Monday, 29 October 2007

Do You Know who These Gloves Belong to? I found them on the steps of the stage at my school.

If you do, then please call Detective Inspector John Reid Barnabas on 0111 444 222 333 666.

Thank you for your co-operation in this rather delicate matter.


Sunday, 28 October 2007

The Miss Havisham Party.


The above photo is of the Lib Dems, shortly after Nick Clegg became leader. It took only a matter of months and then the whole lot of them became extinct.

How did the Lib Dems become extinct? This is a question that has stumped scientists ever since Lib Dem fossils were first discovered at Westminster, back in the year 2008. There are many theories as to how the Lib Dems became extinct. This post presents some of the most popular theories. Keep in mind that there is absolutely no proven theory. Noone knows for certain exactly why and how the Lib Dems became extinct, although most people suspect it was something to do with their rather fake, yet pompous leader Nick Clegg.


Probably the most popular theory right now is the Asteroid known as 'Nickers Clegget', Theory. According to this theory a large asteroid or comet known as 'Nickers Clegget' collided with Earth about 65 million years ago. Scientists think that such a large collision would throw so much dust into the air etc, etc, causing dramatic changes in public opinion which resulted in voters turning off due to the Lib Dems fake and pompous leader, Nickers Clegget. Some party members rallied round and tried to salvage the dying dinosaur MP's, they even got their knickers in a clegget, but Nick had totally eroded the whole thing and it was too late.

Sunday 28th October, The Politics Show, interview with Alex Salmond. Andrew Marr enquired 'is English subsidy enabling Scotland to provide free tuition fees, free care for the elderly' etc ... Alex Salmond's response was as follows:

ALEX SALMOND: ‘Well perhaps the answer is to elect a government in England of English MPs who want to implant these policies south of the border. I mean we're publishing figures today which show that with control of our own resources Scotland would become the third most prosperous country in Europe and the sixth most prosperous country in the world.

So I think the solution to that argument, which will go on forever if we don't solve it, is to allow Scotland to raise its own money, take charge of its own expenditure, and allow England to do exactly the same. So I'm putting forward a, a solution which I think is fair and equitable, has growing support from Scotland, and I think it has a lot of support in England as well’.

This is exactly what the Tory party are advocating at the moment. I know that many people feel that Alex Salmond is deliberately stirring up the divide between the North and the South, with some MP's believing that Salmond is adding greater fuel to English anger over Scottish devolution, obviously with the intention of driving Scotland closer to independence. I just think he's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't. He can't win, can he? He is giving us Tories what we want and now we’re giving him grief. Obviously I am a wee bit biased here, with my Scottish connections, I do feel a bond with my native land, although, I do have a rather thick, yet cultivated Bradford accent. And, it is for this reason that many Scots don't accept me. They have referred to me, in the past, as the 'white foreigner' which is of course total madness.

No, I do like Salmond, sorry. I admire his directness and no bullshit approach to politics, He is definitely a conviction MP, and these days they appear to be a rare species, just look at how fake Nick Clegg is. He really has got on my proverbial tits. If this is the best the Lib Dems can do, then I am afraid to say we're looking at party that are going to become extinct. I can just see it the Lib Dems will all be sat on one side of the commons like Miss Havishams, covered in cobwebs all faded and yellow, ‘withered with sunken eyes'. resembling 'ghastly wax-work' dinosaurs. Thanks to wonder boy - Nick Clegg.

Friday, 26 October 2007

Read Conservative Home's article 'BBC employees are eleven times more likely to be liberal than conservative'.

Conservative Home.

Doctor Finlay has many hundreds if not thousands of books in his surgery, sometimes it resembles a library as opposed to a medical centre. Anyway, I happened to stumble, accidentally, across a book called 'Scrap the BBC!' by Richard D. North, and this is one of the things he says in his book: -

'The BBC is populated by many people who are broadly of the centre-left, but it doesn't suffer from leftish bias: it suffers from a stodgy green, soft-left green liberalism, which isn't the same thing. Now, in any case, political paranoia about the BBC is an equal opportunity experience: the two parties which share power, share their unease about the BBC. They also understand it and are understood by it. This is perhaps the worst feature of the present state of play: the media and the parties view each other as instruments that should be played'. page 89, 'Scrap the BBC' by Richard D North.

Thursday, 25 October 2007

Who is this?

Any ideas? Just found this face on google images. I've never seen him before, have you? There are thousands of faces like this on google images. I don't know where these people come from.

Look What Doctor Finlay Has Bought Me.

I thought the doctor loved me. I am not supposed to know about these boots. The other morning the doctor was still fast asleep and I just found myself raking through his things and this is what I found. On the gift tag it said, "My dearest Janet, when I met you I felt that all my Christmas's had come at once. Now, living with you, everyday is like Christmas, Easter, New Year and my 21st birthday again, all rolled into one glorious experience. Happy Christmas Janet. Love Doctor Finlay'. On the reverse of the gift tag it said, 'PS - thank you for all of your help in the surgery, and in particular for keeping it so fresh and clean. You're the best cleaner we've ever had'

The Leg He Loved.

