All Together Now…


Pour Me Another Tequila, Sheila

(Chorus)
Pour me another tequila, Sheila.
Take off that red satin dress.
‘Cause I crossed the border,
And I beat the dealer for all of that gold in Juarez.
I feel like ol’ Pancho Villa, Sheila,
And I’ve got the pesos to spend,
So pour me another tequila, Sheila.
And lay down and love me again.

No I can’t tell you about it.
Don’t mind the gun by my bed,
But I feel kind’a naked without it,
And it eases the fears in my head.
I never trusted in woman,
But Sheila I trust you tonight.
So pass me the salt and a lemon,
Bend down and blow out the light.

(Chorus)

Sheila I’m hearin’ your heartbeat,
But I’m hearing footsteps outside.
The courtyard is crawlin’ with them Federales
And Sheila, there’s no place to hide,
but I don’t know who could have tipped ’em,
nobody knew it but you,
but I never have trusted in woman,
Sheila, here’s what I’m going to do.

(Chorus)

Yeah! Pour me another tequila,
I’m gonna put on your red satin Dress.
You put on my clothes, and you go face the dealer.
Sheila I wish you the best.
I never trusted in woman,
Sheila I trusted you tonight.
So pour me another tequila Sheila,
And I’ll run for the border again.
Yeah! Pour me another tequila,
Sheila, as I ride for the border again.

The Friday Quiz


The Guardian:

Mother in court accused of using fake address to get son into school

A mother will appear in court today charged with fraud after being accused of providing a false address in an attempt to get her son into a leading state school.
She faces up to a year in prison or a £5,000 fine if found guilty of using a false address to get around the rules intended to ensure children go to schools within a certain catchment area.

The Telegraph:

MPs’ expenses: Julie Kirkbride agrees to stand down after one claim too many

Julie Kirkbride, the Tory MP at the centre of a row over her expenses, yesterday agreed to step down. She said she would not stand at the next election after a telephone conversation with David Cameron. She told the Tory leader that she was “under pressure” and had to go. But she failed to apologise for any of her claims or admit that they had been unreasonable.

One of the women in the stories above faces jail merely for lying to get her kid into a decent school, while one of them doesn’t face jail for claiming £170,000 in allowances to simultaneously fund both both her and her husband’s homes.

Quiz Question: Where’s my twelve-bore?

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Unhappy Hour


I have for years tried and failed to understand the workings of the City and the gobbledegook spoken therein. So it is with with some relief I receive this from a pal in an attempt to explain the current financial crisis in terms I can understand. It may help you too:


Heidi is the proprietor of a bar in Detroit. She realizes that virtually all of her customers are unemployed alcoholics and, as such, can no
longer afford to patronize her bar. To solve this problem, she comes up with new marketing plan that allows her customers to drink now, but pay
later. She keeps track of the drinks consumed on a ledger (thereby granting the customers loans).

Word gets around about Heidi’s “drink now, pay later” marketing strategy and, as a result, increasing numbers of customers flood into Heidi’s
bar. Soon she has the largest sales volume for any bar in Detroit. By providing her customers’ freedom from immediate payment demands,
Heidi gets no resistance when, at regular intervals, she substantially increases her prices for wine and beer, the most consumed beverages.
Consequently, Heidi’s gross sales volume increases massively.

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A young and dynamic vice-president at the local bank recognizes that these customer debts constitute valuable future assets and increases
Heidi’s borrowing limit. He sees no reason for any undue concern, since he has the debts of the unemployed alcoholics as collateral. At the bank’s corporate headquarters, expert traders transform these customer loans into DRINKBONDS, ALKIBONDS and PUKEBONDS. These
securities are then bundled and traded on international security markets. Naive investors don’t really understand that the securities being sold to them as AAA secured bonds are really the debts of unemployed alcoholics.

Nevertheless, the bond prices continuously climb, and the securities soon become the hottest-selling items for some of the nation’s leading brokerage houses. One day, even though the bond prices are still climbing, a risk manager at the original local bank decides that the time has come to demand payment on the debts incurred by the drinkers at Heidi’s bar. He so informs Heidi. Heidi then demands payment from her alcoholic patrons, but being unemployed alcoholics they cannot pay back their drinking debts. Since, Heidi cannot fulfill her loan obligations she is forced into bankruptcy. The bar closes and the eleven employees lose their jobs.

Overnight, DRINKBONDS, ALKIBONDS and PUKEBONDS drop in price by 90%. The collapsed bond asset value destroys the banks liquidity and prevents it from issuing new loans, thus freezing credit and economic activity in the community.
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The suppliers of Heidi’s bar had granted her generous payment extensions and had invested their firms’ pension funds in the various BOND securities. They find they are now faced with having to write off her bad debt and with losing over 90% of the presumed value of the bonds. Her wine supplier also claims bankruptcy, closing the doors on a family business that had endured for three generations, her beer supplier is taken over by a competitor, who immediately closes the local plant and lays off 150 workers. Fortunately though, the bank, the brokerage houses and their respective executives are saved and bailed out by a multi-billion dollar no-strings attached cash infusion from the Government.

The funds required for this bailout are obtained by new taxes levied on employed, middle-class, non-drinkers.

Now, do you understand?

Do not be alarmed


If you hear a sudden hi-pitched shriek this morning coming from the South East London area it will only be me reacting to a certain minister as she (or he) announces to her (or his) constituency and the House that she (or he) is to step down after having been caught with her (or his) fingers in the till. Suffice to say I take no real pleasure in breaking this rumour to you, but I do have the champagne on ice, the pickled eggs in the fridge and have sent my no.1s to Sketchleys in preparation to what could be a very enjoyable afternoon/evening. Watch this space. If I’m wrong I’m going to be a tad miffed.

