opposite direction to their opponent, the winner being the person whose bale lands nearest the rough edge of the field. Needless to say, we red-blooded locals breathed a sigh of relief and ordered pints all round!
Friday
Have you seen this man? Gordon Brown does a disappearing act.../June 18th 2010.
Richie - Myself and Mrs Bob No 3 were out stalking the Lesser-Known Spotted Windbag over the weekend, a rather noisome creature that inhabits middle England. This strange animal can usually be found obsessively feeding its petty prejudices in wheelie bins and recycling centres and making derogatory remarks about refuse collectors. Reports of its predatory instincts have included the theft of box sets of 1970s sit coms and regurgitating the same hysterical nonsense for years on end. It retains a rather comical interest in gay culture although it fiercely denies that its sexuality is anything other than red-blooded hetero. Rumour has it that the Spotted Windbag migrates to warmer climes at various intervals throughout the year, especially to Florida, USA. Unfortunately, despite sitting for eight hours with our sarnies and thermos, we didn't once spot this legendary creature. However, professional Windbag-Spotters have since told us that Tuesdays and Fridays are best. Mad here innit!
Richie - Myself and Mrs Bob No 3 were out stalking the Lesser-Known Spotted Windbag over the weekend, a rather noisome creature that inhabits middle England. This strange animal can usually be found obsessively feeding its petty prejudices in wheelie bins and recycling centres and making derogatory remarks about refuse collectors. Reports of its predatory instincts have included the theft of box sets of 1970s sit coms and regurgitating the same hysterical nonsense for years on end. It retains a rather comical interest in gay culture although it fiercely denies that its sexuality is anything other than red-blooded hetero. Rumour has it that the Spotted Windbag migrates to warmer climes at various intervals throughout the year, especially to Florida, USA. Unfortunately, despite sitting for eight hours with our sarnies and thermos, we didn't once spot this legendary creature. However, professional Windbag-Spotters have since told us that Tuesdays and Fridays are best. Mad here innit!
Tuesday
I've heard of living in a box. But living in a wheelie bin is plain daft/June 15th 2010.
Richie - Would you Adam and Eve it! An incident involving a body and a wheelie bin took place in our village only this week! Our local was filled to capacity for Saturday's Ingurland v USA World Cup match and it so happened that among the onlookers in the snug was young Lord Barking-Tulley III and a few of his roustabouts. Their obnoxious behaviour during the match began to cause offence, especially when they began making anti-Obama remarks and singing "God doesn't want a coolie in the White House." Needless to say they were promptly ejected to great cheers. However, on Monday morning our local refuse officers arrived to carry out their weekly waste management duties and, following new guidelines, tapped on the side of each bin. And lucky they did, I say! Because out of one bin emerged young Lord Barking dressed in a basque, fishnets and Jimmy Choos having ended his Saturday night at a racy party! Those new guidelines, Richie, may just have saved a future Tory leader from the crusher!
Richie - Would you Adam and Eve it! An incident involving a body and a wheelie bin took place in our village only this week! Our local was filled to capacity for Saturday's Ingurland v USA World Cup match and it so happened that among the onlookers in the snug was young Lord Barking-Tulley III and a few of his roustabouts. Their obnoxious behaviour during the match began to cause offence, especially when they began making anti-Obama remarks and singing "God doesn't want a coolie in the White House." Needless to say they were promptly ejected to great cheers. However, on Monday morning our local refuse officers arrived to carry out their weekly waste management duties and, following new guidelines, tapped on the side of each bin. And lucky they did, I say! Because out of one bin emerged young Lord Barking dressed in a basque, fishnets and Jimmy Choos having ended his Saturday night at a racy party! Those new guidelines, Richie, may just have saved a future Tory leader from the crusher!
How not to be sick as a parrot or drunk as a skunk/June 8th 2010.
Richie - You'll be glad to hear that plans are well underway in our village pub for the World Cup kick off on Friday. A big screen has been installed and my Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3 has been busy helping out in the kitchen, cooking up battered bamboo worms and poached crickets for pre-match snacks. However, for my good friend the delectable aristo Lady Tabitha Wilmott-Brown the World Cup is a time of melancholy. In 1970, during the England-West Germany match, her father, Lord Wilmott-Brown, a prominent Tory Turnip of these parts, was so disheartened by the kraut victory that he scaled the east turret of their medieval Grade 2 listed mansion and, being three sheets to the wind and heavy with pizza, fell into the moat. He remained in a coma for 10 years before his dear daughter pulled the plug. One can only wonder how much money the NHS would have saved had common sense advice such as that offered by the Food Standards Agency been available! Mad in merrie Cleggie's Ingurland, innit!
Richie - You'll be glad to hear that plans are well underway in our village pub for the World Cup kick off on Friday. A big screen has been installed and my Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3 has been busy helping out in the kitchen, cooking up battered bamboo worms and poached crickets for pre-match snacks. However, for my good friend the delectable aristo Lady Tabitha Wilmott-Brown the World Cup is a time of melancholy. In 1970, during the England-West Germany match, her father, Lord Wilmott-Brown, a prominent Tory Turnip of these parts, was so disheartened by the kraut victory that he scaled the east turret of their medieval Grade 2 listed mansion and, being three sheets to the wind and heavy with pizza, fell into the moat. He remained in a coma for 10 years before his dear daughter pulled the plug. One can only wonder how much money the NHS would have saved had common sense advice such as that offered by the Food Standards Agency been available! Mad in merrie Cleggie's Ingurland, innit!
Friday
This was a tragedy, not time for Plodspeak/June 4th 2010.
Richie - Would you believe it, last night was Littlejohn Appreciation Night in our local! Regulars were encouraged to engage in "Richiespeak" with a pint and a dish of Mrs Bob's Thai green curry going to the winner! Well, what fun we had! Dr Singh peppered his sentences with the tag-line "You couldn't make it up" while Arthur Groat, spoon-playing octogenarian of these parts, sat mumbing "It's elf n safety gorn mad!" into his beer! Marcia Braithwaite sang "Mind How You Go" to the tune of Je Ne Regrette and Rev. Pritchard, our happy-clappy vicar, recited a poem entitled "God Don't Love You Alky-Aida". All of the competitors merrily denounced Liberals as gays and the Police as lazy pen-pushers. But the winner was our landlady Frances - the former male BNP hard-nut now transformed into a female tree-hugging, eco-warrior - who came out with one of your most famous lines, namely: "They were only six prossies from Ipswich and weren't gonna find a cure for cancer, wuz they!" Mad here innit!
Richie - Would you believe it, last night was Littlejohn Appreciation Night in our local! Regulars were encouraged to engage in "Richiespeak" with a pint and a dish of Mrs Bob's Thai green curry going to the winner! Well, what fun we had! Dr Singh peppered his sentences with the tag-line "You couldn't make it up" while Arthur Groat, spoon-playing octogenarian of these parts, sat mumbing "It's elf n safety gorn mad!" into his beer! Marcia Braithwaite sang "Mind How You Go" to the tune of Je Ne Regrette and Rev. Pritchard, our happy-clappy vicar, recited a poem entitled "God Don't Love You Alky-Aida". All of the competitors merrily denounced Liberals as gays and the Police as lazy pen-pushers. But the winner was our landlady Frances - the former male BNP hard-nut now transformed into a female tree-hugging, eco-warrior - who came out with one of your most famous lines, namely: "They were only six prossies from Ipswich and weren't gonna find a cure for cancer, wuz they!" Mad here innit!
Monday
The crime that daren't speak its name? It wasn't David Laws' secret gay lover that brought him down. It was stealing/June 1st 2010.
Richie - As an upstanding hetero member of the red-blooded Brit brigade I too, like your good self, was aghast and shocked at the David Laws scandal and the moral deprivation permeating the heart of our new ConDem govt of the unelected. However, imagine my horror when my Thai wife, Mrs Bob No 3, having branched out into the world of theatrical production, announced that a group of Ladyboy dancers from Bangkok would be staying at Castle Roberts! These young, lithe, long-legged performers who, even when off-stage, remained perfumed and scantily-dressed with lashings of mascara, were our guests for three days. How I managed to contain my dignity as these bikini-clad sirens took over our living space, teasing me with their boa feathers, I'll never know! But when I retired to my bedroom one afternoon for a surreptitious nap only to discover one of their number lying next to me I ran off to the snug, hot under the proverbial collar, for a snifter or three! Lord help blokes like us, eh Rich!
Richie - As an upstanding hetero member of the red-blooded Brit brigade I too, like your good self, was aghast and shocked at the David Laws scandal and the moral deprivation permeating the heart of our new ConDem govt of the unelected. However, imagine my horror when my Thai wife, Mrs Bob No 3, having branched out into the world of theatrical production, announced that a group of Ladyboy dancers from Bangkok would be staying at Castle Roberts! These young, lithe, long-legged performers who, even when off-stage, remained perfumed and scantily-dressed with lashings of mascara, were our guests for three days. How I managed to contain my dignity as these bikini-clad sirens took over our living space, teasing me with their boa feathers, I'll never know! But when I retired to my bedroom one afternoon for a surreptitious nap only to discover one of their number lying next to me I ran off to the snug, hot under the proverbial collar, for a snifter or three! Lord help blokes like us, eh Rich!
Friday
Why don't YOU do the right thing, Dave!/May 28th 2010
Richie - Wednesday morning I fire up the XJ6 and head towards the shires where my brother, Howard Roberts, a prominent Tory of those parts, is celebrating his birthday. Of course, dear Howard isn't expecting me - a chipper dyed-in-wool Labour chappie - to make an appearance, especially now Dippy Dave has barricaded himself in No 10. But the chance to enjoy mirth and merriment at Howard's expense is something I just can't resist. It's a garden party and the gathering is filled with Turnip-types. And how miserable they all look! - this ZanuConDem govt really is bad for their health! Unfortunately I remind them of the VAT and NI hike, the backtracking on CGT and the impending council tax increases being dreamt up by Squire Pickles and they start getting upset! And when I sing The Red Flag and Bring Back My Gordon To Me Howard displays his anti-democratic tendencies and ejects me from the festivities! Is that any way to treat a brother -I thought we were all in his together, eh Rich ? (Hic!)
