Orville Falls Off Perch and Pauline for Parliament

Sad news today that everyone's favourite nappy-wearing flightless bird has shuffled off this mortal perch. Orville, the operator of Keith Harris, finally flew off to to the great aviary in the sky after entertaining (sic) countless generations over a star-studded showbiz career.

Orville (left) and his puppet, Keith Harris

Falsetto voiced Orville could, amazingly, project an almost human-like bass voice onto his puppet Harris. After early success and a Saturday night TV show which ran for eight years, Orville reached the height of his fame with the Christmas hit Orville's Song (I wish I could fly) . Readers are advised only to hit this link if they have a strong constitution and have not eaten for at least 5 hours. (Your correspondent can accept no liability for vomit on carpets)

In latter years Orville and his nemesis fell on bleak times. "Quite honestly, I hated that bloody Harris" said Orville - "He drank like a fish, and was always trying to stick his hand up my bum."
The entertainer spiralled into depression and even contemplated drowning himself, ironically, in a local duck pond.But nostalgia proved to be a lifeline. He began appearing at holiday camps and student unions - reinventing his show for adult audiences under the title "Duck Off".
Orville will be sadly missed, as will his puppet.

On the erection front things are hotting up with DC finally awakening from his torpor to say that he was "not inconsiderably bloody well intent on winning, so there!" (or was that the other Tory bloke who shagged Edwina Currie?)

Best outfit of the weekend must surely go to Adam Clifford of Class War. 

The lovely Adam outside his London pied a terre

It seems that Adam is a graduate of Edge Hill University (see blogs passim) and has modelled himself on Steve Coogan's delightful Pauline Calf.

Actually, the above erection poster does less than justice to the splendidly dressed Adam, so let's have a look at him on a recent TV appearance;-

Disturbingly attractive - like that Eurovision Song Contest winner!

Whilst not wishing to align myself with the policies (if they have any) of this bunch of nutters, I do feel somewhat sympathetic to one of their campaign objectives!;-

Perhaps not Saatchi and Saatchi, but it gets the message across.

Of Charm, Character and Restless Genitals

Lying in bed the other morning and half listening to the early morning radio (or 'wireless' as I prefer to call it) I heard this wonderful phrase;- "I don't trust charm in a man. It speaks of weak character and restless genitals." Naturally I had to find out who said it.


It seems to have been uttered by a Mr. Siddal, a character in a BBC drama about the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood  called Desperate Romantics which was broadcast in 2010.

 "This is all very interesting" I hear you yawn, but the point of this blather is that in Googling (allowable verb in 2015) up this information my eyes were drawn to a citation lower down the page - Restless Genital Syndrome! Yes folks, ReGS, it seems, actually exists and genital sensations of spontaneous unwanted imminent orgasm seem to afflict some of our dear lady folk.

Now this may be very important in explaining the sometimes rather irrational behaviour of some of the fair sex. If the dear ladies are walking around with pulsating nether regions due to ReGS it's not surprising that they get a bit stroppy when a chap decides to nip off to the boozer or disappear for a couple of days on a golfing break.

I shudder to go into the details of this affliction in a family blog, but will leave you with this frightening summary;-

A Mysterious Disorder

ReGS is characterised by the presence of restless leg syndrome (the mind boggles!) and/or an overactive bladder (the ladies seem to get pissed off), as well as the 5 diagnostic criteria of persistent genital arousal disorder (PGAD).

These criteria include involuntary genital arousal that:

Persists for an extended period of time (hours, days, and/or months) (Makes Viagra look like a sweety!)

Does not go away after 1 or more orgasms

Is unrelated to subjective feelings of sexual desire

Feels intrusive and unwanted

Causes distress

I'll leave it there, but wonder if this is what is getting at Nicola Sturgeon?