The doctor is sat behind his desk, looking down at Michael Johnson's file.

Michael, a retired miner from Barnsley is sat directly in front of him, he is nervous, and a bit reluctant to talk about his embarrassing problem.

Doctor: Michael when did your leg start shaking?

Michael: Well, if you read my notes doctor, which you have got in front of you, you would know that I have had a shaking leg since I was a young lad, roughly about the time Shakin’ Stevens was popular.

Doctor: So, that’s about the early eighties?

Michael: Correct doctor.

Doctor: It’s been very hard for you, hasn’t it?

Michael nods his head in agreement with the doctor’s statement.

Doctor: Just talk us through what happened. I need to know so that I can get to grips with the condition. (Raises his eyebrows, looks perplexed) You see Michael (exhales, then looks up at him), you see (pauses to consider his next statement), it’s not something I’ve ever come across before. (Removes his glasses, rubs his eyes). I’ll be honest with you; it’s not easy, not even for me, to know what to do with your leg.

Michael: (Nervously starts to tell the story) Well doctor, I was watching ‘Top of Pops’ and that’s when I saw him.

Doctor: Who?

Michael: Shakin’ Stevens.

Doctor: Right, right, sorry, carry on.

Michael: I just really took to what he was doing, the dancing was just great, I mean mind blowingly brilliant. It was all that shaking, of his limbs. I thought wow; I’ve never seen that before.

Doctor: What happened next Michael?

Michael: I got up, out of my chair and copied what Shakin’ Stevens was doing. I started shaking, my legs, and my arms all of me shook. I was literally ‘all shook up’.

Doctor: Ah ha. You were all shook up?

Michael: Yes doctor, I was all shook up. But, it was after the song had finished that the problem started, my leg just wouldn’t stop shaking. The rest of my body stopped, but my left leg continued to shake.

Doctor: So, then what happened?

Michael: Well, I couldn’t go down the pit after that, because it was shaking constantly. My wife took me to the hospital, they put a calliper on it and it shook its way out of the calliper.

Doctor: And then what?

Michael: They put plaster on it.

Doctor: A plaster cast?

Michael: Yes doctor, a plaster cast and still, give me your hand (reaches for the doctor’s hand).

Doctor: (The doctor refuses to take Michael’s hand) Michael, I can see your leg is still shaking, it’s okay. So, that’s almost thirty years you’ve had your leg in a plaster cast, and still it shakes?

Michael: Yes, doctor. Look they said you would be able to help me.

Doctor: (The doctor pauses for thought as he considers his response, he closes Michael’s file) Yes Michael, I can help you. We will amputate that shaky leg of yours, it’s the only way. That’s the bad news. The good news is …

Michael: I suspected that it would have to go. That shaky leg of mine has ruined my life doctor. For a while you know I was able to make money in the Northern clubs and bars as a Shakin’ Stevens impersonator but then Shakin’ Stevens career took a nose dive, and so did mine.

Sorry, did you say there was some good news, doctor?

Doctor: Yes Michael I did. (The doctor smiles) Michael, (he reaches for Michael’s right hand and pats it in a supportive way) I’ve already got you a new leg.

Michael: Thank you doctor.

Doctor: It’s not what you think. Nurse! (The doctor calls out to the nurse who is next door) Nurse! Show Michael his new leg.

The nurse shows Michael a photo of his new leg.

Michael: Wow! Hang on ….. That’s not a fake leg …. It’s real.

Doctor: I know Michael; we’re going to make medical history. You are going to be the first man to have a leg transplant.

Five years later ….. Michael is sat in a Porsche car with the doctor in the car park at Royal Free hospital.

Michael: Doctor, I offered to buy you a year’s supply of stethoscopes and still you won’t tell me the name of the donor, why???

Doctor: You’ve changed Michael. You’ve become cocky, arrogant, you’re not the kind man you were five years ago.

Michael: Look I had a shaky leg, I was broken inside. But, it was you doctor, you put me back together again. Look I just want the file doctor.

Doctor: I’m not giving you the file Michael. I have told you time and time again. I cannot divulge any information about your donor.

Michael: This Porsche is for you doctor, if you just give me her name and address.

Doctor: If I do that will you leave me and my wife alone?

Michael: Yes doctor, you will never see me again.

Doctor: And the Porsche? I get to keep the Porsche?

Michael: Yes doctor, you get to keep the Porsche. Okay. Her address….

Five years previously, shortly after the transplant.

Michael’s ex wife: When Michael came home with his new leg we were all ecstatic. It was a special day for the family. My mother even baked him his favourite cake – Victoria Sponge. When the bandages came off I was in a state of euphoria, at last he had a leg that didn’t shake. But, that euphoria soon changed when I realised that his new leg was from a woman. I was furious, especially when he became more interested in her leg; I mean his leg than my legs.

