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!
Monday
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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