Our glorious democracy

Philip! Philip! Look! It's just as if I am on the telly!


Sarah refused to stay at home, even though Gordon had superglued her spectacles case to her head.


For God's sake woman, who the fuck are these people? I thought we were going to the Chessington World of Adventure.


No, David, I don't want to hold hands. You seem to have forgotten that I did not go to Eton.


The "Heigh-ho" song was always one of Liz's favourites.




Neither of them would admit to cutting the cheese, and managed to keep a straight face for over 36 minutes.

"What do you have under your gown?"
"Your momma!"


This year's erotic dancer adopted a black tights and giant pepper dispenser theme. "Sleaze and Sneeze".



No, we confiscated your wand and cauldron on the way in, you vile old ratbag, now sit down and shut the fuck up before you curdle any more milk.


Gerald had gone to great lengths to ensure that he had enough spare wigs for his Mae West tribute act.


Ever since she had seen "Cleopatra" it had been Liz's dream to be rolled out of a carpet down a very long corridor.



Hundreds of Father Christmases staged a sit in to protest about the proposed tax on beards.

The lads practise for the skittles tournament. Last year Edwin managed to topple Nicholas Soames.


Wait until you hear what I said about you in the speech. You'll piss yourself!


Liz read the script, and wondered who in hell had requested Take That to appear.


Gord and Dave were equally perplexed as to which party Jimmy Krankie represented, and why he got precedence over them.


You'll never believe this shit! And here's me supposed to read it out as if it is for real.



You will shit yourself when you hear what Philip is going to say to you.

Get a move on, you old trout, I want to get home before Countdown.

Illegal immigrants sent back home

We had all been waiting patiently for an update from our reporters at ground zero, but MJ giggled incessantly throughout her audience and couldn't remember a thing afterwards, and Donn claims to have been forced to sign the Official Secrets Act and says that his conscience will not allow him to discuss the plans to take the USA back into the Commonwealth using huskies and the RCMP.

So I will just have to tell you the story myself

The royal couple had been advised that it was protocol to wear two poppies in Canada - one to commemorate the war dead, and one to apologise to the rest of the world for Celine Dion. Just after this picture was taken, Cams leapt on Chuck's back, shouted "Yee Haw!" and had to be restrained. The palace refused to comment on the "All fur coat and no knickers" stories in the less respectable parts of the press.

Donn assures Chuck that he had not gone to any trouble, and that he always dressed like this on a Tuesday.
"Can you repeat that more slowly please? We're cutting down on expenses and haven't brought an interpreter. It sounded as if you said something like 'How'd y'all like three foot of rusty sword up your sorry limey ass' but I've no idea what that means.

Trisha and Janice told the prince that they certainly did not want to know what he had in his pocket, and that he could expect to hear from their respective mothers. Meanwhile Camilla is curious to know exactly what the children had done wrong to be roped off.


In order to avoid frightening the last 7 pairs of mating "McKenzie's bison" in Manitoba, Camilla was given a sound proofed umbrella. "I can still see you, though" joshed Charles, "and it's put me off rumpy-pumpy for the night!"

Charles was crestfallen. Mummy had told him that he would be going on a boat trip round the Great Lakes, but when he got to Toronto he had to make do with the Mayor's photographs of the new 'water feature' in his yard.

.... but I like it.

Now on YouTube - young Henry's audition to replace Steven Tyler.

Culture

May I solicit your views about the artistic performance most deserving of an award this weekend?

The contenders are:

• The elegant and poetic Martin Castrogiovanni, who epitomises grace and subtlety.

• The multitalented Henry. You will all know his dear mother Melissa from her association with dear old Bozza. Henry is the 8th of her seventeen children, and has already made it into the national spotlight. Henry hopes to become lead singer with Hawkwind when his voice breaks. On this link, he is about 9 minutes in.

