Watch out! It's Call Me Tony Martin/June 24th 2011.
Richie - This past week has seen an unsavoury incident in our village which has led to shock, swooning and open-mouthed dribbling throughout our placid community. A well-heeled middle aged couple who live in a desirable mock-Georgian house on the village outskirts had tragedy of the highest order visited upon them after the wife was discovered in the hallway by her hubby with her bonce shot off! After a thorough police investigation, it transpired that it was HE, no less, who was the culprit having mistaken his rather ample missus for a cat burglar! Of course, the local plod put a comforting arm around the poor chap and told him it was a mistake that any upstanding citizen could make whereupon the wife's remains were swept up and taken away pronto. Thankfully, after a day's mourning, he's now recovered sufficiently to start a new relationship with a 21 year old stunna from Essex, who's also been working as his personal PA these past few months! A happy end! Snifters all round I say!
Friday
Monday
Proof Bob Crow is a railway sleeper/June 21st 2011.
Richie - It's been Brian Haw week in our snug in recognition of this brave and couragous man's decade long protest opposite the Parliamentary grub house. What a thorn in the establishment Brian was! - a beacon of compassion and anger in these tired and cynical times! Of course, Old Wob didn't agree with all of Brian's sentiments (How can you accuse our illustrious former PM Blair of war crimes when it was Al Quaeda and the insurgents blowing the locals to smithereens!) However, Brian infuriated the arrogant politicos every time they emerged from their soiled Westminster den and for that we should give thanks. One other note: old Arthur Groat of this parish went so far as to decorate his cloth cap with all manner of brightly coloured socially-aware badges in imitation of the great man. It wasn't until closing time and the strained look on Arthur's face that we realised the old codger had pinned his cap to his skull and he was sent to A&E pronto! RIP Clarence Clemons and Brian Haws I say!
Richie - It's been Brian Haw week in our snug in recognition of this brave and couragous man's decade long protest opposite the Parliamentary grub house. What a thorn in the establishment Brian was! - a beacon of compassion and anger in these tired and cynical times! Of course, Old Wob didn't agree with all of Brian's sentiments (How can you accuse our illustrious former PM Blair of war crimes when it was Al Quaeda and the insurgents blowing the locals to smithereens!) However, Brian infuriated the arrogant politicos every time they emerged from their soiled Westminster den and for that we should give thanks. One other note: old Arthur Groat of this parish went so far as to decorate his cloth cap with all manner of brightly coloured socially-aware badges in imitation of the great man. It wasn't until closing time and the strained look on Arthur's face that we realised the old codger had pinned his cap to his skull and he was sent to A&E pronto! RIP Clarence Clemons and Brian Haws I say!
Saturday
The Ice Age is coming... don't panic!/June 17th 2011.
Richie - Your genius, sir, knows no bounds! Global Cooling indeed! - a quite brilliant idea worthy of the great Tolstoy imself! But do you know, Rich, the trouble your top-notch satire has caused ? Well, let me elaborate. I was snoozing in my comfy chair when I was awoken by the hurried pitter-patter of my dear Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3. The poor soul was rushing from room to room in order to hoard blankets, hot water bottles, vapour rub and all manner of wintery condiments. When I asked her why she replied: "Because Littlewon he warn us of giant winter fweeze, Wob!" Of course, after reading your esteemed column I assured her that Global Cooling was nothing but a fictitious conceit that had emerged Venus-like from Lord Richie's esteemed satirical mind. Well, Mrs Wob was mightily upset that the world was not in imminent danger of becoming a freezer box. Indeed, she let off a tremendous amount of much-needed hot air with many Thai obscenities directed towards your good self! Mad I say!
Richie - Your genius, sir, knows no bounds! Global Cooling indeed! - a quite brilliant idea worthy of the great Tolstoy imself! But do you know, Rich, the trouble your top-notch satire has caused ? Well, let me elaborate. I was snoozing in my comfy chair when I was awoken by the hurried pitter-patter of my dear Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3. The poor soul was rushing from room to room in order to hoard blankets, hot water bottles, vapour rub and all manner of wintery condiments. When I asked her why she replied: "Because Littlewon he warn us of giant winter fweeze, Wob!" Of course, after reading your esteemed column I assured her that Global Cooling was nothing but a fictitious conceit that had emerged Venus-like from Lord Richie's esteemed satirical mind. Well, Mrs Wob was mightily upset that the world was not in imminent danger of becoming a freezer box. Indeed, she let off a tremendous amount of much-needed hot air with many Thai obscenities directed towards your good self! Mad I say!
Tuesday
With Labour, there ain't no Sanity Clause/June 14th 2011.
Richie - I was snoozing in my comfy chair when I was awoken by my dear Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3 "Wob" she said. "Littlewon use big word today I no understand!" I yawned and perused your esteemed column with my index finger until Mrs Bob yelled "Stop!" at the word tricoteuse. Well, I delved back into my schoolboy French and vaguely recalled that the literal translation is knitter. But, having read the context in which the word had been used, I became certain there was a more sinister meaning. I discovered that it was also used as a name for women who frequented public executions during the French Revolution. "Ah" said Mrs Bob. "So Yvette Cooper she like to see executions!" Er, not quite, I said. "The UK is a civilised country. There are no public executions here." All very confusing. Then I remembered - Yvette Cooper is a LABOUR politician and therefore fair game for any derogatory insult, unlike the Tories who you continually cluck and fawn over like an old mother poule. At last - mystery solved! Snifters all round I say!
