I Swear by Almighty God…

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

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.


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.

Unknown Man with An Undercover Paedophile

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

Alpine Skiing

That May Welby

Just a quick note to send many hearty congratulations to Justin ‘Marcus’ Welby who no longer is an M.D. but now an ABC, if the rumours are to be believed. Yes, the competition for the new Archbishop of Canterbury (no, I didn’t know we’d run out of the old one either) appears to be a shoe-in as even Messers J.Coral and P.Power seem to have stopped taking bets that Marcus will replace the Welsh Beardy-Weirdy as the head of the Church.

It’s about time that Welby had some luck. Having had to suffer the ignominy of Eton and Cambridge, and the hardship of being an Oil Executive for 11 whole years, it’s nice to see him getting a leg over up. This country needs more Eton Old Boys and products of Oxbridge in places of power and influence, especially when some of the ones we already have are in danger of being locked up following kiddy-fiddling cover-ups at the BBC and in Government. Thank heavens that none of that sort of thing goes on in Church.

So may I be the last to congratulate Mr Welbeing. And let that be the last time I write about him.


The Franchise Never Dies

Anyone know if it’s the James Bond 50th Anniversary ? They really should let us know if it is or not. As usual, the Albert R “Cubby” Broccoli organisation are keeping their Walther PPKs close to their chests. The BBC have hardly mentioned a thing on their website – a mere four features a day of various hoary old Bond yarns.

On a recent wander past the magazine racks in Sainsburys, I saw Daniel Craig or a Bond Girl on no more than 78 different mag and newspaper covers.  From GQ, Vanity Fair and LIFE down to Woman and Home (which includes a knitting patter for an Aston Martin DB5), Wisden (“James Bond’s 50 Best LBWs”), The Daily Express: “Was Jimmy Savile the real Goldfinger ?and You Magazine‘s fascinating quiz “Best 50 Up the Skirt Shots of Bond Girls”.

It only serves as a reminder to me that once upon a time, every four years or so, I and everyone else in the press were charged with coming up with or working on terribly interesting and ,of course, highly original huge feature spreads on Ian Fleming‘s Character. For many of us, this meant dealing with the charmless EON Productions who make it their business to drip feed each ‘news’ organisation titbits and archive material for an 8-page “feature/advert relating the new movie – including rare shots of Shirley Eaton painted from head to toe in gold (there are only 93 different shots known to be in existence).

All this material is handed over under the strict understanding that you are doing them a favour. We slam the phone down, we say rude words and kick the desk, knowing that your rival publication has got that shot of Roger Moore that you really needed to finish your montage of “50 Best Bond Casual Attires” (Horse& Groom). But because Bond is sexy, alluring, ever-changing and the one of two British blokes on the planet with a sense of style (modesty forbids me to name the other), every few years we put that to the back of our mind and call Eon again to ask if they have a handy list of Bond Villains (they’d never thought of compiling one – honest). And “wasn’t it terrible that Adele’s song ‘leaked’ online ?”  Incredible.

And every few years the public swallow all this and lap it up. Our (or rather your) appetite for 007 has no end, apparently. I read with no interest at all that Friday 5 October 2012 has been declared ‘Global James Bond Day’ By who(m) ? Have a guess. There’ll be a “row” on TV about the name of the latest movie; endless phone-ins about who is the “Best Bond” are broadcast on radio (I once called up and suggested John Bond, who used to play for West Ham – I didn’t get on air), Ursula Andress’s swimsuit will be auctioned off again at Sotheby’s, and the BBC (again) will send Alan Yentob to do a documentary on Ian Fleming “The real James Bond“. Someone will write a “new” Bond book in the style of the originals. A debate on a late Arts show will show that David Niven and George Lazenby (who the producers worried was gay, d’you know ?) were bloody good actors and Sean Connery will be asked what he thinks of Daniel Craig, while we uncomfortably watch how old he’s suddenly become and realise that we really do Only Live Once.

So don’t worry if you missed this piece, I shall be re-publishing it in three years time, in time for the new movie “A View to an Overkill”. You won’t, of course, realise it’s the same piece as there will be new and exclusive pictures of Halle Berry and a rare interview with Gert Frobe where he told us that he couldn’t play cards after all ! It’ll be a thrill. Honest.