He was always touching it, shaving it the bath, putting my expensive moisturising lotions on it. He even wore one of my skirts, once, with heals and stood there admiring it in the mirror. What a bastard!

In the end I left him.

Doctor: Michael became very rich as a result of his new woman leg. The media were fascinated by him. I personally think, he became arrogant. He says that he just fell in love with the leg. He kept saying to me ….

Michael: Doctor, my new leg is not complete unless I find the rest of its body.

Doctor: In the end I gave in. I couldn’t stand the bombardment of phone calls through the dead of night. I didn’t want my wife to divorce me and believe me it was getting to that stage. So I gave him her file.

She was a ballerina, a perfectionist. A young woman who decided to sacrifice her career and dedicate the rest of her life to charity work. She was sick of the limelight.

Ballerina: The pressure was so intense, that I decided the only way I could get out of this life of mine, was to let my leg go. I thought if my leg could bring genuine happiness to someone else then why not.

Doctor: But, your legs already bring so much happiness. You have thousands of fans around the world that love your legs. What about all of those appreciative audiences around the world. How will they feel? It’s like a betrayal. Why stop now?

Ballerina: Doctor, I’ve had enough. Please take my leg and give it to someone who really needs it, I implore you.

Doctor: So, he found her. He travelled four thousand miles around the world and found her, in a school in Africa, teaching kids how to read. I believe they are now very happy together.


Wednesday, 24 October 2007

A story about an illegal car parking space, a theatre company called ‘Wonder Pants’ and a persistent official from Perth and Kinross Council.

There was a time when I just couldn’t get any decent work in Scotland. I tried everything; I even worked in a call centre for six months which drove me potty. I couldn’t stand the repetitive nature of the job and being hemmed in like a bloody battery hen, it was all too much. The thing that particularly annoyed me about the regime was that you had to ask permission whenever you wanted to go to the toilet. It was an absolute sweatshop, often the reaction I got from the miserable, spotty, adolescent supervisor was, ‘Can’t you wait?’ The thing was, I couldn’t wait, so I quit.

At the time, eight years ago, I was earning just one hundred and forty five pounds a week – grim.

One day, in a sulk I took myself off to Edinburgh for the day. Whilst I was there I met the people in the photo above. I got talking to them; well I had nothing else to do. I was broke and miserable, so I thought I would speak to the idiots in the photo for a bit, thought that they might cheer me up.

They were a friendly bunch, who were out, on the Royal Mile, handing out leaflets advertising their fringe show.

They told me that one of their actors had broken his leg, during a midnight bender. Then they said, ‘How long are you in Edinburgh?’

‘Me, well I live in Perth’.

Actor playing a duck: Hey, she’s about the right size, isn’t she Bert?

Bert playing a pelican: (over enthusiastic) Yeah she is. Are you free this afternoon? We’ll pay you. You’d really be helping us out, you know.

Me playing myself: How much?

Susan playing a vulture: (with difficulty removes her beak, in order that she can speak and be heard, otherwise it would have been a muffled kind of a voice). Fifty pounds per afternoon.

Me: Okay, I’m in. (I shake hands/paws/claws with the animals/human beings)

It was easy work. I felt like a bit of a tit though, but I did it. The production was called ‘Animal Magic’, we showcased the work at the Botanical Gardens, in Edinburgh. It was by the avante garde playwright Johnny Mufflecakes. He was a former student of Warwick University’s experimental Theatre workshop, which took its inspiration from the now deceased, revolutionary Theatre Practitioner, Jerzy Grotoswki.

Johnny Mufflecakes, is the guy in the photo, right at the back, with the mask on. He gave us the brief, that’s what he called it, the brief. He said, ‘I want to push the boundaries between audience and performer’. He didn’t want the audience to be passive, no, you see what Mr. Mufflecakes wanted was for full audience participation, he wanted them to feel the actors – literally, we’re talking skin against fur, hand against claw, lips against beaks.

So, this is what we did. There was no script, as such, well animals don’t speak, do they? No, instead we were all given a tape recording of the animal noise that we should be making during our performances.

Johnny Mufflecakes now playing a sleuth, with sinister looking, uneven claws (stereo-typical personae of a RADA trained actor): Under no circumstances can you enter into dialogue with any members of the public. It is a fundamental part of this production that you embrace with your entire physical, emotional and spiritual being the nature of the furry animal that you are wearing. If you deviate from this, then you’re sacked and ‘Wonder Pants’ will never use your services again. Do you understand?

Entire cast of thirty animals: Yes, Johnny Mufflecakes.

Johnny Mufflecakes now playing a Brazilian Bull frog: (Evil, ironic, melodramatic laugh) Ah, you see cast of furry creatures, you got that wrong. Do you understand me?