Richie - Wednesday morning I fire up the XJ6 and head towards the shires where my brother, Howard Roberts, a prominent Tory of those parts, is celebrating his birthday. Of course, dear Howard isn't expecting me - a chipper dyed-in-wool Labour chappie - to make an appearance, especially now Dippy Dave has barricaded himself in No 10. But the chance to enjoy mirth and merriment at Howard's expense is something I just can't resist. It's a garden party and the gathering is filled with Turnip-types. And how miserable they all look! - this ZanuConDem govt really is bad for their health! Unfortunately I remind them of the VAT and NI hike, the backtracking on CGT and the impending council tax increases being dreamt up by Squire Pickles and they start getting upset! And when I sing The Red Flag and Bring Back My Gordon To Me Howard displays his anti-democratic tendencies and ejects me from the festivities! Is that any way to treat a brother -I thought we were all in his together, eh Rich ? (Hic!)
Tuesday
What next on the NHS? Bikini waxes for bisexuals?/May 25th 2010.
Richie - The landlord of our village local, Big Frank - a former BNP hardnut now a climate change activist and animal rights campaigner - finally underwent his gender realignment operation last week. With the full support of his wife and kids Frank has been transformed into Frances and to celebrate we laid on a welcome home party in the snug. I must admit, although Frank had set his heart on attaining the wispy, ethereal look of Keira Knightly, he looked to me more like Fatima Whitbread as he walked through the door. Still, Frances received much warmth from regulars, including amongst their number a few old associates from the local BNP coven who still retain an affection for their former comrade. Indeed, in the spirit of coalition currently sweeping the country, the local BNP bovver boys have offered to provide extra muscle for Frances and her merry band of eco-warriors next time they mount a covert operation to save bunny wabbits and lab mice marked for experimentation! Mad innit!
Richie - The landlord of our village local, Big Frank - a former BNP hardnut now a climate change activist and animal rights campaigner - finally underwent his gender realignment operation last week. With the full support of his wife and kids Frank has been transformed into Frances and to celebrate we laid on a welcome home party in the snug. I must admit, although Frank had set his heart on attaining the wispy, ethereal look of Keira Knightly, he looked to me more like Fatima Whitbread as he walked through the door. Still, Frances received much warmth from regulars, including amongst their number a few old associates from the local BNP coven who still retain an affection for their former comrade. Indeed, in the spirit of coalition currently sweeping the country, the local BNP bovver boys have offered to provide extra muscle for Frances and her merry band of eco-warriors next time they mount a covert operation to save bunny wabbits and lab mice marked for experimentation! Mad innit!
This is the Home Service: 'Four Germans have escaped extradition'/May 21st 2010.
Richie - I was snoozing in my comfy chair when I was awoken by my Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3 who was busy studying for her British Citizenship Test. "Wob - me no understand" she said and pointed to your esteemed column. I've been encouraging Mrs Bob to read the DM so as to boost her knowledge of British culture but I'm sad to say today's convoluted effort, Rich, left her completely baffled. I tried to explain that you had imagined the Nazi high command goosestepping down the Strand in SS uniform singing "I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts" and being given jobs at the Croydon branch of High and Mighty. "Littlewon not fanny man" said Mrs Bob to which I nodded in agreement and settled back into my chair. She was soon pestering me again though. "Wob - why Littlewon always write about gays and Nazis ?" I sighed, took her hand and said: "There are some aspects of British culture, my sweet, that no amount of study or reading will help you understand!" Mad in ShamCam's Clegged-up UK innit!
Richie - I was snoozing in my comfy chair when I was awoken by my Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3 who was busy studying for her British Citizenship Test. "Wob - me no understand" she said and pointed to your esteemed column. I've been encouraging Mrs Bob to read the DM so as to boost her knowledge of British culture but I'm sad to say today's convoluted effort, Rich, left her completely baffled. I tried to explain that you had imagined the Nazi high command goosestepping down the Strand in SS uniform singing "I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts" and being given jobs at the Croydon branch of High and Mighty. "Littlewon not fanny man" said Mrs Bob to which I nodded in agreement and settled back into my chair. She was soon pestering me again though. "Wob - why Littlewon always write about gays and Nazis ?" I sighed, took her hand and said: "There are some aspects of British culture, my sweet, that no amount of study or reading will help you understand!" Mad in ShamCam's Clegged-up UK innit!
Blind justice or just another fine mess?/May 18th 2010.
Richie - I was busy hoarding a few tins of dried milk and packs of biscuits in the shed in anticipation of Slasher Osbourne's austerity budget when I noticed several bags of nitroglycerin on one of the shelves. It transpired that my dear Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3 was intending to send bomb-making equipment to her Red Shirt cousin who is caught up in the anarchy there. I explained to her that armed insurrection is frowned upon here in dear Blighty and anyway the British Postal Service would more than likely deliver her stash to Bangor rather than Bangkok. She retorted that no lesser person than Lord Littlewon of Windbag Way was today calling for people to rise up and "burn down government buildings". Again I explained that such pronouncements were merely in the best traditions of British satire and not be taken seriously although with the assault on our freedoms now being enacted by the ConDem coagulation of the unelected perhaps your idea Rich isn't all bad! Mad in ShamCam's UK innit!
Richie - I was busy hoarding a few tins of dried milk and packs of biscuits in the shed in anticipation of Slasher Osbourne's austerity budget when I noticed several bags of nitroglycerin on one of the shelves. It transpired that my dear Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3 was intending to send bomb-making equipment to her Red Shirt cousin who is caught up in the anarchy there. I explained to her that armed insurrection is frowned upon here in dear Blighty and anyway the British Postal Service would more than likely deliver her stash to Bangor rather than Bangkok. She retorted that no lesser person than Lord Littlewon of Windbag Way was today calling for people to rise up and "burn down government buildings". Again I explained that such pronouncements were merely in the best traditions of British satire and not be taken seriously although with the assault on our freedoms now being enacted by the ConDem coagulation of the unelected perhaps your idea Rich isn't all bad! Mad in ShamCam's UK innit!
The new politics? More like Brokeback Mountain/May 14th 2010.
Richie - Squeezing in to a floral dress, wig and fishnets I assumed my secret Tory persona and met up with my Turnip chums in an 80s theme bar to discuss the UK's new coagulation of the unelected. "Cam's onto a winner. If it goes belly up he can blame the Reds and the sandal-wearers!" said Tarquin a merchant winker with an unhealthy interest in my falsies. "VAT rising, NI rising, CGT rising, SamCam rising - things are going swimingly!" squarked Rupert, a "company director", as he popped another bottle of Krug. "And with the cut in inheritance tax I'll finally be able to nab the stately home!" squealed Lady Mimsy, louche and pale as white powder. A hush descended and Henrietta took Mimsy's hand. "I'm afraid Cam's dropped that idea as a concession to the tofu-munching lefties" she whispered "But cheer up Mims - as soon as Squire Lardy Cake Pickles hikes council tax for the oiks by 30 per cent next year I'm sure Cam'll re-introduce it pronto! Ra! Ra! Ra!" Mad in ShamCam's UK innit!
Richie - Squeezing in to a floral dress, wig and fishnets I assumed my secret Tory persona and met up with my Turnip chums in an 80s theme bar to discuss the UK's new coagulation of the unelected. "Cam's onto a winner. If it goes belly up he can blame the Reds and the sandal-wearers!" said Tarquin a merchant winker with an unhealthy interest in my falsies. "VAT rising, NI rising, CGT rising, SamCam rising - things are going swimingly!" squarked Rupert, a "company director", as he popped another bottle of Krug. "And with the cut in inheritance tax I'll finally be able to nab the stately home!" squealed Lady Mimsy, louche and pale as white powder. A hush descended and Henrietta took Mimsy's hand. "I'm afraid Cam's dropped that idea as a concession to the tofu-munching lefties" she whispered "But cheer up Mims - as soon as Squire Lardy Cake Pickles hikes council tax for the oiks by 30 per cent next year I'm sure Cam'll re-introduce it pronto! Ra! Ra! Ra!" Mad in ShamCam's UK innit!
What we saw yesterday was nothing less than a cynical coup attempt.../May 1th 2010.
Richie - After a night doing the conga in Big Frank's snug to celebrate the Tory defeat, I assumed my secret Tory identity (dress, wig and fishnets) and met up with local Turnip activists in an upmarket winery. Surprisingy my new Tory chums, Tarquin, Henrietta, Rupert and Lady Mimsy, were in good spirits. "The plan from HQ is to do a deal with the sandal-wearers" giggled Rupert. "Yes - Cam will offer them a sniff of electoral reform and then shaft the blighters when they least expect it!" roared Tarquin. Lady Mimsy, slurping gin, said: "I can't wait for Cam to overturn the hunting ban! Perhaps he'll extend it to include cats and bunny wabbits too!" Henrietta looked solemn as she explained they may have to sacrifice hunting to do a deal with Lib-Dems. "But don't worry - you'll have plenty to occupy your time doing charity work in Dave's Super Duper Big New Society" but by this time Lady Mims had already had a seizure at the prospect of getting her hands dirty. Mad in ShamCam's UK innit!
Richie - After a night doing the conga in Big Frank's snug to celebrate the Tory defeat, I assumed my secret Tory identity (dress, wig and fishnets) and met up with local Turnip activists in an upmarket winery. Surprisingy my new Tory chums, Tarquin, Henrietta, Rupert and Lady Mimsy, were in good spirits. "The plan from HQ is to do a deal with the sandal-wearers" giggled Rupert. "Yes - Cam will offer them a sniff of electoral reform and then shaft the blighters when they least expect it!" roared Tarquin. Lady Mimsy, slurping gin, said: "I can't wait for Cam to overturn the hunting ban! Perhaps he'll extend it to include cats and bunny wabbits too!" Henrietta looked solemn as she explained they may have to sacrifice hunting to do a deal with Lib-Dems. "But don't worry - you'll have plenty to occupy your time doing charity work in Dave's Super Duper Big New Society" but by this time Lady Mims had already had a seizure at the prospect of getting her hands dirty. Mad in ShamCam's UK innit!
I've never been one to tell people how to vote, but.../May 4th 2010.