Talking of our favourite Caledonian Cutie, I am amazed that Nicola manages to fit in her duties of First Minister in the Scottish Parliament along with her show business career;-

Crank and Krankie

As far as I am aware, La Sturgeon and Little Jimmy have never been seen in the same room together.
For those of you unfamiliar with the intricacies of the Scottish humour scene, I would explain that the Krankies are a husband and wife comedy (sic) duo and that Little Jimmy is in fact Janette in drag (of which more later). It seems that Ian and Janette Tough (for it is they), both aged 64, are a right pair of goers, having been 'swingers' for some years (no, I am not making this bit up). It is thought that Little Jimmy / Janette is a martyr to ReGS and that husband Ian has a permanent stiffy.

The Krankies are famous for their catch phrase  'fan-dabi-dozi' - which probably says it all.

Talking of cross-dressing, the world of academe was shaken to its foundations last week with the announcement that the academic beacon that is Edge Hill University (formerly Brum Poly) is to offer a degree course in 'Drag Kings and Drag Queens in Performance' as part of their Performing Arts, Dance and Drama course. The module will analyse the link between performance, gender, sexualities and identity. It will also look at wider theories on sexuality, gay and lesbian theatre, transgender identities, HIV/AIDS and activism, the university said.

Now this is the sort of initiative that is really going to put the Great back into Great Britain! Sod the need for Doctors, Scientists and Engineers - this pursuit of the perverted is sure to be a great use of the tax-payers cash and will have foreigners of confused gender queueing up to get qualified before returning home to be imprisoned or worse.

Right, end of rant about academic standards, and back to Hartlepool United football fans and their plan to attend the last away match of the season dressed as Bob Marley as a tribute to the late singer who disappeared in a cloud of marijuana smoke 34 years ago. It seems that the Hartlepool fans have a history of fancy-dressing up for this match, being variously Smurfs, Thunderbirds, Penguins and Oompa Lumpas in recent seasons.

Anyway it seems that some curmudgeon from Carlisle (their opponents of the day) has alerted the Kick It Out anti-racism campaign who have advised Carlisle to refuse entry to anyone who arrives blacked up. The Hartlepool fans point out that they have no plans to 'black up' anyway. They rather sensibly pointed out that the match against Carlisle is a local derby and that having 300 of the visiting fans in fancy dress could only serve to diffuse any tension. To his great credit, Keith Curle the Carlisle manager and one of the few coloured/black/ethnic (God knows what is politically acceptable these days!) managers in the game says that he cannot see any racial element in people dressing up as the late singer - an island of common sense in a mad, mad world.

By the way, Hartlepool seems to be a Northern outpost of zany humour having once elected a monkey as its mayor!

Just chill out man! You honkies is so uptight.

Finally, in what has been a right rag-bag of a post, have a little laugh at this bunch of tits.

Royal baby watcher Terry Hutt has sleeping bag stolen

In a shocking development which illustrates all that is wrong with Britain today, veteran Royal watcher and nutcase about town Terry Hutt (see previous blog) has had his patriotic regalia violated and his Union Jack decorated sleeping bag stolen whilst he attended to his ablutions.

The Huttmeister in situ

Said a devastated Hutt (79) "What a disgrace, there I was having a crafty piss in McDonalds and some bastard nicks my bed. What is the world coming to? It was never like this in the blitz. In them days everyone respected other people's property; we never locked our front doors (mind you our house didn't have a front door 'cos the bloody Luftwaffe blew it off!) and rather than nick things, we spent all our time singing patriotic songs about Hitler's lack of testicles.)

The local police have been informed. Inspector Knacker in a press conference this morning said "The public can rest assured that The Met will leave no stone unturned in seeking out the perpetrator of this dastardly act and then chasing him into an underground station and shooting the bugger ....... oh no, we've done that one already. Operation Bring Back the Bag will take priority over all other crime in the capital."