An embarrassing pause, confused people in badly fitting furry costumes looking around at each other for ….

A tiny actor wearing a penguin costume pushes his way to the front of the crowd to confront Johnny Mufflecakes.

Tiny actor wearing a penguin costume: (squeaky voice) Sorry, Johnny, at this point are we all supposed to be making our animal noises, in recognition of what you just said?

Johnny Mufflecakes now playing a baboon with a large red bum: Yes exactly! Whenever I speak to you, cast of thirty, you respond with your animal noise. So, let’s ask Mr. Cow over there. Do you understand me Mr. Highland Cow?

Large Sweaty Lady, who is not coping very well under the multi-layered Highland cow costume: (slight pause due to the woman sucking on her asthma inhaler, then ….) Moooooooo Mooooo Mooo.

The entire cast of thirty all make their animal noises, which represents their approval/recognition of Johnny Mufflecake’s (who is now dressed as a Centipede) directions.

We were all dressed like all of the animals in Noah’s Ark, so I was zebra; someone else was a crocodile etc … etc… Then of course there were ducks, a couple of tigers – God they were scary, but then I remembered there weren’t really any tigers there, it was just a couple of guys wearing fake fur suits, they were human beings actually.

Anyway we all hid in the bushes and some of us hid in the undergrowth, in the greenhouses, at the botanical gardens, and every time a member of the public went past, we jumped out at them and then wrestled them to the ground.

Johnny Mufflecakes now playing a kangaroo: Look, I don’t want you people to differentiate between any members of the public, they’re all human beings, so you all just jump out at them, wrestle the fuckers to the ground. And, to answer your earlier question, Catriona, if they have crutches you treat them in exactly the same way as if they were able-bodied. Do you understand? Now let’s go and get those human beings!!!!

The cast of thirty people wearing animal suits can be seen dispersing around the botanical gardens, running to their hiding places (Yelling) Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!! Yip peeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! Woooooooooooooooo!!!!!! Let’s get ‘em’! Way to go!!!!


Johnny Mufflecakes now playing an albino python: Christ what did I tell those idiots, they’re animals, not humans!


The story about the illegal car parking space and the council official is to follow.

Tuesday, 23 October 2007

I have an idea, about the Controversial Barnett Formula ....

The Facts About the Barnett Formula, taken from Wikipedia.

In actual monetary figures, that works out as (per person):

  • England £5,940
  • Scotland £7,346
  • Wales £6,901
  • Northern Ireland £7,945

As these regional variations were not ever a consciously decided policy of the Treasury or Parliament this has been cited as a reason for reform. However, as noted earlier these differences are eroded by time, and at current rates of growth in public expenditure they should disappear in thirty years.

It should be noted that the population of England is 80% of the population of the UK. Instant abolition of the Barnett Formula, based on the above figures would result on an average UK expenditure of approximately £6150. This would be a large decrease for each person in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, but an increase of less than 4% per person for England.


Darkersideofbridgetjones solution:

Let Chingford have ago at this now. The people of Barnett have suffered enough and their residents could do with a rest. We should share the financial burden. I nominate Chingford. Well, it's a prosperous area in the South East, and the majority of the residents all have 'loads of money'. They also have a crest which the Scots can relate to - a stag.


Monday, 22 October 2007

Champion Of The Underclass, Nick Clegg's first interview with DSBJ.


Nick Clegg said .....
'I was at university at the height of Thatcherism, I was appalled by this soulless vision, there's no such thing as society. Twenty years later you have David Cameron saying society's anarchic. This is a vision of society, a Tory vision of society which I find by turns heartless and desperate. Now I represent a constituency up in the north, in Sheffield, one of the great cities of the north, which has got social inequalities which are utterly grotesque'.

After watching the Andrew Marr show on Sunday, DSBJ contacted Nick Clegg’s office to arrange an interview with him.

DSBJ: Nick, you're a champion aren't you, Nick? You represent the underclass, don't you?

Nick: Someone has got to.

DSBJ: That's lovely is that Nick, you're a kind man Nick. Let's go to the phone lines now. We've got Sheila from a sink council estate in
Salford, on line two. Go on Sheila you're speaking to Nick, your champion, the champion of the underclass.

Sheila: (cough splutter, husky Salford accent, due to 60 a day habit) Nick love, I smoke 60 a day, my teenage daughter's pregnant, her brother has been excluded from school twice, once for beating up a teacher and the other time for smoking some of that funny stuff. I'm on benefits and I can't get a job. What you going to do about it Nick? Oh, and my husband can't read or write (coughs, nearly chokes to death). What you going to do about it Nick?

Nick: I blame Margaret Thatcher.

DSBJ: Okay, let's go to the next caller, sorry Sheila, we're going to have to cut you off there.

Sheila: Well, what's he going to do to help me....???