Richie - Donning one of Mrs Bob No 3's wigs and slipping into a triple X floral dress and fishnets corralled from a charity shop I went on an undercover pre-election operation to infiltrate the local Tory campaign group. Passing myself off as a widow of independent means I joined my new chums Tarquin, Rupert, Henrietta and Lady Mimsy Fullerton-Breakwater in the local Con Club for a strategic pow-wow. "Of course" said Tarquin "once Dave has swept to power all that pc nonsense he witters on about will be out of the window". "Yes" squeaked Lady Mimsy. "It will be back to good old-fashioned Tory values and crushing the great unwashed beneath ones foot". "I hope Pickles gets the Home Sec job" roared Rupert. "He'll give those damn socialists a good seeing to. 10 mill on the dole I reckon!" It was at this point that Tarquin, leaning over on the pretext of nabbing a donation, rumbled my falsies causing me to scarper through the window of the gents pronto! Mad in ShamCam's UK innit!
Richie - Donning one of Mrs Bob No 3's wigs and slipping into a triple X floral dress and fishnets corralled from a charity shop I went on an undercover pre-election operation to infiltrate the local Tory campaign group. Passing myself off as a widow of independent means I joined my new chums Tarquin, Rupert, Henrietta and Lady Mimsy Fullerton-Breakwater in the local Con Club for a strategic pow-wow. "Of course" said Tarquin "once Dave has swept to power all that pc nonsense he witters on about will be out of the window". "Yes" squeaked Lady Mimsy. "It will be back to good old-fashioned Tory values and crushing the great unwashed beneath ones foot". "I hope Pickles gets the Home Sec job" roared Rupert. "He'll give those damn socialists a good seeing to. 10 mill on the dole I reckon!" It was at this point that Tarquin, leaning over on the pretext of nabbing a donation, rumbled my falsies causing me to scarper through the window of the gents pronto! Mad in ShamCam's UK innit!
Gordon hates everybody - Labour voters included/April 30th 2010.
Richie - After a busy morning campaigning and having a giggle with the locals about Gordy's Rochdale slip-up our group of Labour workers decided to retire to the nearest pub for a snifter and a spot of lunch. Would you believe it - we walked into the lounge to discover a cabal of Tories quaffing champers in the corner. As you can imagine the place descended into a High Noon hush and the regulars ducked for cover. It wasn't long before the insults began to fly. "Here come the peasants!" shouted one little Tory toe-rag. "Can't wait until Georgie Osbourne cuts their dole" squealed a high-pitched Henrietta. But we didn't rise to the bait even when they began to chant "Cam's our man!" and "Tally Ho socialist scum!" As we were leaving one of their number stood and lit a cigar in protest at "Brown's Stalinist smoking ban." Unfortunately the dipstick set off the fire alarm and sprinkler system, drenching his toff colleagues and causing four fire engines to arrive for no good reason. Mad innit!
Richie - After a busy morning campaigning and having a giggle with the locals about Gordy's Rochdale slip-up our group of Labour workers decided to retire to the nearest pub for a snifter and a spot of lunch. Would you believe it - we walked into the lounge to discover a cabal of Tories quaffing champers in the corner. As you can imagine the place descended into a High Noon hush and the regulars ducked for cover. It wasn't long before the insults began to fly. "Here come the peasants!" shouted one little Tory toe-rag. "Can't wait until Georgie Osbourne cuts their dole" squealed a high-pitched Henrietta. But we didn't rise to the bait even when they began to chant "Cam's our man!" and "Tally Ho socialist scum!" As we were leaving one of their number stood and lit a cigar in protest at "Brown's Stalinist smoking ban." Unfortunately the dipstick set off the fire alarm and sprinkler system, drenching his toff colleagues and causing four fire engines to arrive for no good reason. Mad innit!
Put your hands together for the Dunfermline Elvis/27th April 2010.
Richie - Out canvassing in the locality today I was talking to honest hard working families in support of Labour and guess what - Elvis proved to be a real ice-breaker on the doorsteps! I've been serenaded by little old ladies and kids and rock n rollin' dads, all eager to give Calamity Cameron the scrutiny he deserves through the music of The King. Among today's favourites were: "Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain" (the Turnips upset at losing a 20-point lead and counting!), "There Goes My Everything" (odds on if Dipstick Osbourne becomes chancellor!) and "Your Cheatin' Heart" (memories of odious Tory governments past I think!). The only blemish was when a knuckle-dragging BNP supporter in full regalia began to sing "Deutschland Uber Alles". Mrs Bob No 3, thinking it was one of Elvis' lesser-known songs, gave him a round of applause before I dragged her away pronto and told her "A Little Less Conversation" and more "Jailhouse Rock" was needed where the Nazis are concerned! Mad here innit!
Richie - Out canvassing in the locality today I was talking to honest hard working families in support of Labour and guess what - Elvis proved to be a real ice-breaker on the doorsteps! I've been serenaded by little old ladies and kids and rock n rollin' dads, all eager to give Calamity Cameron the scrutiny he deserves through the music of The King. Among today's favourites were: "Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain" (the Turnips upset at losing a 20-point lead and counting!), "There Goes My Everything" (odds on if Dipstick Osbourne becomes chancellor!) and "Your Cheatin' Heart" (memories of odious Tory governments past I think!). The only blemish was when a knuckle-dragging BNP supporter in full regalia began to sing "Deutschland Uber Alles". Mrs Bob No 3, thinking it was one of Elvis' lesser-known songs, gave him a round of applause before I dragged her away pronto and told her "A Little Less Conversation" and more "Jailhouse Rock" was needed where the Nazis are concerned! Mad here innit!
Is this what Jolly Jack means by a safer Britain?/April 23rd 2010.
Richie - After a bad day campaigning for Labour I decide to call in on my good friend the enigmatic aristo Lady Tabitha Wilmott-Brown. Tab’s grade 2 listed mansion lies on the outskirts of our village and is renowned for its raucous parties. I tell her ladyship of the doorstep abuse I've received and Lady Tab, a hunting enthusiast dressed in wax jacket, riding boots and jodhpurs, and whose father was a prominent Tory, has great fun at my expense. ‘I mean, Bob darling, why do you bother ?' she says over a pot of Earl Grey. 'Brown's toast. And constantly punishing yourself on behalf of a party that has betrayed the country is beyond me. Look at you, you porky sod. You’re not exactly in your prime. If I were you I'd take things easy with your delightful Thai wife.’ Refreshed I thank Tab for her counsel and cheekily ask her if Labour can count on her support. 'Oh no darling' she says. 'I'll be voting for the Revolutionary Socialist Party as usual!' Strange old world, eh Rich
Richie - After a bad day campaigning for Labour I decide to call in on my good friend the enigmatic aristo Lady Tabitha Wilmott-Brown. Tab’s grade 2 listed mansion lies on the outskirts of our village and is renowned for its raucous parties. I tell her ladyship of the doorstep abuse I've received and Lady Tab, a hunting enthusiast dressed in wax jacket, riding boots and jodhpurs, and whose father was a prominent Tory, has great fun at my expense. ‘I mean, Bob darling, why do you bother ?' she says over a pot of Earl Grey. 'Brown's toast. And constantly punishing yourself on behalf of a party that has betrayed the country is beyond me. Look at you, you porky sod. You’re not exactly in your prime. If I were you I'd take things easy with your delightful Thai wife.’ Refreshed I thank Tab for her counsel and cheekily ask her if Labour can count on her support. 'Oh no darling' she says. 'I'll be voting for the Revolutionary Socialist Party as usual!' Strange old world, eh Rich
A sensible precaution or elf 'n' safety paranoia?/April 16th 2010.
Richie - Yesterday I met one of your fans! I was out campaigning in the rural Tory heartlands when I brought the Jag to a halt outside a ramshackle farmstead. Even though the pathway was muddy and the dilapidated house sported a Vote for Change poster I couldn't resist knocking on the door so as to engage the occupant in some pre-election banter. The couple who answered were rough country types and the man, who was missing several teeth, was stroking a piglet. "My name's Bob and I'm here to ask if you'll be supporting the Labour candidate in the forthcoming election ?" I said with a perky smile. The man spat on the floor and the woman, who was chewing fresh cud, puckered her face. "Godless Labour's to blame for everythin" the man growled. "I knows cuz Littlejohn sez so. Edna - go get the shotgun and give this pinko commie buztard both barrels!" Needless to say I scarpered pronto and caused a hefty giggle when I told the tale in the snug. Good to know your fans are out there, eh Rich!
Richie - Yesterday I met one of your fans! I was out campaigning in the rural Tory heartlands when I brought the Jag to a halt outside a ramshackle farmstead. Even though the pathway was muddy and the dilapidated house sported a Vote for Change poster I couldn't resist knocking on the door so as to engage the occupant in some pre-election banter. The couple who answered were rough country types and the man, who was missing several teeth, was stroking a piglet. "My name's Bob and I'm here to ask if you'll be supporting the Labour candidate in the forthcoming election ?" I said with a perky smile. The man spat on the floor and the woman, who was chewing fresh cud, puckered her face. "Godless Labour's to blame for everythin" the man growled. "I knows cuz Littlejohn sez so. Edna - go get the shotgun and give this pinko commie buztard both barrels!" Needless to say I scarpered pronto and caused a hefty giggle when I told the tale in the snug. Good to know your fans are out there, eh Rich!
If only those Twittering TV types told us the truth/April 12th, 2010.
Richie - I was snoozing in my comfy chair after my afternoon snifter when Mrs Bob No 3, my Thai wife, came running into the lounge in a state of extreme panic. "Look Wob" she shrieked. I peeked outside and saw a brigade of black shirts marching along our village street. I told Mrs Bob to hide and turned on the tv just in time to see Prime Minister Griffin declare a state of emergency before the broadcast cut away to old newsreel of Hitler. I phoned my old mate Billy Walker, a Labour activist up North, who told me rioting and ethnic cleansing had begun in our cities and Obama had cut all ties with the UK. Mrs Bob was crying now as the black shirts started banging on the door and shouting: "We know there's a coolie in there. Open up before we torch the place!" It was at this point I woke up. "Wob, Wob - you're dreaming" Mrs Bob said. I rubbed my eyes and staggered to my feet. Outside the sun was shining and the daffs were blooming. Thank heavens we live in a civilised country, eh Rich ?