The party leaders were asked for their comments;-

David Cameron (Conservative) said that he was deeply concerned about Mr. Hutt's plight and would be launching an immediate Royal Inquiry under the Chairmanship of Sir John Chilcot. This inquiry would involve interviewing every inhabitant of London and would report by 2028 (or later if Sir John carks it and we have to start again. In the mean time, Cameron said that he would send round the fruity Samantha with a couple of blankets for the flag-bedecked loony as it would be a good photo opportunity and a chance to win some votes from those undergoing care in the community.

Ed Miliband (Labour) was less sympathetic. "We really can have little sympathy with this person. Hutt's insistence in occupying this sleeping bag on a London park bench when he already has a perfectly good home in Weston-super-mare is typical of the Tory voting, Royal worshipping faction in our society. To have what is effectively a second home should mean that draconian measures are to be expected; good luck to the deserving member of the less privileged who has appropriated it."

Nick Clegg (Liberal) sympathised with Terry's plight. "Terry has been disenfranchised in the bedding department as a direct consequence of the mis-management of our Coalition partners. Only by voting for a strong Liberal presence in the next parliament will sad people like Terry be able to rest in safety on park benches across our green and pleasant land." Mr. Clegg offered to send that nice Mr. Cable round to sort things out, but this offer was rejected by Mr. Hutt on the basis that Old Vince "scares the crap out of me."

Nigel Farage (UKIP) blamed Terry's loss on the hordes of illegal immigrants who he claims are descending on London's Royal vantage points with the sole intention of stealing Royal memorabilia which they will export back to Bongo-Bongo Land and sell at a great profit. "Mark my words matey, they wouldn't have got away with this in the Third Reich" said Nige over a pint at the 'Slug, Fascist and Lettuce' public house this lunchtime.

Nicola Sturgeon (SNP) was delighted to hear of Terry's plight. "Serves the bugger right" she said with a dismissive smirk, "come the SNP revolution, the first thing we will do is get rid of those parasites from the House of Windsor. Then sycophants like Mr. Hutt will have to retune to fawning over King Alex (Salmond) when he is installed in Edinburgh Castle."

It's such a perfect day - and I want to share it with YOU!

Dear readers (I assume there are more than one of you!), today is a momentous occasion in the life of your correspondent. As a welcome relief from all that political trivia and rampant Sturgeonomania I am happy to share with you my latest acquisition - a wonderful pre-loved toast rack!

Now I have been a keen toastracophile for many years but I am sorry to report that, up to now, I have not been fully supported in my enthusiasm by my good lady wife. For many years after our marriage we had to endure the misery of being rackless. Toast was soggy and tasted like cardboard, and our appetites for those intimate moments over the breakfast table wained to the point that our toast-life became almost non-existant. I must admit that there were moments around this time when I sought solace with extra-marital toast based assignations. I would slip away incognito to rather dodgy hotels just to savour their Full English Breakfast and to linger over their beautifully racked toasted goodies. We eventually sought counselling for our affliction and those marvellous people from ARBITE (The Association for Real Beauty in Toastrack Eventualities) put us back on the right track. They suggested that we face our difficulties head-on and invest in a simple toast rack with which to reignite our appreciation and pleasure.

Now toastracologists amongst you will recognise that the model we employed was pretty basic, but to my dear wife's credit, she was willing to embark on this journey back to full toast-based relations, and to experiment, even if her initial effort was somewhat lacking in flair and imagination;-

Rather sad modern toast rack - a mere apology

This rack had to serve us for some years. It was functional but improved our relationship no end. Slice separation was satisfactory, cooling progressed at an acceptable rate and our general level of excitement and satisfaction was greatly improved.

After some years of this rather meagre fare, I am sorry to say that I began to weary of this rack's Nordic functionality (I blame IKEA), its angularity and inability to accommodate toast of real girth. Rather than lapse into my former bad habits, I bit the bullet and raised my fears and concerns with She Who Must Be Obeyed. Her initial reaction was scepticism; she felt that my interest in toastracology bordered on the obsessive and could be classed as slightly perverted. Luckily our new found relationship was strong enough to accommodate my desires and to my intense pleasure SWMBO delivered me of wonderful fully-fledged traditional toast rack!

