It's Lord Stratchclyde or Kevin Costner... Taste the Difference/January 25th 2011
Richie - Saturday afternoon we piles into the XJ6 - me, Bunty, Arthur Groat and Chopper - and heads towards Villa Park for the big evening clash with Man Citeh. All in high spirits as you can imagine singing songs about Villa's new prospective forward line Young, Bent and Keane! We have a snifter or three in the Witton Arms and then sign in to the hospitality suite for cocktail snifters and club sarnies all round. Well tanked up and fed we find our seats only to discover horror of all horrors that we're surrounded on all sides by members of the female persuasion! I mean, Rich, what is the world coming to ? Women attending footy matches! Next thing you know the blighters will be after jobs and the vote! No matter. All was forgiven when our new hero slotted home the winner. "We are Villa and we are Bent!" we sang while the girlies clapped and shouted "Ra-Ra-Ra" and "Well Done" and ate organic Ryveta crispbread with Philadelphia spread...shouldn't be allowed in a civilised country I say!
Tuesday
Friday
What kind of dinner parties do you go to, Baroness?/January 21st 2011
Richie - In order to test the odious Baroness Warsi's theories about British dinner table natter, old Wob Boberts donned a hijab and black cloak-cum-dress (appropriated from our very own Reverand Pritchard's collection of clergical haute couture) and gatecrashed a few local dinner parties, passing myself off as an Afghani asylum-seeker named Brenda from Milton Keynes. First stop was Arthur Groat's annual "we hates veg" dinner for local farm labourers but all chat was replaced by grunts and burps as ten hefty navvies munched their way through pigs trotters and boiled sheep intestines. Next up was Dr Singh's oriental family finger buffet but this was cut short when the Doc's brother cornered me and interfered with my falsies. Last, I managed to sneak in to a champagne knees-up organised by the local Tory coven and I must say I was shocked by the foaming vitriol directed at the "outsiders" who they said were distorting cherished Brit values - namely the Cameroons and the pinko LibDems!
Richie - In order to test the odious Baroness Warsi's theories about British dinner table natter, old Wob Boberts donned a hijab and black cloak-cum-dress (appropriated from our very own Reverand Pritchard's collection of clergical haute couture) and gatecrashed a few local dinner parties, passing myself off as an Afghani asylum-seeker named Brenda from Milton Keynes. First stop was Arthur Groat's annual "we hates veg" dinner for local farm labourers but all chat was replaced by grunts and burps as ten hefty navvies munched their way through pigs trotters and boiled sheep intestines. Next up was Dr Singh's oriental family finger buffet but this was cut short when the Doc's brother cornered me and interfered with my falsies. Last, I managed to sneak in to a champagne knees-up organised by the local Tory coven and I must say I was shocked by the foaming vitriol directed at the "outsiders" who they said were distorting cherished Brit values - namely the Cameroons and the pinko LibDems!
Tuesday
Titter ye not, it's an Inconvenient Sooth/January 18th 2011.
Richie - It was a lazy Monday afternoon in the snug when Arthur Groat suggested we all have a wager on the content of your forthcoming column. Dr Singh said it was a dead cert that you'd at last tackle the Coulsen affair while old Arthur said Cameron's loopy ideas for "reforming" - or privatising - the NHS would be top of your agenda. Marcia Braithwaite went with bins and Gordon Brown and our landlady Frances (formerly Big Frank, BNP hardnut) suggested you'd give Blair a good kicking. Finally, I wagered that you'd devote your column to the gay and straight Worcester art students who got married as part of their degree project. Satisfied with our choices we all put a fiver in the kitty and returned to our snifters. However, my precocious 10 year old grandson Bob Roberts jnr demanded that he join in the fun too and wagered all his pocket money that you'd write an incoherent mess incorporating climate change, ancient Rome and Frankie Howerd. How we all laughed Rich! How we all laughed..