• The cast of “The Thick of It”. I done several lols this week. I am especially enamoured of Ms Rebecca Front, and I have contacted her via Twitter to ask her, if possible, for her to visit and do her dance on the cushions at my house. As I have never met the lady I felt it expedient to point out in said message that I was not a pervert. Strangely, she has not yet replied. Those of you (Dave) with no interest in her distinguished comedy career may recognise her as the boss of the repressed homosexual Lewis and his screamingly camp sidekick Hathaway. Surely in this new century it is no crime to catch the other bus, and the sooner these two incompetent cops come out of the closet the better. I shall put this point to her if I get the opportunity.

IITW-E,WNBRI

I may attend to the request from the reverend gentleman in due course, but I need to record the fact that I have been moved by watching one of the finest displays of sporting prowess that I can remember.
For those of you, and I really must try to educate you, who do not appreciate the beauty of the spectacle of rugby union I will be brief.
Leicester have just beaten South Africa. South Africa are the world champions, and just about the best team in the world. The result may seem close, but actually they destroyed them. I have never seen a tri-nations team capitulate in the scrum in the way that the boks did tonight.
For those of you who would, more than a little churlishly in my view, say that it was not the main South African team, I would point out that Leicester had 12 players injured and a further 6 away on international duty - they had to recall players out on loan to other teams in order to make up a full squad today.
Please view it as a religious duty to see Martin Castrogiovanni play rugby in this lifetime.
That is all.

Brotherly love

The BBC news channel is offering a story in which David Cameron outlines the Conservative’s approach to Europe.

Unfortunately one has to watch a video stream in order to find out what the approach is, and I fear that I would regurgitate the delicious vegan fruit and ginger cake that I have just eaten if I had to watch the odious little tit.

So I am guessing their approach is via Calais and direct to Dresden with the bombers.

My approach to Cameron would be from above, sitting on top of a five ton weight.

I will be back after these messages

• Boggins is back. Perhaps only temporarily. Please do not miss what may be his final performance of the year.
• Do not miss "Campus" on channel 4 on Friday 6th at 10.00. Dear old Blue Cat is the star behind the scenes.
• I am reluctant to send you lot to this next one. This lady is my cousin. She is actually my cousin's wife, so we do not have any genetic connection. I have never met her, and don't want any of you to be silly when you go to visit. She is a very nice lady, and I have forgiven her husband and his family for fleeing the continent when I was born. If you misbehave I will have my other cousins come and sing to you. Then you will be very sorry indeed.
• I had a postcard from my dear friend ILTV. I done a lol. Get over there and make her do one. Now.
  

Weeding out the troublemakers

I felt compelled to join the growing numbers of highly qualified experts who have resigned from the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs. My resignation letter is enclosed below. I trust that you will all respect the confidentiality.


Dear Alan

I am sorry to lay this heavy trip on you, man, but would it be cool if I split this scene? It’s kind of freaking me out, and I really want to be mellow and spend some time listening to the latest String Band album, if you can dig it. I can dig your vibe, right, but the only reason people have got it in for dope is that it is the people’s weed, man. The CIA and the KGB got together to try to control the supply (this is true, Steve told me) but they couldn’t stop all the brothers and sisters who were growing their own. I think that it would be far out if you stopped trying to mess with our heads, man, and realised that no harm ever came out of a few joints. Wow, man, if you just turned on, tuned in and dropped out in the cabinet meetings it would be too fucking much.

Love, peace and move away from the towers.

Scurra.

P.S. You know what would be really cool? To rename the Committee “The Advisory Council for Information about Drugs”. (geddit?)




You will all realise that the only way that a committee can advise on drugs is to get totally stoned. Otherwise there is no objective way of forming a view. The BBC have tried to cover up this truth, for example when they reported the sacking of Professor Nutt (crazee name, crazee guy) they said:
“The professor said smoking cannabis created only a "relatively small risk" of psychotic illness.”
I have corrected the punctuation:
“The professor said, smoking, cannabis created only a "relatively small risk" of psychotic illness.”

Trying to focus. What, all of us?

As I have mentioned before, I have taken refuge from the demands of the needy on the electric internet by immersing myself in the ancient science of genealogy. I had given up hope of ever tracing my male line back further than gt.gt.grandfather Ben, who had the misfortune to be born in Ireland. There is nothing wrong with being Irish, I must clarify, it is just that they failed to keep records of who did what to whom and the consequences thereof.