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In other news:

I’m not sure how to tell you this, so I’m just gonna tell you. Catholic nuns and priests abused children in their care for decades. And as you reel from that thunderbolt here’s another: There is a culture of bullying and intimidation inside Parkhurst Prison. Bloody hell. The world’s gone mad. Intimidation in a prison?? Priests interfering with children? Get away.

Workers around the country have started striking again in protest against foreign labour. And who could not have sympathy with them. Personally I think we shouldn’t employ anyone who wasn’t born in this country. If we’re still short of jobs, let’s make sure anyone employed by a firm has to have been born within the same borough of the workplace. That may not be enough though, so we could just offer work to all those living in the same street as the factory or plant. If all that still means our lads are out of work, let’s sack all the left-handers, the gingers (see above) or anyone without blue eyes and blonde hair.

That should do it.

Order !!! Order!!!


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Esther Rantzen is considering standing as an independent candidate at the next election. Dear Christ. It seems we are to be treated a whole bunch of independent candidates standing on an anti-sleaze ticket. Indeed, Martin Bell is considering re-standing on just such a platform. Does the HOC not contain enough smug gits without subjecting us to meeja show-ponies? Why stop there? Graham Norton for the next Speaker of the House, controlling PMQs (he’s on everything else)? Carol Vorderman I’m sure would make a great MP, and could be a great help with all those tricky receipts.

I for one would pay good money to watch The Chuckle Brothers arguing across the dispatch box: “To me, to you, to me” . Whatabout very hilarious tv innocent celebrity Michael Barrymore as Chief Whip? Can’t be any more calamitous then the bunch in there at the moment. “Awight at the back?” That’d take the smile off of Gordon’s face. Mind you, if he can smile when he tells us Blears and Smith have done nothing wrong, he can smile at anything.

Where’s Guy Fawkes when you need him?

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Short Square Legs


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I once had a row (no, honestly) with the bloke who taught me history. He stated that nothing was inevitable. Nothing. I took issue with this and, as is my wont, argued the toss. As I recall it was in a lesson that had supposed to be dealing with the outbreak of WWI—you know the stuff: The Serbs, The Austro-Hungary Empire, Rio Ferdinand, etc etc and after we’d gone through all the build up, I had noted that war was, therefore, inevitable. A debate/row ensued as Mr Lepine (for that was his name) listed the many different ways and points in time when war could have been avoided. Nothing, he repeated again and again, is inevitable.

I only mention this as I’ve just watched our glorious leader, Mr Brown (with my mind he runs), look the camera in the eye and state that no MP who has defied the rules on their Commons expenses will be allowed to stand for election as a Labour Party candidate. Defied the Rules. Hmmmm. Has anyone out there read anything by any MP who has actually admitted to breaking or “defying” the rules? No, of course not— they’ve all made “mistakes” or “errors of judgement” but all of them, of course, were working “within the rules”. I put it to you, Mr Lepine, that it is INEVITABLE that these shitbags (or is that manurebags?) will get away with the fraud and the skulbuggery because they were acting “within the rules”. Also, just look of the smugness as one-by-one, MP after MP queue up for the BBC and Sky News as they celebrate the demise of Speaker Martin— as if we’re supposed to believe the HOC is a good clean-living honest house again. One of them (faceless tory/labour backbencher) actually said “I’m relieved that we’ve put all this behind us”.

A wee dram afore ye go ?

A wee dram afore ye go ?

Inevitably (see!) Martin will be blamed for everything from trouser presses to to ghost mortgages. Between them, the election of a new speaker and Gordon turning a blind eye (oops) to the robbers in his own party AND the imminent parliamentary recess will go a long way to the disgraceful behaviour of MP’s becoming a faint memory sooner rather than later. Yes, GB will get a kick up the arse at next month’s elections, but he was gonna get that anyway. Knacker of the Yard is having meetings about having meetings about whether to meet about investigating the scandal. Sir Christopher Kelly’s Committee who are looking into the scam doesn’t report back to the house until November— that’s six months away. So we’ll be left with the corpse of Michael Martin, who seems to be carrying the can for the lot of em. Sure, Douglas Hogg is stepping down to spend more time with his moat and a couple of instantly-forgettable Labour MPs will be shown the door over their houses-that-never-were. (Why didn’t Nick Brown eat the evidence?—he seems to have eaten everything else), but the real news is that they’ve hounded out the fat wee mon, to pay for the sins of others. Dodgy little sod? Yes. The most dishonourable man in the chamber? Not even close.
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In other news, this weekend sees the start of the cricket season for yours truly— time to oil my bat, apply the liniment, strap-up the knees and squeeze into the flannels. Think of me this weekend as I wobble about a corner of a English field that is forever foreign to me, while younger types run around chasing, throwing and hitting balls. I always greet the start of a season with a mixture of glee (I get to see all my mates again in lots of nice pubs) and dread (it fvcking hurts). Thank god for the upcoming bank holiday monday—it gives me one more day to recover the power of walking after I will inevitably be asked by the skipper to bowl several overs (I reckon he’ll get two out of me). As I plummet inevitably towards my 45th birthday Captain David still believes I can bowl quick(ish) out-swingers for over-after-over. I was sure that my puny performance last season would finally prove to him that I’m fat, flatulent and fragile. My little legs no longer have the strength to carry me around at anything faster than glacial pace. I should be making the sandwiches and opening the biscuits, not opening the bowling. Season after season he cocks a deaf’un to my entreaties. Surely he’s found a 20 year-old quickie to take over the duties? Or is he really just trying to kill me? If it happens again this season I am thinking of tabling a motion of no confidence in him. I fear it’s inevitable.

Right arm over(weight)

Right arm over(weight)