Richie - I was snoozing in my comfy chair after my afternoon snifter when Mrs Bob No 3, my Thai wife, came running into the lounge in a state of extreme panic. "Look Wob" she shrieked. I peeked outside and saw a brigade of black shirts marching along our village street. I told Mrs Bob to hide and turned on the tv just in time to see Prime Minister Griffin declare a state of emergency before the broadcast cut away to old newsreel of Hitler. I phoned my old mate Billy Walker, a Labour activist up North, who told me rioting and ethnic cleansing had begun in our cities and Obama had cut all ties with the UK. Mrs Bob was crying now as the black shirts started banging on the door and shouting: "We know there's a coolie in there. Open up before we torch the place!" It was at this point I woke up. "Wob, Wob - you're dreaming" Mrs Bob said. I rubbed my eyes and staggered to my feet. Outside the sun was shining and the daffs were blooming. Thank heavens we live in a civilised country, eh Rich ?
Smell the daffs, enjoy the sunshine... and forget the election/April 9th 2010.
Richie - I was out in the town defacing those ridiculous Tory billboards when I felt my collar being felt. "Ello ello - what have we here then ?" I turned round and saw it was none other than Old Jim, our local CSO and a former employee of mine. After exchanging pleasantries about our respective families (Jim and his missus have a handicapped son whose quality of life has improved no end thanks to some excellent NHS treatment) we returned to the issue in hand. "Well, I'll have to book you" he said in a grave tone. "Writing 'I've never voted Tory before because I'm not a complete idiot!' is vandalism, pure and simple. Name and address ?" I gave Jim my details and we arranged to meet up for a snifter or two in the village snug. Jim checked his notebook and said with a laugh: "Right , Lord Ashcroft, don't let me catch you doing this again. And a summons will be sent to your address: Troughing Mansions, Belize High Street, Belize." Good to see British justice is alive and well, eh Rich ?
Richie - I was out in the town defacing those ridiculous Tory billboards when I felt my collar being felt. "Ello ello - what have we here then ?" I turned round and saw it was none other than Old Jim, our local CSO and a former employee of mine. After exchanging pleasantries about our respective families (Jim and his missus have a handicapped son whose quality of life has improved no end thanks to some excellent NHS treatment) we returned to the issue in hand. "Well, I'll have to book you" he said in a grave tone. "Writing 'I've never voted Tory before because I'm not a complete idiot!' is vandalism, pure and simple. Name and address ?" I gave Jim my details and we arranged to meet up for a snifter or two in the village snug. Jim checked his notebook and said with a laugh: "Right , Lord Ashcroft, don't let me catch you doing this again. And a summons will be sent to your address: Troughing Mansions, Belize High Street, Belize." Good to see British justice is alive and well, eh Rich ?
The hypocrisy of the Left's hate-mongers/April 6th 2010
Richie - Sunday I receive a phone call from Ma Roberts, my Tory-activist, cigarello-chomping mother from the Shires. "Have you seen the pinko Observer ?" she rages. "How dare the Lefty Labour-luvvies pick on our wonderful Chris Grayling! The limp-wrists and gender-benders have had it all their own way for too long! Just you wait until Cameron becomes PM. If a b & b wants to turn away a couple of wooftahs they'll be well within their rights to do so! Are you listening ?" It's at this point I inform ma she's speaking to her youngest son, Bob Roberts, and not her eldest son, Howard Roberts, vice chair of a local Conservative association somewhere in the south west. Ma almost chokes as she realises her mistake and tries desperately to change track. "Bob! How are you darling ? And how is that delightful coolie maid I met when I last visited ? The one you playfully call Mrs Bob No 3 ?" If only the bigoted Tories could think before they put their mouths in gear they'd be dangerous, eh Rich ?
Richie - Sunday I receive a phone call from Ma Roberts, my Tory-activist, cigarello-chomping mother from the Shires. "Have you seen the pinko Observer ?" she rages. "How dare the Lefty Labour-luvvies pick on our wonderful Chris Grayling! The limp-wrists and gender-benders have had it all their own way for too long! Just you wait until Cameron becomes PM. If a b & b wants to turn away a couple of wooftahs they'll be well within their rights to do so! Are you listening ?" It's at this point I inform ma she's speaking to her youngest son, Bob Roberts, and not her eldest son, Howard Roberts, vice chair of a local Conservative association somewhere in the south west. Ma almost chokes as she realises her mistake and tries desperately to change track. "Bob! How are you darling ? And how is that delightful coolie maid I met when I last visited ? The one you playfully call Mrs Bob No 3 ?" If only the bigoted Tories could think before they put their mouths in gear they'd be dangerous, eh Rich ?
If this is justice, I'm a goldfish/April 1st 2010
Richie - I met one of your biggest fans last week - in Norway, of all places! After the stress of having my Tory-activist mother as a guest, I surprised Mrs Bob No 3 by taking her on a short cruise to the Norwegian Fjords. We were befriended on board by Ken and Gina, a couple from Essex. Gina and Mrs Bob soon hit it off and were swopping recipes for steak and ale pie and Thai curry with fried bamboo worms like they'd known one another for years. Ken, though, proved to be a bit of a bore. Whether we were having a snifter on deck or enjoying the evening buffet he was always talking down the country. "It's all Brown's fault" he raged. "ZanuLabour and their Stalinist police state have ruined Britain." Later I learned that Ken did three years for paying illegals slave wages at his food processing plant - caught after a sting op by Trading Standards Officers. "Littlejohn's column kept me sane in the slammer" he blubbed. "I wish he was PM!" Good to know your fans are out there, eh Rich?
Richie - I met one of your biggest fans last week - in Norway, of all places! After the stress of having my Tory-activist mother as a guest, I surprised Mrs Bob No 3 by taking her on a short cruise to the Norwegian Fjords. We were befriended on board by Ken and Gina, a couple from Essex. Gina and Mrs Bob soon hit it off and were swopping recipes for steak and ale pie and Thai curry with fried bamboo worms like they'd known one another for years. Ken, though, proved to be a bit of a bore. Whether we were having a snifter on deck or enjoying the evening buffet he was always talking down the country. "It's all Brown's fault" he raged. "ZanuLabour and their Stalinist police state have ruined Britain." Later I learned that Ken did three years for paying illegals slave wages at his food processing plant - caught after a sting op by Trading Standards Officers. "Littlejohn's column kept me sane in the slammer" he blubbed. "I wish he was PM!" Good to know your fans are out there, eh Rich?
Forget the next six weeks. Remember the past 13 years!/March 29th 2010
Richie - Wednesday I see Dr Singh about a most delicate matter. After prodding my wobbly bits and listening to my internal goings-on with his stethescope, he asks what's wrong. "It's my leg. There's something growing on it." I roll up my trouser and point to a pale, fleshy lump part way down the shin. The lump is smooth with a vague, upper-class demeanour. "I call it my little Cameron" I say. "It appears to be benign but I'm not so sure." Dr Singh soon offers his verdict. "It's a parasite, Bob, and it needs lancing before it spreads!" Within an hour nurse Marge Breakwell has done the deed and cut away little Cameron, putting the putrid specimen in a jar as a souvenir. Later in the snug as we watch the budget Big Frank the landlord sets my growth above the optics as a macabre curiosity. But would you believe it, Richie, the thing only turns red as a beetroot when Darling announces the 1 per cent increase in top stamp duty and the sharing of tax info with Belize! Mad innit !
Richie - Wednesday I see Dr Singh about a most delicate matter. After prodding my wobbly bits and listening to my internal goings-on with his stethescope, he asks what's wrong. "It's my leg. There's something growing on it." I roll up my trouser and point to a pale, fleshy lump part way down the shin. The lump is smooth with a vague, upper-class demeanour. "I call it my little Cameron" I say. "It appears to be benign but I'm not so sure." Dr Singh soon offers his verdict. "It's a parasite, Bob, and it needs lancing before it spreads!" Within an hour nurse Marge Breakwell has done the deed and cut away little Cameron, putting the putrid specimen in a jar as a souvenir. Later in the snug as we watch the budget Big Frank the landlord sets my growth above the optics as a macabre curiosity. But would you believe it, Richie, the thing only turns red as a beetroot when Darling announces the 1 per cent increase in top stamp duty and the sharing of tax info with Belize! Mad innit !
Does anyone fancy getting stuck in a lift with Gordon?/March 22nd 2010
Richie - Tuesday morning and Ma Roberts, my fiesty 74 yr old Tory activist mom, finally slings her golf clubs into the boot of her ancient Rover, lights a cigarello, and heads back to the shires. To be frank it's been a harrowing week. She spent much of her time railing against "Dippy" D Cameron for trying to impose a young, prof, female candidate on her local party. And her mood was thunderous when SamCam's racy pics appeared. "Can you imagine Maggie doing such a thing ?" she wailed, and the very thought of the odious Margaret draped seductively over a chaise-longue almost brought up my Co-co Pops in double quick time! So you'd have thought news of the Cameron pregnancy would have met with Ma's approval. Not a chance! "Now CMD is using his wife's uterus to nab a few votes" she snarled. "It's enough to make you vote for Gollum Brown" and for the first time in 50 years Richie I experienced - for a fleeting sec - the warm, tender, loving bond that can exist between a mother and son!
Richie - Tuesday morning and Ma Roberts, my fiesty 74 yr old Tory activist mom, finally slings her golf clubs into the boot of her ancient Rover, lights a cigarello, and heads back to the shires. To be frank it's been a harrowing week. She spent much of her time railing against "Dippy" D Cameron for trying to impose a young, prof, female candidate on her local party. And her mood was thunderous when SamCam's racy pics appeared. "Can you imagine Maggie doing such a thing ?" she wailed, and the very thought of the odious Margaret draped seductively over a chaise-longue almost brought up my Co-co Pops in double quick time! So you'd have thought news of the Cameron pregnancy would have met with Ma's approval. Not a chance! "Now CMD is using his wife's uterus to nab a few votes" she snarled. "It's enough to make you vote for Gollum Brown" and for the first time in 50 years Richie I experienced - for a fleeting sec - the warm, tender, loving bond that can exist between a mother and son!
Hey Diddle Diddle They're All On The Fiddle/March 19th 2010
Richie - My Tory-activist mom, who invited herself to stay for Mother's Day, has now prolonged her visit into a second week. A feisty 74 year old member of the blue-rinse brigade she's already upset my next door neighbours by labelling their kids "feral" because they play football in the road, and has also caused a spectacle at the health centre by smoking one of her cigarellos in reception, levelling a torrent of "nanny state" abuse when told to stub it out, even though a number of pensioners with respiratory problems were beginning to faint. Worse was to come. My Thai wife, Mrs Bob No 3, fled the house in tears after being mistaken for a maid. But the air really turned blue this morning, Richie, when at breakfast she opened her beloved Daily Mail only to discover that the red-blooded Littlejohn column had been replaced with The Daily Mash. "It's all Pinko Zanu Cameron's fault" she raged but by this time I was already on my way to the pub for an early morning snifter! Mad here innit!