Nick: I'm going to blame Margaret Thatcher for everything, that's what I'm going to do about it Sheila.

DSBJ: Next caller. We have Mary from
Newcastle. Go ahead Mary.

Mary: I'm too scared to go out at night because of the teenage thugs on my estate. What are you going to do about it Nick?

Nick: I'm going to blame Margaret Thatcher, that's what I'm going to do about it Mary.

DSBJ: Okay, thanks for that Mary. Let's go to the next caller. It's Mike from Tunbridge Wells, go ahead Mike. You're speaking to Nick, your champion of the underclass.

Mike: My wife has just contracted C difficile, what are going to do about it Nick?

DSBJ: Shall I answer that for you Nick?

Nick: Please.

DSBJ: He's going to blame Margaret Thatcher. Ok, next caller, that's a Mrs. Lewis, a 67 year old, who is actually living on the Isle of Lewis itself.

Canned laughter.


Mrs Lewis: I've had my pension nicked by Gordon Brown, and I'm finding it difficult to keep on top of council tax payments. I'm hungry because I’m living off a tin of baked beans every day. What are you going to do about it Nick?

DSBJ & Nick: (together in harmony) we’re going to blame Margaret Thatcher (raucous laughter from the pair).

DSBJ: You're really good at this politicking business Nick. I think after watching you on the Andrew Marr show that you've got longevity in this game; I really do, unlike Ming though. But, I guess when you get into your sixties you'll be doing botox, no doubt, by that time they'll probably be selling it over the counter at Boots.
Right, time for one more caller, and it's Jackie from
Milton Keynes. Go ahead Jackie; you're speaking to Nick Clegg the champion of the underclass.

Jackie: But, I'm not part of the underclass. I'm a white, middle class woman, with a degree from
Cambridge. I just wanted to say ...

Nick: Cut that bitch off. I'm not speaking to her.

DSBJ: Sorry, what did you say Nick???

Nick: I said cut that bitch off now!! I'm not speaking to her.

Jackie: Hello? Can I ask my question now please? I’ve been waiting for the last twenty minutes, and my baby wants feeding, and by the smell of it, its nappy needs changing as well.

Nick: No! You can't, you superior middle class white bitch!

DSBJ: Look Nick, stop raising your voice like that. That's not the way that champions speak to members of the public.

Jackie: But, I was at
Cambridge with you Nick.

Nick: That is beside the point, I'm a socialist liberal. What are you Jackie? No, I mean it, what are you?

Jackie: I'm a housewife from
Milton Keynes.

DSBJ: Okay, let's er ... stop arguing ...

Jackie: I'm not arguing with him, I just want to ask him a question.

DSBJ: Go ahead Jackie.

Nick: (murmurs under his breath) Not happy about this, it's supposed to be for the under classes, not smug white middle class people like her.

DSBJ: But, I thought we were a multi-inclusive society Nick? You can’t discriminate against Jackie? Surely everyone is equal Nick?


Nick: (getting increasing irate, trying hard to contain his temper) Not everyone is equal DSBJ, take Ming, he’s not my equal. He’s past it. Like a gone off tin of kippers.

DSBJ: Sorry, I forgot about Ming. You’re right he is just one big kipper. All I am saying is, doesn’t the socialist liberal party advocate equality?

Nick: Fuck equality and democracy. It’s the socially inept I’m interested in, anyway. (His manner becomes increasingly neurotic) I want to indoctrinate them; after all they’re a bunch of fucking morons. Just topping them up with more and more benefits. It’s like we’re anesthetizing them, and then guaranteed, like a junkie, they’ll keep coming back for more and voting for us.

Forget giving them good schools, it’s better that they’re not well educated, education is dangerous, it gives people freedom, liberty. We don’t want that.


Jackie: Can I talk now please? Can’t stay on the phone too long, my baby needs its nappy changing. (The sound of a baby screaming in the background)

DSBJ: Go ahead Jackie, what’s your question for the morally insane Nick Clegg?

Jackie: My eighty-eight year old mother spends over thirty thousand pounds a year, on her nursing home care bill, yet there is a cap on the amount the local authority pays, for residence that require the same, or similar care. Is that fair Nick?

DSBJ: Can I answer that for you Nick, that's actually .... well, I don't know, who's fault is that Nick? It's not my fault.

Nick: (Looking slightly perplexed, in fact looked frazzled and a bit mad) I can't answer that question, I don't know.

Jackie: My mother is going to have to sell her house to pay for the mounting cost of her personal care.

Nick: Why don't you move the old crow to
Scotland. Right next caller.

The sound of a phone being hung up.

DSBJ: Okay, now we have morbidly obese twenty-three year old calling,
Sharon, from Croydon. Go ahead Sharon.