Richie - I was snoozing in my comfy chair when I was awoken by my dear Thai wife Mrs Bob No 3 "Wob" she said. "Littlewon use big word today I no understand!" I yawned and perused your esteemed column with my index finger until Mrs Bob yelled "Stop!" at the word tricoteuse. Well, I delved back into my schoolboy French and vaguely recalled that the literal translation is knitter. But, having read the context in which the word had been used, I became certain there was a more sinister meaning. I discovered that it was also used as a name for women who frequented public executions during the French Revolution. "Ah" said Mrs Bob. "So Yvette Cooper she like to see executions!" Er, not quite, I said. "The UK is a civilised country. There are no public executions here." All very confusing. Then I remembered - Yvette Cooper is a LABOUR politician and therefore fair game for any derogatory insult, unlike the Tories who you continually cluck and fawn over like an old mother poule. At last - mystery solved! Snifters all round I say!
Friday
The answer, my friend, ain't blowing' in the wind/June 10th 2011.
Richie - On my morning constitutional I noticed our happy-clappy vicar Rev Pritchard near the newsagents praising the fairies and offering communion to all and sundry. "Hallelujah to our good old Bish, eh Bob ?" he squealed and pointed out to me Arch Druid Williams' pronouncements in The Guardian regarding our vile, unelected Coagulation govt. Later, in the snug, the good Rev fell into animated conversation with a local Tory Turnip and High Church brimstone and treacle type who'd wandered in for happy hour. "The world is divided into two" thundered the Turnip "the hard-working and pious souls who will be embraced by the Lord on Judgement Day and the squalid, fetid unbelievers who will burn in Hell for all eternity!" At closing time, and well lubricated after a number of double snifters, I fell into the village duck pond and rose, covered in sludge and chip wrappings, just as the warring parties left the pub. "I have risen, I have risen!" I said and scared both half to death! Mad I say!
Richie - On my morning constitutional I noticed our happy-clappy vicar Rev Pritchard near the newsagents praising the fairies and offering communion to all and sundry. "Hallelujah to our good old Bish, eh Bob ?" he squealed and pointed out to me Arch Druid Williams' pronouncements in The Guardian regarding our vile, unelected Coagulation govt. Later, in the snug, the good Rev fell into animated conversation with a local Tory Turnip and High Church brimstone and treacle type who'd wandered in for happy hour. "The world is divided into two" thundered the Turnip "the hard-working and pious souls who will be embraced by the Lord on Judgement Day and the squalid, fetid unbelievers who will burn in Hell for all eternity!" At closing time, and well lubricated after a number of double snifters, I fell into the village duck pond and rose, covered in sludge and chip wrappings, just as the warring parties left the pub. "I have risen, I have risen!" I said and scared both half to death! Mad I say!
Wednesday
You're corrupt and you know you are/May 31st 2011.
Richie - Who would have thought it! An unpopular snakeoil salesman at the helm; pre-election jiggery-pokery with dodgy deals done behind closed doors; embarrassing internal strife; a staggering contempt for the ordinary scotch egg supporter on the street; the absence of a viable plan a,b,c or d...But enough of ShamCam's vile unelected ConDem Coagulation govt. It's the wretched FIFA I want to talk about! Our beloved game of footy is but a wispy shadow of its former self! A corporate cess-pit of prawn sarnies and champagne! How different from back in the early 70s when young Bob and his comb-over scarpered pronto down the wing, a midfield dynamo whose boots covered every inch of the pitch and every inch of the social club bar afterwards! Flat caps, Bovril, jumpers for goalposts, a punch-up at half-time, a snifter or two hidden down my shorts for a mid-match pick-me-up...Football was in good hands until we let Johnny Foreigner join in the fun! Blatter ? What is a Blatter, I say! (Hic!)
Richie - Who would have thought it! An unpopular snakeoil salesman at the helm; pre-election jiggery-pokery with dodgy deals done behind closed doors; embarrassing internal strife; a staggering contempt for the ordinary scotch egg supporter on the street; the absence of a viable plan a,b,c or d...But enough of ShamCam's vile unelected ConDem Coagulation govt. It's the wretched FIFA I want to talk about! Our beloved game of footy is but a wispy shadow of its former self! A corporate cess-pit of prawn sarnies and champagne! How different from back in the early 70s when young Bob and his comb-over scarpered pronto down the wing, a midfield dynamo whose boots covered every inch of the pitch and every inch of the social club bar afterwards! Flat caps, Bovril, jumpers for goalposts, a punch-up at half-time, a snifter or two hidden down my shorts for a mid-match pick-me-up...Football was in good hands until we let Johnny Foreigner join in the fun! Blatter ? What is a Blatter, I say! (Hic!)
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