Richie - My Tory-activist mom, who invited herself to stay for Mother's Day, has now prolonged her visit into a second week. A feisty 74 year old member of the blue-rinse brigade she's already upset my next door neighbours by labelling their kids "feral" because they play football in the road, and has also caused a spectacle at the health centre by smoking one of her cigarellos in reception, levelling a torrent of "nanny state" abuse when told to stub it out, even though a number of pensioners with respiratory problems were beginning to faint. Worse was to come. My Thai wife, Mrs Bob No 3, fled the house in tears after being mistaken for a maid. But the air really turned blue this morning, Richie, when at breakfast she opened her beloved Daily Mail only to discover that the red-blooded Littlejohn column had been replaced with The Daily Mash. "It's all Pinko Zanu Cameron's fault" she raged but by this time I was already on my way to the pub for an early morning snifter! Mad here innit!
Call this a traffic jam minister ? You should get out more often/March 16th 2010
Richie - Friday evening a familiar antique Rover appears and out gets Ma Roberts, 74 year old blue rinse mother to yours truly, who announces she's up from the shires to enjoy a Mother's Day weekend with all the trimmings. Ma Roberts is a dyed in the wool Tory activist of many years standing but it soon becomes apparent that all is not well in her particular Tory coven. Over dinner she tells me: "That wimp Cameron is trying to force on us his own candidate. He wants to install some hippie poppet from London and we're jolly well not having it, I say! I refuse to campaign for the Tories while he's leader!" Later I take her to our village local and she's soon having a knees-up with the regulars. It's then I have the quite brilliant idea to confiscate the election posters in the boot of her car and pulp them to make filler for the pot-holes that have appeared in the roads around our village! And guess what, you can forget tarmacadam, Richie - pulped CMD works a treat! All councils take note, I say!
Richie - Friday evening a familiar antique Rover appears and out gets Ma Roberts, 74 year old blue rinse mother to yours truly, who announces she's up from the shires to enjoy a Mother's Day weekend with all the trimmings. Ma Roberts is a dyed in the wool Tory activist of many years standing but it soon becomes apparent that all is not well in her particular Tory coven. Over dinner she tells me: "That wimp Cameron is trying to force on us his own candidate. He wants to install some hippie poppet from London and we're jolly well not having it, I say! I refuse to campaign for the Tories while he's leader!" Later I take her to our village local and she's soon having a knees-up with the regulars. It's then I have the quite brilliant idea to confiscate the election posters in the boot of her car and pulp them to make filler for the pot-holes that have appeared in the roads around our village! And guess what, you can forget tarmacadam, Richie - pulped CMD works a treat! All councils take note, I say!
I look down on him because.../March 12th 2010
Richie - I was dozing in the comfy chair after my afternoon snifter when I was awoken by the high pitched wail of Mrs Bob No 3's hysterical laughter. "See Wob Boberts!" she said in her quaint Thai accent. "It's fanny man from Only Rules and Forces on tv". 'Only Rules and Forces' is Mrs Bob's endearing way of referring to the classic sitcom "Only Fools and Horses" which, since she arrived in Britain, has met with her gushing approval. I rubbed my spec-less eyes and peered at our 42 inch Sony hd set to see Alan Titchmarch interviewing a rather smarmy looking individual in a dark suit and blue tie. "See Wob - it's Wodney Twotter!" Mrs Bob screamed excitedly. I tried to explain that Titch's guest was in fact Tory leader Dave Cameron. "The difference between the two is plain, my sweet" I explained. "Rodders is a comic creation of genius whereas Dipstick Dave is a troughing Do-Nothing Tory Toff" but she'd already gone off to the kitchen to fry up a tasty snack of poached crickets and bamboo worms. Mad here innit!
Richie - I was dozing in the comfy chair after my afternoon snifter when I was awoken by the high pitched wail of Mrs Bob No 3's hysterical laughter. "See Wob Boberts!" she said in her quaint Thai accent. "It's fanny man from Only Rules and Forces on tv". 'Only Rules and Forces' is Mrs Bob's endearing way of referring to the classic sitcom "Only Fools and Horses" which, since she arrived in Britain, has met with her gushing approval. I rubbed my spec-less eyes and peered at our 42 inch Sony hd set to see Alan Titchmarch interviewing a rather smarmy looking individual in a dark suit and blue tie. "See Wob - it's Wodney Twotter!" Mrs Bob screamed excitedly. I tried to explain that Titch's guest was in fact Tory leader Dave Cameron. "The difference between the two is plain, my sweet" I explained. "Rodders is a comic creation of genius whereas Dipstick Dave is a troughing Do-Nothing Tory Toff" but she'd already gone off to the kitchen to fry up a tasty snack of poached crickets and bamboo worms. Mad here innit!
Hurricanes hardly ever happen in Brum, so why supply a survival guide?/March 9th 2010
Richie - After reading the Bham Resilience Team's survival leaflet it was decided that, in the event of war or natural disaster or - god forbid - a Tory election victory, members of our village would congregate in the pub. Saturday at six o'clock precisely a siren was sounded for an emergency run-through and villagers met in the snug, each person laden with essentials. Mrs Bob No 3 brought bags of her insect-based culinary delights while I wheeled my favourite Parker Knoll from the house. Pole dancer Marcia Braithwaite supplied high-quality satin bedding and Rev Pritchard came armed with his collection of classic MGM musicals. Arthur Groat, 91 year old spoon-playing virtuoso of these parts, and our GP Dr Singh were also in attendance with PS3 and 40 inch Sony hd tv respectively. For comedy value brain-damaged BNP campaigner Mad Mick was evacuated from his forest shed. And what with Big Frank's pub to keep us all in good humour we reckoned we could last til Judgement Day! Mad in UK eh ?
Richie - After reading the Bham Resilience Team's survival leaflet it was decided that, in the event of war or natural disaster or - god forbid - a Tory election victory, members of our village would congregate in the pub. Saturday at six o'clock precisely a siren was sounded for an emergency run-through and villagers met in the snug, each person laden with essentials. Mrs Bob No 3 brought bags of her insect-based culinary delights while I wheeled my favourite Parker Knoll from the house. Pole dancer Marcia Braithwaite supplied high-quality satin bedding and Rev Pritchard came armed with his collection of classic MGM musicals. Arthur Groat, 91 year old spoon-playing virtuoso of these parts, and our GP Dr Singh were also in attendance with PS3 and 40 inch Sony hd tv respectively. For comedy value brain-damaged BNP campaigner Mad Mick was evacuated from his forest shed. And what with Big Frank's pub to keep us all in good humour we reckoned we could last til Judgement Day! Mad in UK eh ?
Good Old Footy? No, a dangerous, deluded hypocrite/March 5th, 2010
Richie - I was scrubbing up a couple of Maris Pipers for dinner when I heard the dull thud of the letter box. There, lying on the carpet like an unwanted turd, was a flyer in support of the BNP. I wiped my hands on my pinnie and opened the front door just in time to see an overweight middle-aged skinhead leaving our front gate. "Can I have a word ?" Well, our exchange lasted for several minutes. "Vote for us and we'll send the filthy scum back to where they came from" he said with a chuckle, a nod and a wink. "Me and the lads'll make sure of it!" It was at this point I was reminded of the late Michael Foot who warned against appeasement with Hitler only to be ignored by the Britsh Right who continued to cheer on Adolf in Spain. So, I gave my BNP chum a bag of Mrs Bob's extra-strong chilli treats before sending him on his way. Last I heard the lard-brain was cooling off his rear hooter in the village duck pond and crying out for Dr Singh to ease his pain. Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Richie - I was scrubbing up a couple of Maris Pipers for dinner when I heard the dull thud of the letter box. There, lying on the carpet like an unwanted turd, was a flyer in support of the BNP. I wiped my hands on my pinnie and opened the front door just in time to see an overweight middle-aged skinhead leaving our front gate. "Can I have a word ?" Well, our exchange lasted for several minutes. "Vote for us and we'll send the filthy scum back to where they came from" he said with a chuckle, a nod and a wink. "Me and the lads'll make sure of it!" It was at this point I was reminded of the late Michael Foot who warned against appeasement with Hitler only to be ignored by the Britsh Right who continued to cheer on Adolf in Spain. So, I gave my BNP chum a bag of Mrs Bob's extra-strong chilli treats before sending him on his way. Last I heard the lard-brain was cooling off his rear hooter in the village duck pond and crying out for Dr Singh to ease his pain. Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Brown's Britain in 2015 and even the Queen has fled/March 2nd, 2010
Richie - Back here in the real world, the second pre-General Election knees-up took place in our village pub with those two comedy fruitcakes Nutty Nigel Farage and Cheeky Chappie Nick Griffin providing the night's theme. Well, what fun we had! Dr Singh gave a suberb impersonation of the UKIP leader's lunatic rant at the EU last week and was so convincing he was roundly booed by regulars in the snug amid cries of "Shame! Shame!" and "You make us feel embarassed to be British, you dipstick Farage!" Then Mad Mick, the village idiot and BNP devotee, offered laughs all round by doing a number of funny walks to and from the bar in imitation of his hero. Such was the level of hilarity that Mrs Bob No 3 got a pork scratching stuck in her throat but was rescued by Frank the landlord who performed ze "Himmler Manouver". Thankfully wifey was well enough to sing the night to a close with a rousing version of Anarchy In The UK complete with sitar and gong chime accompaniment. Chins up, voters!
Richie - Back here in the real world, the second pre-General Election knees-up took place in our village pub with those two comedy fruitcakes Nutty Nigel Farage and Cheeky Chappie Nick Griffin providing the night's theme. Well, what fun we had! Dr Singh gave a suberb impersonation of the UKIP leader's lunatic rant at the EU last week and was so convincing he was roundly booed by regulars in the snug amid cries of "Shame! Shame!" and "You make us feel embarassed to be British, you dipstick Farage!" Then Mad Mick, the village idiot and BNP devotee, offered laughs all round by doing a number of funny walks to and from the bar in imitation of his hero. Such was the level of hilarity that Mrs Bob No 3 got a pork scratching stuck in her throat but was rescued by Frank the landlord who performed ze "Himmler Manouver". Thankfully wifey was well enough to sing the night to a close with a rousing version of Anarchy In The UK complete with sitar and gong chime accompaniment. Chins up, voters!