Richie - It was a lazy Monday afternoon in the snug when Arthur Groat suggested we all have a wager on the content of your forthcoming column. Dr Singh said it was a dead cert that you'd at last tackle the Coulsen affair while old Arthur said Cameron's loopy ideas for "reforming" - or privatising - the NHS would be top of your agenda. Marcia Braithwaite went with bins and Gordon Brown and our landlady Frances (formerly Big Frank, BNP hardnut) suggested you'd give Blair a good kicking. Finally, I wagered that you'd devote your column to the gay and straight Worcester art students who got married as part of their degree project. Satisfied with our choices we all put a fiver in the kitty and returned to our snifters. However, my precocious 10 year old grandson Bob Roberts jnr demanded that he join in the fun too and wagered all his pocket money that you'd write an incoherent mess incorporating climate change, ancient Rome and Frankie Howerd. How we all laughed Rich! How we all laughed..
Friday
MPs on reality TV? We've got a word for that, haven't we children!/January 14th 2011.
Richie - My precocious 10 year old grandson Bob Roberts jnr is staying with us and, as an aspiring politician who already has his beady little eye set on becoming Labour PM by the time he's 40, I've arranged for all the national newspapers to be delivered each morning so as to encourage him to read the best cutting edge political commentators of the day. I've also suggested that he read your column too, Richie, but I'm afraid he hasn't been impressed. "This Littlenutter bloke is nothing but a Tory windbag, grandad!" he said. "It's not ex-Labour MPs doing insurance commercials he should be worrying about but the appalling state of this nation under the vile, unelected CONDEM government, I say!" I tried to explain that your column was only taken seriously by a few Right-Wing nutters but he wasn't having it. "I'm going to write my own article all about troughing Tory MPs in the pay of big business" he said and promptly skipped off to enlist the help of the sweet young girl next door as his PA!
Richie - My precocious 10 year old grandson Bob Roberts jnr is staying with us and, as an aspiring politician who already has his beady little eye set on becoming Labour PM by the time he's 40, I've arranged for all the national newspapers to be delivered each morning so as to encourage him to read the best cutting edge political commentators of the day. I've also suggested that he read your column too, Richie, but I'm afraid he hasn't been impressed. "This Littlenutter bloke is nothing but a Tory windbag, grandad!" he said. "It's not ex-Labour MPs doing insurance commercials he should be worrying about but the appalling state of this nation under the vile, unelected CONDEM government, I say!" I tried to explain that your column was only taken seriously by a few Right-Wing nutters but he wasn't having it. "I'm going to write my own article all about troughing Tory MPs in the pay of big business" he said and promptly skipped off to enlist the help of the sweet young girl next door as his PA!
Monday
Need a lesson in economics, Alan? Try starting with Mr Micawber/January 10th 2011.
Richie - It is with great sadness that I report the passing of Ernest Groat, father of octagenarian spoon-playing virtuoso Arthur Groat. Old Ernie, who reached his centenary a good few years back, was a farmer, skin-flint, and whippet-whisperer renowned for his down-to-earth manner and dry as dust wit. Each day he'd hobble to the village duck pond to make sure all was spick and span before taking his seat in the snug and enjoying a snifter or three as he put the world to rights. But from May Ernie's cheerful demeanour slowly ebbed away as the vile CONDEM govts attacks on ordinary working people gathered pace. And yesterday, as lilly-livered PM ShamCam caved in on bankers' bonuses, Ernie took a sudden turn for the worse. He finally passed away this morning after reading your esteemed column, Richie. His final words were: "Oh sweet lord have mercy on my soul - I just can't take any more of Littlejohn's Tory propaganda bulls*** !" RIP Ernie I say! Your wisdom and insight will be missed!
Richie - It is with great sadness that I report the passing of Ernest Groat, father of octagenarian spoon-playing virtuoso Arthur Groat. Old Ernie, who reached his centenary a good few years back, was a farmer, skin-flint, and whippet-whisperer renowned for his down-to-earth manner and dry as dust wit. Each day he'd hobble to the village duck pond to make sure all was spick and span before taking his seat in the snug and enjoying a snifter or three as he put the world to rights. But from May Ernie's cheerful demeanour slowly ebbed away as the vile CONDEM govts attacks on ordinary working people gathered pace. And yesterday, as lilly-livered PM ShamCam caved in on bankers' bonuses, Ernie took a sudden turn for the worse. He finally passed away this morning after reading your esteemed column, Richie. His final words were: "Oh sweet lord have mercy on my soul - I just can't take any more of Littlejohn's Tory propaganda bulls*** !" RIP Ernie I say! Your wisdom and insight will be missed!