Sharon: Okay Nick, I'm a Chav. I'm morbidly obese, but I can't afford gym membership, because I am on the minimum wage, and I have to pay my parents rent money every week. And Nick, I can't afford to get onto the property ladder. I've been priced right out of the market Nick.
I did go to university, to better myself, and now I have twenty thousand pounds worth of student debts, to pay back. And, the other thing is, (starts crying) I didn't go into work today, because I wanted to watch the Trisha Goddard show. I thought Trisha could help me, give me some advice, I am depressed Nick.

Nick: Who the fuck are these people? They're total morons! (Rips his microphone off) Do you know what, I'm off!! Forget politics, I'd much rather work for the European Union, like Kinnock, the perks are much better and the job spec is a doddle.

DSBJ: But, Nick, what about all of those people you're letting down? You can't leave now.

Nick: Fuck-off!

He also said ....

'The life expectancy of people living in the poorest ward in Sheffield is a full 14 years lower than the life expectancy of those people living in the richest ward. And that is part, partly because of the ravages which were inflicted on that city by the Conservatives so, frankly, so much of my politics is driven by that'.


This was on the Andrew Marr Show on Sunday.

Please checkout Croydonian's blog, post entitled 'Yet more Labour achievements', where it states that the top twenty worst places in Britain to live are mostly Labour held seats, with a couple of Lib Dem’s thrown in. How long have Labour been in power now Nick?

For these left wing politicians to keep trawling the seabed floor, of what they perceive to be the damage that the Thatcher government did, is grossly unfair, especially, since Labour have been in power now for a decade.

Since Cameron took over the Tory leadership he has made many significant changes to the party. The work that Iain Duncan Smith is doing (Centre for Social Justice), along with Chris Grayling’s work, which is all about addressing issues of poverty, and more importantly helping people to get themselves out of the poverty trap.

Sadly many of us are subjected to the effects of a broken society. Although, according to Gordon Brown (during his party Conference) he denied that this broken society actually exists. What bollocks!

Watching Channel Four’s '20 Best and 20 Worst Places to Live', on Sunday, this show highlighted how much Labour have lied to us all, and failed the majority of the most vulnerable in our society. They, like Clegg, are no friend to the common man or woman.


As doctor Finlay pointed out to me two of those Labour Constituencies, in the 20 worst places to live in
Britain, were held by John Prescott and Alan Johnson, two of the highest ranking MP's within the Labour government. Of course John was too busy doing other things, like playing croquet in the nude with his secretary to even notice his constituent’s problems.


Croydonian


Saturday, 20 October 2007

The story of Jason the dog and Matthew Parris.


Recently I attended a CWF event with a bishop, Sue and doctor Finlay. It was there that we met Matthew Parris and he told us a very funny bloody story. I laughed so much that I started crying.

I'll probably do no justice to it, but here we go....
When he was a young lad, he jumped in the river Thames and rescued a couples' dog. Te dog was called Jason (the name of the dog made me laugh as well. I've never heard of a dog being given a humanoid name).

As a result of his bravery he was later on presented with an award, which Margaret Thatcher presented to him. As she was making her presentation the dog started humping her leg, but she continued with her presentation, and made no reference to what the dog was doing and just ignored the dog's affections. It made me laugh.

Fingers crossed (not allowed to mention anything) but hopefully Matthew will be visiting Tottenham Cons in the new year. If he does that it will be a great boost to that constituency.

Thanks to Blogger 'Dizzy Thinks' for exposing the awesome talents of Greg Knight.


http://www.gregknight.com/

Please click onto his website (above) and watch his promo video - it's fantastic!!! I think Greg should be in the UK charts with this, it's a song for Christmas, could raise money for charity, with the proceeds.

I am definitely a fan now, Justin is also a fan and so is doctor Finlay.

What a smashing bloke he is. I just wish there were more MP's like him. You've got my vote Greg.- thank you.


Wednesday, 17 October 2007

So, where are you going Mavis?

Me: So, where are you going Mavis?
Mavis: (no reply, instead Mavis grabs her inhaler and sucks it).
Me: Do you always carry a thick bicycle chain around in your handbag? And that balaclava ... those leather gloves and that torch..... what are all of those things doing in your handbag? Mavis?


In school we call this tactically ignoring certain behaviour.

Narrator: Mavis is a member of the ageist party, also known as the LibDems. She is currently packing her handbag. I notice that she has also got a flask of tea in there, along with a couple of rounds of potted tuna sandwichs.

Mavis: (looks up, shakes her head) And, ham with branston pickle!

Narrator: And, ham with branston pickle.

Mavis: I thought that's what YOU wanted.

Narrator: Yes, I did, I did say that, sorry I'm not being ungrateful Mavis.

Me: That should keep her going for a bit. What's she going to be doing with all of those things?

Narrator: She's on her way to the LibDems HQ, where she is going to chain herself to the railings.

Me: Why?

Narrator: She believes that if the ageist party, also known as the LibDems get into power they might create an ageist state called 'Logan's Run'. So, she's protesting. A group of other elderly women will be joining her. Actually we're talking the entire British population of women, who are over 65.