To Know Which Way the Wind Blows

Just in case you , like me, suffer from the bewildering confusion of not knowing if you are watching a regular BBC weather forecast, or one during the Sunday night farmer’s magazine Countryfile, here’s a handy cut-out-and-chuck-away guide to how BBC weather men are told to dress during each.

Thanks. That’s cleared that up.

Just one way which the BBC help you understand the world around you. Like letting you know that photos of The Duchess of Penge’s tits are a news story, while mass slaughter in Syria is a filler.

Farewell to TungstenTossers

You didn’t have to be a darts fan to appreciate TV commentator Sid Waddell. You merely had to be a lover of the English language, the forced metaphor and the crow-barred simile, and most importantly, possess a love of the ridiculous.

Waddell who died today aged 72 was a star of the BBC’s  and then Sky’s Darts Coverage for 35 years, and almost single-handedly brought the game into the homes of millions, and out of the drab public bars of the British boozer.

Everyone who knows anything about the man has their own favourite Waddell quote, from “There’s only one word for that: Magic Darts” to his legendary summation of Eric Bristow‘s world championship win: ” When Alexander of Macedonia was 33, he cried salt tears because there were no more worlds to conquer…Bristow’s only 27″

Waddell could be described as a combination of the baseball legend and ultimate quote machine Peter ‘Yogi” Berra and Homer Simpson. But his simplistic and bizarre analogies belied the the fact that Sid was a Cambridge History graduate. Waddell was nobody’s fool, even if he pretended to be.

So sit back and relive some of Sid’s greatest hysterical and historical thinkings and his great wit. The world of Darts and TV commentary has lost another magician.

That was like throwing three pickled onions into a thimble!

He’s playing out of his pie crust.

They won’t just have to play outta their skin to beat Phil Taylor. They’ll
have to play outta their essence!

Darts players are probably a lot fitter than most footballers in overall
body strength.

There’s no one quicker than these two tungsten tossers…

He’s about as predictable as a Wasp on speed

The atmosphere is so tense, if Elvis walked in, with a portion of chips…
you could hear the vinegar sizzle on them

There hasn’t been this much excitement since the Romans fed the Christians to the Lions.

Keith Deller‘s not just an underdog, he’s an underpuppy!

Even Hypotenuse would have trouble working out these angles

Steve Beaton – The adonis of darts, what poise, what elegance – a true
roman gladiator with plenty of hair wax.

If you’re round your auntie’s tonight, tell her to stop making the
cookie’s and come thru to the living room and watch these two amazing
athletes beat the proverbial house out of each other

Big Cliff Lazarenko‘s idea of exercise is sitting in a room with the
windows open taking the lid off something cool and fizzy.

Well as giraffes say, you don’t get no leaves unless you stick your neck out

His eyes are bulging like the belly of a hungry chaffinch

That’s the greatest comeback since Lazarus.

It’s the nearest thing to public execution this side of Saudi Arabia.

His physiognomy is that of a weeping Madonna.

There’s only one word for that – magic darts!

When Alexander of Macedonia was 33, he cried salt tears because there were
no more worlds to conquer….. Bristow’s only 27.

Eat your heart out Harold Pinter, we’ve got drama with a capital D in

If we’d had Phil Taylor at Hastings against the Normans, they’d have gone

He’s like D’Artagnan at the scissor factory.

Trying to read Reyes’s mind is like trying to read the mind of Jabba the

These guys look calm but inside they are as nervous as a vampire who knows
there’s a sale at the wooden stake shop in the morning.

He’s going like the Loch Ness Monster with a following wind!

Keith Deller is like Long John Silver – he’s badly in need of another leg.

On Bobby George – “He’s like a Sherman tank on roller skates coming down a mountain!”

He may practice 12 hours a day, but he’s not shy of the burger van!

He’s like Jack The Ripper on a Friday night.

He’s got one foot in the frying pan and one on thin ice.

Rod now looking like Kevin Costner when told the final cost of

Tarantino re-writing Gunfight at the OK Corral couldn’t have done any
better than this.

It’s just like taking a sausage from a boy in a wheelchair.