If the British Government wish to stop al these boats crossing the English Channel, filled with would-be migrants, why don’t they give the job to The Minister for Rail & Air Chaos Chris Grayling? He seems to have the knack of bringing all means of transport to a standstill.
pic by Author
Boycie, Trigger and Del Boy in the Nags Head.
Discussing the name of Del and Raquel’s unborn child:
Trigger: “If it’s a girl they’re calling her Sigourney after an actress, and if it’s a boy they’re naming him Rodney after Dave.”
In the Nag’s Head pub:
Mike: “I’ve had certificates for my beer.”
Trigger: “Yeah, I’ve had a few days off work with it as well.”
At a school reunion:
Del Boy: “We had Denzil in goal, we had Monkey Harris at left-back, we had… camaraderie.”
Trigger: “Was that the Italian boy?”
After Rodney warns against eating beef:
Trigger: “I don’t know what you’re worried about. I’ve been eating British beef all my life.”
About his father:
Trigger: “He died a couple of years before I was born.”
Arriving at the council tip to find it closed:
Del Boy: “You said it was open 24 hours a day.”
Trigger: “Yeah, but not at night.”
As collated by BBC Online today
I am pleased to announce a number of exciting changes happening in the New Year here at The Sharp Single:
To celebrate the purchase of 3 new readers from Feltham (and who hasn’t recently ?) subscribers will be able to enjoy this publication as a 24/7 Operation. Yes, you read that correctly. For 7 Hours a week, 24 days of the month you may (or may not) be able to find something vaguely interesting, funny and/or original right here at what some are already calling “not a bad blog for someone who can’t spell”.
Secondly, and taking the lead from many of Fleet Street’s finest, there will be a new, full-colour Sunday edition (The SSonS) — available at a minimal premium rate (Paypal only, please. Or small bills. Or a fridge pack of Guinness).**
Historic Handover: The Author (left) and his new Honkers Bureau Chief thrash out the details of the new contract.
And last, and by all means least, following the roaring success of the BBC’s move to the Third World (Salford), The Single (Sharp UK Ltd) is pleased to announce the opening of its very first (and doubtless very last) Hong Kong office, where Ace [please check that someone—mb] veteran reporter A.Heckler will soon be taking hold of the tiller and keeping an eye on the world’s most terrifying economy for us. And the boozers therein.
So we wish good luck to Editor Heckle Fatty Pong and Lady Heckler and look forward to all those insightful and hilarious comments which we’ve all been waiting for while he was stationed in Blighty.
(Easy on the Dim Sum, Harry)
Artist’s impression of the new HK correspondent’s first day in his office.
They say that every time an accountant is born, an angel dies. Or something like that. Well I’d like to add to and improve that well-worn phrase. How about “Every time the Football Season starts before the end of the cricket season or most people have taken their summer holidays, a puppy loses its ears”? Ok, it may be not quite as sweet or catchy as the original, but you get my meaning.
Ahhhh….The People’s Game returns
Yes, unbelievably (although someone writes this every year) the cries of “onmeeadsun” and “backdoorbackdoor” could be heard throughout the land this weekend, and not just from the open windows at Catholic Church Boys homes. The minor English divisions took to the field/pitch, whatever they call it on Planet Sky TV this season, and play was resumed as usual. Charlton Athletic lost, as usual, and youngsters in English streets had a kickabout inbetween cars and fell over for no apparent reason, imitating their heroes. Lads in Scotland, who were fortunate enough not to be in the charge of the local priest, played fitba in the park in the style of their own local heroes: ran around in front of three bored (yet aggressive) bigoted onlookers, had no proper goalies and all went into administration afterwards.
And yet up in the Third World, the Manchester Third Test is still grinding to a halt, as is cricket’s wont. There are still two huge matches to come in this current cricket season. There are still 11 days of Aussie whingeing, England cheating and Deaf Dumb & Blind umpiring (Jimmy: Sure Bowls a Mean Short Ball) but you’d get good odds on Roman Abramovich sacking this week’s manager down at Chelski before Alastair Cook has taken his pads off for the winter.
Reculver – Twinned with Syria’s Homs
The Incumbent and I have yet to take ourself away on our our annual family summer trip to Reculver, and yet the pies and bovril are being re-heated at football grounds all over the country and I’ve yet to oil myself up and squeeze my slight frame into the newly-purchased 38″ Union Jack speedos (Matalan, 3 pairs for a fiver!).
I know it’s a plea that will fall on deaf eyes, a request which, like my application to be the new Dr Who, will remain ignored until Gallifrey freezes over, but is there any way that fitba, football, or even soccer can remain a winter pastime, so the rest of us can enjoy uninterrupted coverage of the Test Match series, the Croquet Season and our buckets & spades, at least until late September ?
No, I thought there wasn’t.
Hello children, are you sitting comfortably ? Then we’ll begin.