'If you've been called a Scottish sociopath, please press three...'/February 22nd 2010
Richie - Our pub landlord, Big Frank, a former hard nut in the BNP now converted to green issues and saving bunny wabbits from the lab, held the first General Election knees-up over the weekend. Titled Dave Cameron Night regulars were asked to turn up as the Tory leader. And what fun we had! Arthur Groat, octogenarian spoon-playing virtuoso of these parts, arrived in Bullingdon top hat and tales, while our happy-clappy Reverend affected a cut glass Eton accent and sang the boat song. Marcia Braithwaite, from the am-dram group, showed off her dart skills, while Big Frank sank seven pints of guinness then collapsed in a heap and watched Sky plus in a daze! To finish off, we all called the National Bullying Helpline and sobbed that the PM had beat up the country for 13 yrs by giving out generous fuel allowances, a minimum wage and, even worse, saved the economy from collapse. The night ended wth us chasing Mrs Bob No 3, who was dressed as a fox, into the forest. Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Richie - Our pub landlord, Big Frank, a former hard nut in the BNP now converted to green issues and saving bunny wabbits from the lab, held the first General Election knees-up over the weekend. Titled Dave Cameron Night regulars were asked to turn up as the Tory leader. And what fun we had! Arthur Groat, octogenarian spoon-playing virtuoso of these parts, arrived in Bullingdon top hat and tales, while our happy-clappy Reverend affected a cut glass Eton accent and sang the boat song. Marcia Braithwaite, from the am-dram group, showed off her dart skills, while Big Frank sank seven pints of guinness then collapsed in a heap and watched Sky plus in a daze! To finish off, we all called the National Bullying Helpline and sobbed that the PM had beat up the country for 13 yrs by giving out generous fuel allowances, a minimum wage and, even worse, saved the economy from collapse. The night ended wth us chasing Mrs Bob No 3, who was dressed as a fox, into the forest. Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Man the pedaloes, chaps, we're off to save the Falklands/February 19th 2010
Richie - The landlord of our village pub Big Frank, a former BNP-supporter now reborn as a tree-hugging climate-change activist, has seen his trade improve seventy per cent after introducing a number of innovative ideas. His Food of the World pub grub has been a big hit, so too his Womad-style karaoke nights during which locals warble along to their favourite song by Himalayan Yak farmers and Amazonian frog impersonators. But with the election nearing, Frank has come up with a tip-top idea, namely Dave Cameron Night. Locals will be invited to sit in the snug and imitate the Tory leader by drinking seven or eight pints of Guinness and playing darts whilst speaking in a cut-class Etonian accent. Future events include William Hague night (punters sink sixteen pints of bitter whilst wearing a silly baseball cap and speaking in a thick Yorkshire accent), and Nick Griffin Night, during which a competition will be held for best "funny walk" to the bar. Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Richie - The landlord of our village pub Big Frank, a former BNP-supporter now reborn as a tree-hugging climate-change activist, has seen his trade improve seventy per cent after introducing a number of innovative ideas. His Food of the World pub grub has been a big hit, so too his Womad-style karaoke nights during which locals warble along to their favourite song by Himalayan Yak farmers and Amazonian frog impersonators. But with the election nearing, Frank has come up with a tip-top idea, namely Dave Cameron Night. Locals will be invited to sit in the snug and imitate the Tory leader by drinking seven or eight pints of Guinness and playing darts whilst speaking in a cut-class Etonian accent. Future events include William Hague night (punters sink sixteen pints of bitter whilst wearing a silly baseball cap and speaking in a thick Yorkshire accent), and Nick Griffin Night, during which a competition will be held for best "funny walk" to the bar. Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Why not give Essma a Harrods account as well as a £2m mansion?/February 15th 2010
Richie - After renouncing his support for the BNP Big Frank, our village landlord, has seen his profits soar as his Foods of the World pub grub continues to be a hit. Monday is Polish, Tuesday is Somali, Wednesday is Balti, Thursday is Romanian gypsy and Friday is Thai, when Mrs Bob No 3 conjures up her insect-based culinary delights. To tell the truth Big Frank is now becoming a bit of a tree-hugger. Gone are the Dr Marten cherry reds, braces and Ben Sherman shirts. With his beard, pony-tail, Clark's sandals and bell-bottomed jeans, Frank looks more like a pre-1970 member of Led Zep than one of Cheeky Nick Griffin's Barmy Engurland Army. And no longer does Frank read out your column in the snug with the same gusto. Commenting on today's article he said: "Peace and love to Tory-run Westminster Council for keeping Essma off the streets, dudes." In fact, Big Frank has veered so far to the Left that he's threatening to vote for Wisteria Dave's Troughing NooTories! Mad in GB's UK innit!
Richie - After renouncing his support for the BNP Big Frank, our village landlord, has seen his profits soar as his Foods of the World pub grub continues to be a hit. Monday is Polish, Tuesday is Somali, Wednesday is Balti, Thursday is Romanian gypsy and Friday is Thai, when Mrs Bob No 3 conjures up her insect-based culinary delights. To tell the truth Big Frank is now becoming a bit of a tree-hugger. Gone are the Dr Marten cherry reds, braces and Ben Sherman shirts. With his beard, pony-tail, Clark's sandals and bell-bottomed jeans, Frank looks more like a pre-1970 member of Led Zep than one of Cheeky Nick Griffin's Barmy Engurland Army. And no longer does Frank read out your column in the snug with the same gusto. Commenting on today's article he said: "Peace and love to Tory-run Westminster Council for keeping Essma off the streets, dudes." In fact, Big Frank has veered so far to the Left that he's threatening to vote for Wisteria Dave's Troughing NooTories! Mad in GB's UK innit!
How should we grill terrorists - with a cuddle and a cup of tea?/February 12th 2010
Richie - I was in the snug enjoying a pre-luch snifter or three when Big Frank, our BNP-leaning landlord, read out your column. "Richie's bang on the money today" he said. "Immigrant scum like Binman should be put against a wall." Just then Frank received a phone call from his supplier saying that his monthly van load of gastro pub food had been cancelled because they'd gone to the wall. Well, you can imagine the drama! Frank went all of a blubber and said that it was only hot food that was keeping the pub going. "Me, Louise and the kids will be aht on the street!" he wailed. Thankfully my dear Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3 came to the rescue and knocked up a bucket of green curry served on a bed of poached crickets and bamboo worms. Frank's takings have gone through the roof and to show his appreciation he's taking advantage of Labour's mad licencing laws and treating us to a free all-night bender! What's more he's now all in favour of an open-door immigration policy! Mad in GB's UK innit!
Richie - I was in the snug enjoying a pre-luch snifter or three when Big Frank, our BNP-leaning landlord, read out your column. "Richie's bang on the money today" he said. "Immigrant scum like Binman should be put against a wall." Just then Frank received a phone call from his supplier saying that his monthly van load of gastro pub food had been cancelled because they'd gone to the wall. Well, you can imagine the drama! Frank went all of a blubber and said that it was only hot food that was keeping the pub going. "Me, Louise and the kids will be aht on the street!" he wailed. Thankfully my dear Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3 came to the rescue and knocked up a bucket of green curry served on a bed of poached crickets and bamboo worms. Frank's takings have gone through the roof and to show his appreciation he's taking advantage of Labour's mad licencing laws and treating us to a free all-night bender! What's more he's now all in favour of an open-door immigration policy! Mad in GB's UK innit!
These TV debates can only end in tears/February 9th 2010
Richie - Like most upstanding DM readers Mrs Bob No 3 and I enjoy perusing your frisky column over breakfast. However, since I was ordered to give up my full English, on account of high cholesterol levels, my morning meal has lacked excitement, the dry museli and monkey nuts prescribed by my NHS health worker a sad substitute for bacon, egg and bangers. So, Mrs Bob has kindly been importing exotic food packages from her native Thailand and sprinkling the strange treats into my bowl. Well, feeding time has been transformed! The tasty morsels have given me a new flush of youth. And my health regime, which includes running to the snug of the village local every day, has been a great success. But imagine my shock when I discovered that brekkie now consists of dried crispy insects - delicacies in that part of the world! As you can imagine, I'm keeping a stiff upper lip and last night won the pub karaoke with a rousing version of The Beatles' Let It Bee. Mad here innit!
Richie - Like most upstanding DM readers Mrs Bob No 3 and I enjoy perusing your frisky column over breakfast. However, since I was ordered to give up my full English, on account of high cholesterol levels, my morning meal has lacked excitement, the dry museli and monkey nuts prescribed by my NHS health worker a sad substitute for bacon, egg and bangers. So, Mrs Bob has kindly been importing exotic food packages from her native Thailand and sprinkling the strange treats into my bowl. Well, feeding time has been transformed! The tasty morsels have given me a new flush of youth. And my health regime, which includes running to the snug of the village local every day, has been a great success. But imagine my shock when I discovered that brekkie now consists of dried crispy insects - delicacies in that part of the world! As you can imagine, I'm keeping a stiff upper lip and last night won the pub karaoke with a rousing version of The Beatles' Let It Bee. Mad here innit!
They tried to kill it off, but this horror show will run and run/February 5th 2010.
Richie - Last night was the premiere of the operatic society's version of The Mikado with Mrs Bob No 3 playing the lead. In the name of "art" the action was set in the Gorbals but unfortunately things didn't go to plan. Disaster struck in Act 1 when Mrs Bob hit the high note of Three Little Maids (re-christened Three Little Knuckledusters in keeping with the Glaswegian theme). Her high-pitched shreik exploded a bulb, which in turn severed a supporting rope and collapsed the set, revealing the rotund form of Marcia Braithwaite (who was changing between scenes) in just knickers and suspenders. Rev. Pritchard rushed onto the stage in an attempt to conceal her modesty but lo and behold his skirts snagged on a nail, de-frocking his Simpsons boxer shorts and exposing his tiny parsonage for all to see. Of course a Tory dignitary blamed the whole affair on the immoral Zanu-Pol-Pottist Labour government but by this time I'd already escaped to the snug for a snifter or three! Chin up, I say!