The new rack - what a beauty!

Oh happy man! What a cracker, EPNS, pre-loved and only £4 in the Charity Shop. The old apology for a rack has been donated to said Chazza Shop; it may provide consolation and help to some young couple just embarking on a toast-based relationship.

One can but fantasise on this premium rack's history. I imagine it gracing the tables of the great houses of England. What great conversations it must have heard over the years;- "Great shag last night Lady Penelope, pass us the toast rack - I'm ravenous", "Oi, Jeeves, stop scratching yer bum and get cook to poach me a couple more kippers." and " I say Dorothy, cracking toast this morning! Pass me the Patum Peperium you sexy minx."

I share with you now this snap of the new rack in its new full glory;-

A loaded rack and the Torygraph crossword
The answer to a chap's prayers

A toast related IT warning

This Internettywebbything is a great source of information, but beware, it can not always be relied upon. I was shocked to find on looking up the Wikipedia entry for Toast Rack to find that the article
is illustrated with a picture of our old Nordic Nasty - have they taken leave of their senses?

Right, time for a round of toast!

A Solution to the West Lothian Question

As the politerati (Sid and Doris Voters) wring their hands over the iniquity of the West Lothian Question, your correspondent is proud to offer his fail-proof solution should the erection result in a well-hung parliament with the balance of power resting with The Tartan Terror.

With today being the 89th birthday of Her Majesty the Queen (Gawd bless 'er guvnor!),  I took to musing, as one does, on the role of Her Maj and the powers she possesses.  Under the statute of Fishes Royal granted to the sovereign in 1324 (in the reign of Edward II) all whales, dolphins and sturgeon caught or landed on the shores of this glorious isle immediately become the property of the Monarch. It takes but a small step to extend this right to include those of her subjects with the names Whale, Dolphin or Sturgeon and so all we have to do is apprehend the Celtic Cracker (sorry, another of those dominatrix visions there!) and have her delivered to the Tower of London to await Brenda's pleasure.

James WHALE

Gratuitous shot of Miami DOLPHINs cheerleader

Will you look at the size of that STURGEON!

By the way, talking of the Queen's birthday, it's interesting that this event merits only a very small link at the bottom of the BBC News website. Perhaps Old Nigel was right in accusing the Corporation of being a bunch of sandal-wearing pinkos. You can add Raving Republicans to your next rant now Nige!

Forget the mainstream media. The Palace can rest assured that the monarchy will survive as long has we have true Brits like Terry Hutt;-

Terry awaits the next royal birth and hopes the Duchess will drop before
he gets returned to care (Tuck your shirt in Terry! Keep your standards up.)

Of Ringo Starr and duffed-up matelots

Good to see old Ringo inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. His citation as "one of the greatest and most creative drummers in musical history" seems to be stretching it a bit though!

There is that famous quote attributed to that arch poseur John Lennon who, when asked if Ringo was the greatest drummer in the world replied "Ringo isn't even the best drummer in The Beatles".

Actually it seems that that quote was really due to comedian Jasper Carrott whose pop claim to fame was to have a great hit with a crap song called Funky Moped because it had a B-side which was a scurrilous take on the Magic Roundabout and which was banned by the Beeb. (For our younger readers, I would explain that records in those days were released as 45 rpm plastic discs with a decent track on the A-side and any old rubbish on the B-side and that the Magic Roundabout was a children's TV feature much loved by university students because of its alleged references to drugs and drug taking.)

The masochists among you can find Funky Moped by clicking here.

If you want to know what got the censor's knickers in a twist back then in 1975, you can find the real A-side by clicking here.

Jasper Carrott before going bald

I was also intrigued by an article in today's Torygraph to the effect that the Royal Navy now spends half our annual defence budget ferrying pregnant matelotesses back to Blighty. A Ministry of Defence spokesman said that the Navy operates a strict "no touching" rule at sea and sources said that most of the women are likely to have conceived before setting sail.