Me: Won't that run into millions?

Narrator: Yes, yes it will.

Me: That's alot of sandwichs?

Narrator: It's alright though because the Pankhursts are going to be helping out, making tea and serving scones I think.

Me: Right, they've got a fair bit of experience of that sort of thing.

Narrator: Absolutely.

LibDems - Ageist Extremists. I ask anyone over 60 not to vote for them, as a protest.

Be warned if the LibDems get into power this is what it could be like ......


"Everyone who reaches the age of 30 is executed in an event called Carousel where they are told that they will be renewed in a new form. Now, there are dissidents who don't believe the tales of the outside still being uninhabitable because of the nuclear radiation. They also believe in a place called Sanctuary where they can live in peace. These individuals are called Runners and they are hunted by a special execution squad called Sandmen. One of these men is Logan, who questions whether being renewed actually happens and if the outside is uninhabitable. When he is sent to track down runners, one of them named Jessica, who knows about Logan's doubts, fuels them with what she knows and Logan decides to join her. They then leave the city and search for Sanctuary. Francis, Logan's partner is tasked with trying to find him. Along the way they meet Rem, an android, who helps them find their way and teach them about the world they have entered".

So, don't vote for them. If you're an andriod then you will be safe, but if like me you're a mere mortal, you've had it!

It's not Ming's age that was the vote killer, it was the LibDems thuggish, bullying of a man who was potentially a real asset to them. The public aren't thick! So, let them slide even further and further into the sewer.

Through their behaviour they have excluded a significant and important part of the electorate.

I mean, in two years how many folk will be over 65?

I thought the retirement age had increased.

I thought politicans wanted us to work into our late sixties/seventies, I know I probably will have to, due to the hulk's theft of pension funds.

Tuesday, 16 October 2007

This is what the Prime Minster does after he's dressed his haggis.

His wife loves it though.

Doctor Finlay does this occasionally, as well - I can tell you it's a
lot of fun. Especially if he does it running around the Heath. We go there once a month now. We're just like an old married couple these days. In the past we used to do it vigorously, four times a day, nope, not anymore.

We all know the truth about the LibDems. Without Ming, this is what they are ....

The Big Man.

The big man with his tightly fitting pin striped suit on, waddled like a duck, past Brian Haw. Brian was camped out, opposite parliament. The big man knew what Brian was doing, and it made the big man chuckle to himself. Brian was squatting down, cooking over a makeshift stove, bacon and eggs on a rusty frying pan. “But that was ok”, thought the big man. “Brian is allowed to eat”.


The big man secretly, despite his loyalty the party was a supporter of Brian Haw, he admired his conviction; he considered him to be a warrior for peace, freedom, equality and truth. “And, surely,” thought the big man, “That’s why people enter politics”, and with this sentiment it helped the big man pick up speed, and he quickened his pace. After all, he couldn't possibly be late.


If it wasn’t for Brian Haw a lot of these atrocities would not have been brought out, into the mainstream. Even though the big man suspected that many journalists were now starting to boycott the reporting of Haw’s campaign, and that only reminded the big man of his time in Sharleston, back in the early nineties, when the ‘Women Against Pit Closures’ were also being deliberately ignored, by the mainstream press. Anne Scargill told him this at Joan Maynard's funeral tea. This is was in Thirsk, the out back of Yorkshire, back in 1991?


In a strong Sheffield accent she confided in the big man, “They’re very selective you know”.

Anne was right.

It was a week later that she and group of other brave women made they’re way down a pit in Lancashire, and refused to come up. Then the media had to take note. They were down there for weeks.


The big man did have loyalty to his party, but he also had loyalty to his friends, friendship he valued more than ambition. And, Anne was a friend, even despite her affinity with Communism.


Brian stank of shit, but the big man didn’t notice because he had lost his sense of smell years ago as result of motorbike accident, that had sent him flying through the air like a torpedo, luckily for him the angels caught him, just in the nick of time. The doctors were mystified by his recovery, they were certain that they would be dealing with yet another fatality. "Dangerous bend", the boy like police officer said, "You’re lucky to be alive, Mr Ponservative", said another, even younger, doctor.


This is why the big man ate so much, he knew that by being big it would cushion any fall he might have in the future. The problem was, when he climbed ladders they broke, so he was never able to clean his ex-wife’s windows, but then he didn’t need a ladder for that anyway, because she lived in a ground floor flat.


The big man was on his way to CCHQ, it was a George Osborne event, a fundraiser that Hornsey and Wood Green Tories were hosting. The big man had a question for George, this was his question:

“When will the Tories abolish tax?”

One hour later …..

All the toffs slurping champagne, intellectual flash questions being asked, everyone applauding and sucking face. Then …..


The big man asks his question, he clears his throat first.

“When will the Tories abolish tax?”