Who will be the next Doctor Who ? Who will travel the galaxy, fighting crime and …things ? Who will be filling up endless pages of the Radio Times every week ? Who actually gives a toss ? Well some children and a few lonely, sweaty men apparently do. For some reason, we take a look at the runners and riders.
International Treasure: One of the most popular men in any era or galaxy, a Twit in every sense and a complete Time Lord. Or Similar. Lets himself down every Lunar Equinox with tales of his crippling depression — which he doesn’t like to talk about. Vows to become the best Doctor ever, or kill himself trying.
Politician / TV Celebrity: Well, he’s on everything else. With his trusted side-kick, Diane Abbott, Dr Vag would travel the Universe on any bandwagon that happens to be passing. May appeal to the ethnic voter. Though probably not.
Cricketer [subs please check]: Has a huge following all over the Solar System. There are undiscovered life forms on Alpha Centauri who can already pick his slower ball. Reputation as a great death bowler won’t be exposed as a myth, as The Doctor never dies. His tattoos may scare smaller children. His bowling won’t.
Mailbag Sewer: The ever popular TV host, commentator and Mancunian Fiddler would bring with him his legendary catchphrase “And Here Come the Martians / Policemen” and a ready-made dipstick (possibly stolen from Arthur Ellis. Wipe it — we don’t know where it’s been). Unlikely to be allowed within seven light years of a female assistant.
Devil-Dodger: The current Archbishop of Canterbury comes complete with all-seeing, omnipotent, imaginary friend. Doesn’t seem to have anything else to do. Hopes that there aren’t any of those homosexualist types on the Planet of the Daleks. Was branded a “wanker” by a CofE priest this week. Possibly won’t be the last time that happens.
Journalist, Surfer and Sharp Single Correspondent: Recently released from the clutches of the legendary “Dickheads of Time”, Mr Horrible resides in his secret hideaway in the Catacombs of gay Paris, knocking out (steady !) endless rants to this very publication and to anyone else who may be passing. A match for any passing Davros or Cyberman, Horrible is a rank outsider due to his love of the C-word before the 9 o’clock watershed. Little fucker.
Here’s something from someone called @WelshDalaiLama on Twitter. All good fun and optimistic on his part I reckon, but well-intentioned for all that. Once the Welsh Oozalem themselves into Wooden Spoon position, I suspect they won’t need the rules of a game to dive into the bottom of a bottle or glass. My doctor has advised me not to be driving or be near heavy machinery during an “epic” monologe by Eddie Butler of the Observer (he changed his name by Deed Poll), but it’s certainly worth keeping an eye (or ear) out for Pit Bullisms.
It seems the BBC have come up trumps with the amount of coverage they have during this year’s northern hemisphere Rugby competition, with “Live and Exclusive” coverage of the Championship promised. They certainly do seem to be very excited at wrestling the coverage from Bitter Barnsey and Woeful Will over on Sky. Though I feel that the BEEB may soon be accused of overkill in the not-too-distant future. Breakfast News’ hilariously awful Mike Bushell this morning chose the Millenium Stadium to misread his own pisspoor script in what seemed like a mini-series rather than a sports report. We are promised much more from him throughout the tournament. Oh Deep Joy!
I’m also hearing that every evening at 11pm there will be a live discussion programme on the big Rugby issues of the day, hosted by Claire Balding and Keith Vaz MP, as it is written in the Charter of the BBC that they should appear for at least 12 minutes every hour of every day the company broadcasts. At least that’s how it feels at the moment.
As usual, some of the information above may not be true at time of publication (apart from the bits about Wales and Mike Bushell).
Well I suppose the time has come to stop moaning about how skint I am, get up off my arse and go get a job. That may sound a ludicrous idea in this day and age, but there seem to be a lot of jobs available at the moment, and I’ve been pondering their various merits. I wonder if I could find something to do part-time to supplement the millions I’m making out of designing T-shirts ?
Coronation Street actress Jenny McAlpine
By the way, if anyone from the BBC Newsnight Team is reading this, that last line was a joke. I’m not making millions out of T-shirts, I merely put that line in by way of a joke. I hope to include several more jokes in this piece, and hopefully much funnier ones. But please, if the rumour spreads across the internet that I’m worth a fortune due to my printing business, and you feel it would be a story worth airing, please call me to see if there is anything to the gossip. Back in the day when I worked in the journalism business, it used to be called fact-checking.
So there’s my first application off in the post : for the job of Newsnight Editor. There presumably isn’t one at the moment, and if there is I think I back myself to make a better fist (easy !) of it, being pretty sure as I am that a multi-collaborated story about systematic and widespread child abuse on BBC premises, covered up for over 40 years would probably be worth airing, whereas some bloke approaching me in the World Food aisle of Sainsburys, accusing a Tory peer of abusing him, adding “I’m pretty sure he looked a bit like that Lord McAlpine bloke, or someone…probably” might merit some further investigation before broadcasting it. D’you think?