Richie - Last night was the premiere of the operatic society's version of The Mikado with Mrs Bob No 3 playing the lead. In the name of "art" the action was set in the Gorbals but unfortunately things didn't go to plan. Disaster struck in Act 1 when Mrs Bob hit the high note of Three Little Maids (re-christened Three Little Knuckledusters in keeping with the Glaswegian theme). Her high-pitched shreik exploded a bulb, which in turn severed a supporting rope and collapsed the set, revealing the rotund form of Marcia Braithwaite (who was changing between scenes) in just knickers and suspenders. Rev. Pritchard rushed onto the stage in an attempt to conceal her modesty but lo and behold his skirts snagged on a nail, de-frocking his Simpsons boxer shorts and exposing his tiny parsonage for all to see. Of course a Tory dignitary blamed the whole affair on the immoral Zanu-Pol-Pottist Labour government but by this time I'd already escaped to the snug for a snifter or three! Chin up, I say!
Spy planes should target terrorists, not tractor thieves/February 2nd 2010
Richie - A spy-plane might have prevented a disturbing incident in our village. Mad Mick, the village pub's toilet cleaner, who has been brain-damaged since birth and lives in a shed on the edge of the forest, was apprehended over the weeked after a major terror alert. It seems that Mick fell under the spell of the extreme Right Wing and his shed became a shrine to cheeky chappie Nick Griffin. But after an explosion on Saturday it transpired that the shed was in fact a bomb factory, Mick believing that Britain was on the verge of civil war. It seems that two frisky squirrels gained entry and their amorous behaviour caused enough friction to ignite a quantity of gunpowder. A ragged and bemused Mick was arrested while ten thousand posters of his idol, which were being stored for the general election, fell, confetti-like, into the village duck pond, scaring many local children in the process. The posters have now been pulped and turned into paper logs for the unemployed. Mad in GB's UK!
Richie - A spy-plane might have prevented a disturbing incident in our village. Mad Mick, the village pub's toilet cleaner, who has been brain-damaged since birth and lives in a shed on the edge of the forest, was apprehended over the weeked after a major terror alert. It seems that Mick fell under the spell of the extreme Right Wing and his shed became a shrine to cheeky chappie Nick Griffin. But after an explosion on Saturday it transpired that the shed was in fact a bomb factory, Mick believing that Britain was on the verge of civil war. It seems that two frisky squirrels gained entry and their amorous behaviour caused enough friction to ignite a quantity of gunpowder. A ragged and bemused Mick was arrested while ten thousand posters of his idol, which were being stored for the general election, fell, confetti-like, into the village duck pond, scaring many local children in the process. The posters have now been pulped and turned into paper logs for the unemployed. Mad in GB's UK!
A decent man may be free - but justice still hasn't been done/January 21st 2010
Richie - We were in the village snug celebrating Aston Villa's glorious victory in the League Cup semi final (and being serenaded by Mrs Bob No 3's high pitched rendition of "Surrey With A Fringe On Top" - or "Worry With A Fridge Ontop" as it sounds in that quaint Thai accent of hers) when I was suddenly overcome by a yearning to bring a little sunshine into these dark times we live in. So, that night, I travelled into the city centre and defaced a number of those awful billboards carrying the face of Call-Me-Dave, drawing comedy specs and a little moustache on his snakeoil-salesman features. What joy the following day, as I drove Mrs Bob No 3 to her hair stylist, to see the sparkle and laughter on schoolchildren's faces as they giggled at my handywork! But Mrs Bob was not amused. "Who do those bad things to nice poster of Dr Who!" she grumbled, shaking her head, and when I tried to explain burst into a rendition of "White Riot" by The Clash. Mad in NuLabour's Britain, innit!
Richie - We were in the village snug celebrating Aston Villa's glorious victory in the League Cup semi final (and being serenaded by Mrs Bob No 3's high pitched rendition of "Surrey With A Fringe On Top" - or "Worry With A Fridge Ontop" as it sounds in that quaint Thai accent of hers) when I was suddenly overcome by a yearning to bring a little sunshine into these dark times we live in. So, that night, I travelled into the city centre and defaced a number of those awful billboards carrying the face of Call-Me-Dave, drawing comedy specs and a little moustache on his snakeoil-salesman features. What joy the following day, as I drove Mrs Bob No 3 to her hair stylist, to see the sparkle and laughter on schoolchildren's faces as they giggled at my handywork! But Mrs Bob was not amused. "Who do those bad things to nice poster of Dr Who!" she grumbled, shaking her head, and when I tried to explain burst into a rendition of "White Riot" by The Clash. Mad in NuLabour's Britain, innit!
When it comes to asylum, the lunatics really have taken over/January 19th 2010
Richie - I was busy wrapping Mrs Bob No 3's birthday present (a new Dyson ball-controlled vacuum cleaner) when I heard noises emanating from the direction of the village duck pond. I put on my safety gear and approached the area with caution. Imagine my horror when I saw two glowing figures who looked as if they had been infected with radiation! They were, in fact, illegal immigrants scraping the pond for nutrition to add to the discarded bread they'd discovered in a bin. Politely refusing their offer of a plankton sandwich I took them to the village church where our happy-clappy vicar gave them fresh clothes and a warm meal. It seems they were fundamentalists and had travelled to the UK from remotest Afghanistan, hiding themselves in a shipment of tumeric. However, after being assessed by the authorities the men were officially described as delusional as they said they hoped to join Call-Me-Dave's NooTories and re-introduce strict family values to Broken Britain Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Richie - I was busy wrapping Mrs Bob No 3's birthday present (a new Dyson ball-controlled vacuum cleaner) when I heard noises emanating from the direction of the village duck pond. I put on my safety gear and approached the area with caution. Imagine my horror when I saw two glowing figures who looked as if they had been infected with radiation! They were, in fact, illegal immigrants scraping the pond for nutrition to add to the discarded bread they'd discovered in a bin. Politely refusing their offer of a plankton sandwich I took them to the village church where our happy-clappy vicar gave them fresh clothes and a warm meal. It seems they were fundamentalists and had travelled to the UK from remotest Afghanistan, hiding themselves in a shipment of tumeric. However, after being assessed by the authorities the men were officially described as delusional as they said they hoped to join Call-Me-Dave's NooTories and re-introduce strict family values to Broken Britain Mad in GB's UK, innit!
The taxman should be cracking down on MPs - not Dr Finlay/January 15th 2010
Richie - I was polishing the rocker-valves on the XJ6 when Mrs Roberts No 3 came running out of the house proclaiming dire news and waving one of the many hundreds of womens fashion magazines that she subscribes to. At first I thought her distress was the result of the terrible news from Haiti but I was mistaken. She had just learned of the Tasmanian sperm shortage and, with cousins and nephews in that part of the world, wanted to do something to help alleviate the suffering. "Wob Boberts, do your duty!" she implored in that quaint Thai accent of hers. So, for the rest of the afternoon, I did my best to extract some succour and comfort for those people, the results of my labours kept safely in a phial and fast-tracked across the world. This was done with help from my mild-mannered NHS GP, Dr Singh who refused cash and also my offer of dinner because he was picking up his brand new Aston Martin that very afternoon. Good to see some professions retain their integrity in GBs UK, I say!
Richie - I was polishing the rocker-valves on the XJ6 when Mrs Roberts No 3 came running out of the house proclaiming dire news and waving one of the many hundreds of womens fashion magazines that she subscribes to. At first I thought her distress was the result of the terrible news from Haiti but I was mistaken. She had just learned of the Tasmanian sperm shortage and, with cousins and nephews in that part of the world, wanted to do something to help alleviate the suffering. "Wob Boberts, do your duty!" she implored in that quaint Thai accent of hers. So, for the rest of the afternoon, I did my best to extract some succour and comfort for those people, the results of my labours kept safely in a phial and fast-tracked across the world. This was done with help from my mild-mannered NHS GP, Dr Singh who refused cash and also my offer of dinner because he was picking up his brand new Aston Martin that very afternoon. Good to see some professions retain their integrity in GBs UK, I say!
Come on, Myleene, put that knife down!/January 12th 2010
Richie - I was shuffling to my comfy chair after breakfast on Sunday when Mrs Roberts No 3 commanded me to take her to church. She has developed a rather unhealthy interest in the C of E of late and especially Archbishop Williams whose heavenly vowels and Worzel Gummage appearance send her, for some strange reason, into a schoolgirl swoon. Eventually I agreed on condition that we'd escape in good time for a snifter or three in the pub. Surprise surprise, church was fun! Our happy clappy Reverend put on a first class show that included a communal karaoke of U2 hits, lasers, dry ice, and touchy-feely hugs and kisses all round. The only blemish was when his calls for universal love drew the wrath of a few Tory Turnips sitting at the back. "It's our yuman right to kill, maim and injure on private property" they yelled. Despite this the good Rev. joined us in the snug and was last seen lifting his skirts doing the can-can after two halves of bitter shandy! Mad in GBs UK innit!
Richie - I was shuffling to my comfy chair after breakfast on Sunday when Mrs Roberts No 3 commanded me to take her to church. She has developed a rather unhealthy interest in the C of E of late and especially Archbishop Williams whose heavenly vowels and Worzel Gummage appearance send her, for some strange reason, into a schoolgirl swoon. Eventually I agreed on condition that we'd escape in good time for a snifter or three in the pub. Surprise surprise, church was fun! Our happy clappy Reverend put on a first class show that included a communal karaoke of U2 hits, lasers, dry ice, and touchy-feely hugs and kisses all round. The only blemish was when his calls for universal love drew the wrath of a few Tory Turnips sitting at the back. "It's our yuman right to kill, maim and injure on private property" they yelled. Despite this the good Rev. joined us in the snug and was last seen lifting his skirts doing the can-can after two halves of bitter shandy! Mad in GBs UK innit!