At first people started laughing, they thought the big man was an idiot. They thought he was joking, but he wasn’t. He asked the question again, “When will the Tories abolish tax?”

Gasps of shock horror, embarrassed red faces, people looking away, looking down at their sparkling Prada shoes.

George whispering into another man’s ear, “Who is that rather portly idiot?”

“I don’t know sir. Yes, he is a rather large fellow, isn’t he?”

George, “Before I go, anymore questions from the floor?”

They ignored the big man.

The big man left early, went past Brian Haw’s site and dropped him a tenner.

“How were the sausages Brian?”

“Not bad mate, thanks for the dough”.

“Any time”.

ENDS.

Monday, 15 October 2007

Banana Man Visits Westminster.

Just for a laugh watch these videos below, then read my nonsense, if you like.

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banana man - tally hall



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Banana-man: Episode 1: A day in the life of

I think that we all acknowledge that Sir Ranulph Twistleton-Wykeham-Fiennes, 3rd Baronet OBE (born 7 March 1944), is the world’s greatest and definitely the bravest, adventurer and explorer, that is until Banana Man appeared on the international stage.

Okay, so Sir Ralph may have been the first man to visit both the north and south poles, by land and the first man to cross the Antarctic by foot, but, it was only by foot and although we applaud him with a standing ovation, we cannot forget the ingenious skill and bravery of Banana Man, who crossed both poles not by foot, or by chopper, or even by a log carved into a canoe, but, he did this by shoes made entirely of banana skin. You could say he is a nutter and you might be right there. But, this four foot and ten inch tall Mexican from the remote, rural village of Zaragoza is a determined banana chomping dare devil – nothing scares him, not even plantain.

Unlike, Fiennes he did not have a supply of Kendal mint cakes to keep him going, no, he had only packs of bananas, which he hand picked himself, with the help of his elderly gran Maria-Jesus De Lopez, from the hills of Zaragoza. And, unlike Fiennes he certainly did not use a thermal vest when things got particularly nippy, no, he had only a banana skin suit which the elderly ladies in his village helped to weave together. It took them several years to do this, because they were all very old, I think the youngest lady in the village was ninety seven.

You see as far as I am concerned he is genius. A man that can survive for days on end on the love of good banana – is magic if you ask me!

So, you ask yourself what is Banana Man doing on the banks of the river Thames? Well, that’s a damn good question. You see unlike me he is a Labour supporter a Brownite. He is currently going to the houses of parliament to deliver a sack of his finest Mexican bananas, in the hope that they will provide a magic cure for the failing Prime Minster. Perhaps, these bananas will give the Prime Minster the strength he needs to carry on. Maybe the Prime Minster will do a ‘David Banner’ and turn into the incredible hulk, during Prime Minster’s Question Time. Maybe he already is the incredible hulk?

Perhaps Banana Man will convince him to join his next expedition which is to travel by banana boat, up the Thames.

Banana Man’s mantra ‘mutantur omnia nos et mutamur in illis’.

Friday, 12 October 2007

Through the clouds I can see.... (Bananas, frozen men in cheap suits, with blue rosettes)

"It was time", I thought to myself, "To go on another adventure". And, so I did. I travelled backwards in time, 3000 years to be precise, and what did I discover, as I reached down into the sandy water? I discovered my reflection - it was a shock I can tell you. I noticed that I was a yhetti - a blond one.

"Why me? Why a yhetti?" I enquired as I looked up into the clouds/river (down into the frozen river - there were a few gold fish, looking up with sad frozen Captain Bird's Eye fish finger eyes - saying please Ms. Yhetti defrost us?). Then I realised, "actually, it's okay. It's rather cold here, and if I just had a human suit of skin on I would be dead. Or, I would be suffering from frost bite and by now all of my extremities would have dropped off. It's the ice-age after all and I'm already pretty cold". Then I placed my hand on what I thought were rocks. I was mistaken, no, it was not a rock, it was a corpse of a large gentleman. Like a big stoney beached whale, just lying there like a gigantic ice-cube.
"Jesus!" I yelped in yhetti yelpness. I won't tell you who it was. But, I knew the name of the man. He was from another era in time. The man, the big man, had a massive blue Conservative rosette pinned to a nasty cheap pin striped suit, "What a plonker" I thought! "Never mind. I am hungry, and cold, and I'm a big hairy yhetti? What do I do now? Should I run up that mountain behind me, and start beating my chest like an ape? No, I know I need a banana. Damn-it! They're all frozen. Hey, is that ASDA over there?"

It is you know - it's ASDA.

Wednesday, 10 October 2007

Fucking Women .. Fucking Men .. Fucking Cheats.

"For the lips of a loose woman drip honey, and her speech is smoother than oil; but in the end she is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword"

A mistress should be like a little country retreat near the town, not to dwell in constantly, but only for a night and away. - William Wycherley.