Friday
Are you being nicked? Fasten your seatbelt/January 6th 2011.
Richie - Well done for giving the vile knuckledraggers from the BNP a good kicking in your esteemed column! How dare these deranged excuses for human beings send obscene letters to Lord Billy Bragg's Dorset mansion! And if these racist animals have sent material of a similar hue to your good self, Lord Richie, you should put it in a sealed plastic bag and take it pronto to your nearest police station so that our upstanding law enforcement officers can investigate. The BNP - and EDL - constitute a threat to national security of the highest order and all members of these hideous organisations should be rounded up, put in an old fishing boat, and cast off from these shores in hope that they are never seen again! After all, these monosyllabic cretins are never going to discover a cure for cancer, eh Rich ? Peace and love to you Lord Richie! Harmony between all races I say! And if you're going to San Fransisco, Rich, make sure you wear a flower in your hair (nudge nudge wink wink!) Hic!
Richie - Well done for giving the vile knuckledraggers from the BNP a good kicking in your esteemed column! How dare these deranged excuses for human beings send obscene letters to Lord Billy Bragg's Dorset mansion! And if these racist animals have sent material of a similar hue to your good self, Lord Richie, you should put it in a sealed plastic bag and take it pronto to your nearest police station so that our upstanding law enforcement officers can investigate. The BNP - and EDL - constitute a threat to national security of the highest order and all members of these hideous organisations should be rounded up, put in an old fishing boat, and cast off from these shores in hope that they are never seen again! After all, these monosyllabic cretins are never going to discover a cure for cancer, eh Rich ? Peace and love to you Lord Richie! Harmony between all races I say! And if you're going to San Fransisco, Rich, make sure you wear a flower in your hair (nudge nudge wink wink!) Hic!
Monday
Happy New Year! And what do you think of it so far ?/January 3rd 2011.
Richie - As Mrs Bob No 3 and myself were about to descend into our nuclear bunker so as to escape the upcoming riots, VAT increases, fuel hikes and misery inflicted on us by the vile CONDEM govt, my mother arrived unexpectedly from the shires in a state of great distress. Her Land Rover, I noticed, was packed with suitcases and toiletries - always a bad sign - and I waited in nervous anticipation for an explanation. "Bob" she wailed. "It's all over! After 50 years as a member I've finally left the Tory party in protest at the savage cuts imposed on pensioners. What's more" she snivelled "I've sold my flat and come to stay with you for a few months. Tell the maid to put my bags in my room, will you!" After a few snifters she at last calmed herself and I promised to help find her a new political party to join. Of course, as a frothing Tory fruitcake she loathes Nigel Farage and UKIP, hates Griffin and the BNP, and despises Labour with all of her being, so there's only one alternative: Monster Raving Loony Party here she comes I say!
Richie - As Mrs Bob No 3 and myself were about to descend into our nuclear bunker so as to escape the upcoming riots, VAT increases, fuel hikes and misery inflicted on us by the vile CONDEM govt, my mother arrived unexpectedly from the shires in a state of great distress. Her Land Rover, I noticed, was packed with suitcases and toiletries - always a bad sign - and I waited in nervous anticipation for an explanation. "Bob" she wailed. "It's all over! After 50 years as a member I've finally left the Tory party in protest at the savage cuts imposed on pensioners. What's more" she snivelled "I've sold my flat and come to stay with you for a few months. Tell the maid to put my bags in my room, will you!" After a few snifters she at last calmed herself and I promised to help find her a new political party to join. Of course, as a frothing Tory fruitcake she loathes Nigel Farage and UKIP, hates Griffin and the BNP, and despises Labour with all of her being, so there's only one alternative: Monster Raving Loony Party here she comes I say!
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