However, some time ago I submitted a DNA sample to some kind folk who were compiling a database, and this week I have found that there is a match, and Ben had a brother/cousin/second cousin and all sorts of people who came from Staffordshire, so although I cannot be sure of the relationships at the moment, I have found hundreds of his kin who wondered what possessed his mother to go to Dublin to give birth (perhaps they were doing a census, and Quirinius had mistaken Ben’s dad for a leprechaun).

Staffordshire sounds quite neutral, doesn’t it? It may lead you to deduce that the Scurras of Staffs were rural folk, tending their sheep and alpacas. But no, it is time to fess up. My forebears came from Willenhall. You know. Near Wolverhampton. In the Black Country. Willenhall, for some reason with which I am not yet cognisant, is associated with lock making. Many lock makers developed humped backs as a result of their work, but it is not this affliction that concerns me. I am not, as far as I know, quasimodoesque, although since the invention of the electric internet and Sky television I have little occasion to stand up. No, rather it is the fact that the Black Country has the most appalling dialect in this corner of the galaxy.

I am bereft to discover that not only do I not have anything worthwhile to say, but that when I say it I sound like a constipated manic depressive. For those of you of a foreign persuasion who are unfamiliar with the sound of the Wolverhampton accent, and are curious to hear it, let me just say this. DON’T!

Lugubrious does not begin to describe it. The caterwaulings of Robbie Williams, all country and western singers, Max Bygraves and Celine Dion combined are as heavenly choirs compared to the speech of the typical Willenhallonian. Those of you who find the singing of Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen less than cheerful (and I do not share that view) would change your mind if you had to spend a morning conversing in Walsall.

The dialect is more hideous than that of:

• Trevor Brooking, whose nasal whine and failure to pronounce the letter ‘g’ even though it is in his own name, has caused over 3 million people to defect from following football to taking up crochet.
• David Frost, for whom the word “smarm” would be complimentary.
• Mariella Frostrup, obviously one of Frost’s cousins whose sickening saccharine laden utterances have forced me to abandon watching the only cultural programme on Sky 1.
• Hugh Whatshisbollocks who does the rugby commentary in South Africa. God, in the cause of balance, decided that one of the most beautiful countries on earth should have an over abundance of Nazis, and, were that not enough, gave the inhabitants an accent that could only be achieved by a normal human being who was wearing underwear three sizes too small. Hugh has taken this already Hades-like rant, and infected it with a monotone so loathsome that his microphone melts three times during a typical Currie Cup game.
• Bob Willis. His voice may put you to sleep, however you will not sleep soundly, but rather have nightmares so horrendous that you would rather stay awake and read Jeffrey Archer.
• Gyles Badbreath. No explanation necessary.

Welcome to Kali Yuga

It is a strange day for news at the Torygraph. When there is a shift in its policies, one fears for the future of civilisation.

1) Cue for old joke.
It says that one person in five would consider voting for the BNP. There are five in my family, but I am not sure which one is the right winger – mum, dad, me, sister Stalina or brother Franco. I think it must be mum.
2) It reports on a book which says that pets are bad for the environment and that people should consider eating them. I was so incensed that I telephoned the palace to complain, but was told that Liz was busy, apparently making a Corgi Khorma in the kitchen. “A medium-sized dog has the same impact as a Toyota Land Cruiser driven 6,000 miles a year”. No, really, that is what it says.
3) “Woman gives birth in midair”. It transpires that she was on an aeroplane, so not such an entertaining spectacle as I had imagined.
4) A woman from Accrington has won £240,000 for biting a poisonous worm while on holiday. The worm was in her dinner. No matter what the financial incentives, little will tempt me to abandon my annual 10 days in Mablethorpe.

********

Over on twitter, by contrast, there are thousands of people suggesting “one letter off movies”.
Scaryduck is (and how could it be any other way?) the winner, with “The Shiting”. Although I thought my entry – “King Solomon’s Mints” was not without merit.

Contributors are welcome here for those too poor to afford Twitter, but I must warn you that they will all have been done already.