The Renault Alpine
As mentioned previously, The job as the new Arch Bishop of Canterbury has already gone. I was never really cut out for that anyway. Firstly, and most obviously, I’ve never been a treasurer for Enterprise Oil Plc- a post which, if you know your scripture as badly as I don’t, is spelt out in the book of Colin18:15 :- and Yea verrily, the Lord sayest unto me -“if you want a jobeth up here, mate, worketh you for ten plus one years (including Bankest Holidays) for a FTSE 100 listeth multinational, then I might consider you. And for My sake, shaveth off that beard – I’m not going down that route again” – amen.
So I clearly need to look elsewhere. Only to add that it’s nice to see the new ABC stamping his sandal down heavily on gay marriage right from the get-go. I certainly wouldn’t want to lead any church which welcomed all and understood the needs and differences of all HIM UPSTAIR’S flock. On the other hand, it may just be his way of ridding the church of paedophiles, because, as the Prime Minister has already said this week, there is a concern that this hunt for child abusers could turn into a gay witch hunt.
Lord McAlpine and a Friend (unknown)
It’s taken a while to arrive, but I wondered how long it would take for someone to link child abuse with homosexuality. What a brilliant device to justify the non-outing of child abuse offenders. Hide behind a human rights statute which, given half a chance, Cameron and his mob would chuck out at the drop of a Top hat (and demand the right to bend over and pick it up). The BBC spent all week slating Philip Scofield for having the temerity to ask Cameron about the rumours, but not once did anyone pick up on the scandalous accusation that paedophilia is a product of homosexuality.
So there’s application No.2: Witch Hunter (Gay) General. Just point out all those gay witches to me and I’ll be on the case. A rather well-off bloke called Cliff, who drinks in my local pub (known to me as Fiscal Cliff – a joke only I enjoy) reckons statistically that “all poofs are perverts”. Who amongst us could argue with a beautiful, well constructed argument such as that ? He’s also a champion of the “all rag-heads are terrorists” school, and founder of the Dartford chapter of the “Illegal Immigrants Smell” society. It’s a real joy chatting to him, as you can image. (Note to BBC journalists that last paragraph was a joke too. It’s not a joy to speak to him)
As an aside, I was recently asked to be a driver and take the X-Factor Cheryl and her former husband Ashley up to St James’ Park for a charity gig. But I didn’t fancy it, so I turned it down. To me it seemed a bit like taking Coles to Newcastle.
sorry
An Undercover Paedophile
But I mustn’t be too hard on the Prime Minister. It is, after all, a well-known fact that if you let gays into the armed forces, they will be distracted from their task of fighting the enemy by their uncontrollable urge to shag the nearest NCO up the Tactical Retreat. It’s obvious that these degenerates blend in with normal folk, dressing and acting in a manner which makes it incredibly hard to tell them from us regular chaps.
What a sensational idea. To conceal the fact that you are a paedophile in a children’s home by dressing up as…. a paedophile. Who on earth could have realised what he was up to ? No wonder the PM is concerned that we will be hunting down the wrong sort or paedophile individual , and accuse any random cabinet minister person that they were either colluding with the offenders, indulging in nefarious activities with them, or simply so incompetent that they unwittingly turned a blind eye to these crimes in a bid to be popular. I can’t see that sort of admonishable behaviour ever having happened, frankly.
Useless Twat with An Undercover Paedophile
If the Witch Hunter job has already gone, there’s always the job of the head of the CIA to apply for. The incumbent one, David Petraeus, has just fallen on his sword after having admitted having an extra-marital affair. It’s apparently not the done thing to have the Spook-in-Chief play away from home, in case he goes all John Profumo on you and starts pillow-talking with the opposition. Petraeus is an all-American hero and the suggestion that he may have betrayed state secrets is vigorously denied by both the US Government and his lover, Mrs Edith Taliban, Hut 5, Nad-e Ali, Helmund Province. Telephone: Afghanistan 4. (Note to the remaining members of the CIA: That last bit was a joke also. I made up her phone number. My hat size is 6 7/8, should you want to bring a canvas bag with you when you call. I also have Aspergers. Honest).
Oh fuck it. I think I’ll apply to be a Police and Crime Commissioner. By the sounds of it you’ll only need about 5 votes to get in, such is the apathy for the upcoming UK elections. In Kent, The English Democrat candidate is the wonderfully named Steve Uncles. Here’s the opening to his website:
“Steve Uncles Kent Police & Crime Commissioner English Democrats – “More Police Catching Criminals” Born Blackheath (Traditional Kent), child hood Bexley (Traditional Kent), adult & family life Dartford (Kent), I am an English Kentishman. I have worked within public and private sectors and for 10 years ran my own business.”
Zeig Heil
(NB: I made that last bit up.)
Do you get the idea he’s from (Traditional) Kent ? I can’t read that without hearing the “We Want to be Togevva” voice in my head. I’m amazed we haven’t run over each other in the past. If I can’t beat him I might as well give up and go and make T-shirts or something.
Alpine Skiing
Come the fuck in or fuck the fuck off.
The Sharp Single 