Mandelson to run the Jubilee? God save the Queen!/January 8th 2010
Richie - At a recent meeting in the snug of our local it was decided that a party will be held on the village green to celebrate Her Madge's Jubilee. Chairing the meeting was a well known member of the aristocracy and prominent Tory Turnip of these parts Lord Barking-Tulley. The local hunt, he suggested, would take pride of place in the festivities and demonstrate their art by chasing down the chavs from the nearby estate. The vegetable grower's association has volunteered to lay on an exhibition of their prize produce, the veg reared in poly-tunnels and nurtured by recordings of Littlejohn's columns. Highlight of the day will be the unveiling of the cryogenically-preserved body of Lord Barking-Tulley senior whose dying wish was to be re-heated when "the natural order of things have been restored". I believe talks are already underway to cast the re-enlivened Lord as Danny in the operatic society's anniversary production of Grease with Mrs Bob No 3 as Sandy. Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Richie - At a recent meeting in the snug of our local it was decided that a party will be held on the village green to celebrate Her Madge's Jubilee. Chairing the meeting was a well known member of the aristocracy and prominent Tory Turnip of these parts Lord Barking-Tulley. The local hunt, he suggested, would take pride of place in the festivities and demonstrate their art by chasing down the chavs from the nearby estate. The vegetable grower's association has volunteered to lay on an exhibition of their prize produce, the veg reared in poly-tunnels and nurtured by recordings of Littlejohn's columns. Highlight of the day will be the unveiling of the cryogenically-preserved body of Lord Barking-Tulley senior whose dying wish was to be re-heated when "the natural order of things have been restored". I believe talks are already underway to cast the re-enlivened Lord as Danny in the operatic society's anniversary production of Grease with Mrs Bob No 3 as Sandy. Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Five more months of this nonsense! Wake me up when it's over/January 5th 2010
Richie - I've just returned from my annual January check-up. After poking my flabby corsage Dr Singh, my usually mild-mannered GP, snorted: ‘You're overweight, Mr Bob - too pale and boggy-eyed. What’s more, there are signs that your alcohol consumption is affecting your central nervous system. So, no more fry ups, no more fish and chips, and definitely no more beer and whiskey. From now on, salad and fruit juice. Can you manage that ?’
‘Er, not likely’ I chirruped.
‘I thought as much. So, I’m referring you to our dietician, Mrs Breakwell. She'll put you on a rigorous course of exercise and help you get back into shape.'
In reception I spied the redoubtable Mrs Breakwell. A muscular, sumo-sized woman she was berating a pensioner for not eating his greens. She turned to me and boomed: ‘Roberts - get your sad backside over here!’ causing me to sprint, Usain Bolt-like, out of the surgery three miles to the pub - the most exercise I've had in years! Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Richie - I've just returned from my annual January check-up. After poking my flabby corsage Dr Singh, my usually mild-mannered GP, snorted: ‘You're overweight, Mr Bob - too pale and boggy-eyed. What’s more, there are signs that your alcohol consumption is affecting your central nervous system. So, no more fry ups, no more fish and chips, and definitely no more beer and whiskey. From now on, salad and fruit juice. Can you manage that ?’
‘Er, not likely’ I chirruped.
‘I thought as much. So, I’m referring you to our dietician, Mrs Breakwell. She'll put you on a rigorous course of exercise and help you get back into shape.'
In reception I spied the redoubtable Mrs Breakwell. A muscular, sumo-sized woman she was berating a pensioner for not eating his greens. She turned to me and boomed: ‘Roberts - get your sad backside over here!’ causing me to sprint, Usain Bolt-like, out of the surgery three miles to the pub - the most exercise I've had in years! Mad in GB's UK, innit!
Stable door security panic hands victory to the bad guys/December 30th 2009
Richie - My Thai mother-in-law caused all manner of havoc on her arrival in the UK for her first ever Xmas visit. Her brass finger-cymbals, which she uses when performing traditional Thai folk songs, set off the airport metal detector whereupon a small army of the country's anti-terror police swung into action. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, her cymbals were not confiscated on grounds of national security and the snug in our village local echoed to her high-pitched wailing for much of the festive season. She went down a storm and has even formed a double-act with 91 year old Arthur Groat, spoon-playing virtuoso of these parts, their version of The Jam's Eton Rifles being particularly well received. Last I heard they'd shacked up together and applied to audition for next year's X-Factor. It all proved too much for yours truly and I spent Xmas curled up on the back seat of my Jag with a bottle of single malt. Mad in New Labour's Britain, innit!
Richie - My Thai mother-in-law caused all manner of havoc on her arrival in the UK for her first ever Xmas visit. Her brass finger-cymbals, which she uses when performing traditional Thai folk songs, set off the airport metal detector whereupon a small army of the country's anti-terror police swung into action. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, her cymbals were not confiscated on grounds of national security and the snug in our village local echoed to her high-pitched wailing for much of the festive season. She went down a storm and has even formed a double-act with 91 year old Arthur Groat, spoon-playing virtuoso of these parts, their version of The Jam's Eton Rifles being particularly well received. Last I heard they'd shacked up together and applied to audition for next year's X-Factor. It all proved too much for yours truly and I spent Xmas curled up on the back seat of my Jag with a bottle of single malt. Mad in New Labour's Britain, innit!
Father Christmas? Sorry, officer, I thought he was a burglar!/December 21st 2009
Richie - Only the other night there was a rather unsavoury incident in our village involving a shady character with a beard dressed in a red costume. Mrs Roberts No 3 and I had just retired to bed when we heard shouting from the village square. I dressed, rolled up my copy of the DM as a defensive weapon and ran to offer assistance pronto. I discovered our local landlord standing over the inebriated, spreadeagled figure of a prominent member of the aristocracy who had tried to break in to the pub. The bearded aristo cut a forlorn figure, dressed as he was in a red basque, red stockings and red Jimmy Choos. It seems that his eminence had attended a racy Xmas party and was keen to secure a nightcap! "It's all Stalinist NuLabour's fault" said the landlord. "See what our great aristocracy has been reduced to after 12 years of Gordon McMugabe's Marxist rabble!" We then took advantage of Labour's loony 24 hour licensing laws and had a late night snifter! Mad in NuLabour's Britain innit!
Richie - Only the other night there was a rather unsavoury incident in our village involving a shady character with a beard dressed in a red costume. Mrs Roberts No 3 and I had just retired to bed when we heard shouting from the village square. I dressed, rolled up my copy of the DM as a defensive weapon and ran to offer assistance pronto. I discovered our local landlord standing over the inebriated, spreadeagled figure of a prominent member of the aristocracy who had tried to break in to the pub. The bearded aristo cut a forlorn figure, dressed as he was in a red basque, red stockings and red Jimmy Choos. It seems that his eminence had attended a racy Xmas party and was keen to secure a nightcap! "It's all Stalinist NuLabour's fault" said the landlord. "See what our great aristocracy has been reduced to after 12 years of Gordon McMugabe's Marxist rabble!" We then took advantage of Labour's loony 24 hour licensing laws and had a late night snifter! Mad in NuLabour's Britain innit!
Pouring your teenage daughter a spritzer won't make her a wino/December 18th 2009
Richie - I was rudely woken from my post-breakfast slumbers by the shrill electric-band-saw vocals of Mrs Roberts No 3 and her friends from the village operatic society who were busy rehearsing a new production of "The Mikado" set in the Gorbals. Needless to say, I decided to get out of the house pronto and ambled down to the village local for a pre-lunch snifter or three. Lo and behold the landlord, a prominent Tory Turnip of these parts, was reading your column out loud to the regulars in the snug. "It's all ZanuNuLabour's fault" he seethed. "Britain is now a Stalinist-Mugabeeist state filled with benefit scroungers and hooded vermin! How dare Gordon McClown and his Marxist rabble ban our daughters from drinking alcohol at Christmas" I tried to explain that our esteemed Prime Minister had not banned anything of the sort. But it was no use and the last I heard he was driving up to London with his shotgun to "reclaim England before it withers and dies" Mad in NuLabour's Britain, innit!
Richie - I was rudely woken from my post-breakfast slumbers by the shrill electric-band-saw vocals of Mrs Roberts No 3 and her friends from the village operatic society who were busy rehearsing a new production of "The Mikado" set in the Gorbals. Needless to say, I decided to get out of the house pronto and ambled down to the village local for a pre-lunch snifter or three. Lo and behold the landlord, a prominent Tory Turnip of these parts, was reading your column out loud to the regulars in the snug. "It's all ZanuNuLabour's fault" he seethed. "Britain is now a Stalinist-Mugabeeist state filled with benefit scroungers and hooded vermin! How dare Gordon McClown and his Marxist rabble ban our daughters from drinking alcohol at Christmas" I tried to explain that our esteemed Prime Minister had not banned anything of the sort. But it was no use and the last I heard he was driving up to London with his shotgun to "reclaim England before it withers and dies" Mad in NuLabour's Britain, innit!
Never mind racist sheep, beware of werewolves/December 15th 2009
Well Richie - there I was dozing over the morning papers at breakfast when Mrs Roberts No 3 suddenly burst into a peal of high-pitched laughter and woke me up! "Littlwon - he so fanny" she said in that quaint Thai accent of hers before pointing out that I'd never taken her to Dartmoor or any of our great national parks. "Take me to see the wacist weep, Wob Boberts" she implored. I tried to explain that "wacist weep" were a construct of Lord Littlewon's lively satirical imagination and that anyway there were no shopping malls or jewellery boutiques on Dartmoor where she could run riot with my credit cards. This seemed to do the trick and the subject was dropped. But, thanks to your column, I've noted the existence of "community champions" and will pack Mrs R No 3 off on a guided tour of Dartmoor sometime in the future - all at taxpayer's expense - while I stay at home and get some much-needed shut-eye! Mad in New Liebour's Britain, innit!
Well Richie - there I was dozing over the morning papers at breakfast when Mrs Roberts No 3 suddenly burst into a peal of high-pitched laughter and woke me up! "Littlwon - he so fanny" she said in that quaint Thai accent of hers before pointing out that I'd never taken her to Dartmoor or any of our great national parks. "Take me to see the wacist weep, Wob Boberts" she implored. I tried to explain that "wacist weep" were a construct of Lord Littlewon's lively satirical imagination and that anyway there were no shopping malls or jewellery boutiques on Dartmoor where she could run riot with my credit cards. This seemed to do the trick and the subject was dropped. But, thanks to your column, I've noted the existence of "community champions" and will pack Mrs R No 3 off on a guided tour of Dartmoor sometime in the future - all at taxpayer's expense - while I stay at home and get some much-needed shut-eye! Mad in New Liebour's Britain, innit!
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