This lead me to muse that if the no touching rule is obeyed, how come most of the women were put up the chute on shore, not all? Is there some phantom impregnation going on here, or has the British Jack Tar developed a method of insemination at a distance?

Honest Captain - it was an immaculate conception!

Strange thoughts of a Scottish Lassie

The otherwise mundane nonsense associated with the General Erection is being disturbed by forces of the paranormal.

Your correspondent finds that he is regularly being visited by visions of Nicola Sturgeon as a dominatrix.

La Sturgeon is shown at this morning's launch of the SNP manifesto

Fearing for my sanity, I contacted my GP who advised me that this reaction was completely understandable and was a direct consequence of years of being buggered by Blair, bell-ended by Brown and cocked about by Cameron. He said that he just hoped that the alliteration would cease before we got to Farage.

On the subject of the Scottish Harridan, my thanks to my brother-in-law for this gem;-

Nicola Sturgeon is touring Perthshire in the First Minister’s chauffeur driven car.
Suddenly a cow jumps out into the road, they hit it full on and the car comes to a stop.
Nicola in her usual jaunty manner, says to the chauffeur : " You get out and check - you were driving."
The chauffeur gets out, checks and reports that the animal is dead.
" You were driving, go and tell the farmer," says Nicola, ”I can’t afford to be blamed for anything.”
The chauffeur walks up the drive to the farmhouse and returns five hours later totally plastered, his hair ruffled and with a big grin on his face.
" My God, what happened to you ?" asks Nicola.
The chauffeur replies : " When I got there, the farmer opened his best bottle of malt whisky, the wife gave me a slap - up meal and the daughter made love to me."
" What on earth did you say?" asks Nicola.
 
" I knocked on the door and when it was answered, I said to them, I'm Nicola Sturgeon’s chauffeur and I've just killed the cow."

'Perversion Motif' becomes apparent in erection campaign

A strange week in the run up to the erection. With the opinion polls predicting a stalemate in next month's vote, neither of the leaders of the major parties is risking making any policy suggestions whatsoever and the balance of power seems certain to reside with the Scottish National Party. This is a bit perplexing from a democratic point of view since the first line of the SNP constitution states their raison d'etre as being independence for Scotland, i.e. the destruction of the UK!

With both Conservatives and the Labour Party seeking to occupy the middle ground, the former parties of right and left (respectively) further confused the issue by trying to swap sides on the political spectrum in the issue of the party manifestos. The Tories declared themselves to be the party of the British Working Class, whilst Labour declared themselves the epitome of financial responsibility (and this coming from the party who at the last election left a note in the Treasury saying 'ha ha, there's no money left'!) This change in position has led commentators to describe this as a 'cross-dressing election'. The thought of David Cameron at the dispatch box wearing a daring little black number by Dior which plunges to reveal his decolletage is horrific enough, but Red Ed in fishnet stockings and suspenders would be enough to make even the strongest stomach churn.

The somewhat kinky undertone to this campaign was underlined by the following;-

Norwich South Labour candidate sorry for Ed Miliband goat joke

An election candidate has apologised for joking that he "could be caught with my pants down behind a goat with Ed Miliband at the other end".

Labour's Clive Lewis, who is standing in Norwich South, made the comment in an interview with the New Statesman. Mr Lewis said: "On occasion we all have the ability to get carried away with language and colourful metaphors. If anyone was genuinely offended then I'm sincerely sorry for that."

Now this is priceless - you couldn't make it up! Cross dressing, bestiality..... what will they think of next?

It is reported that this matter has been referred to the RSPCA and SPPG (Society for the Protection of Pretty Goats) as it was felt that Mr. Lewis's interest in the goat's bottom and his fantasy of his leader simultaneously gaining oral gratification from the same animal could be stretching the idea of 'parliamentary privelege' a bit far. Will the public stand for this blatant bit of goatophobia?

That goat bum bandit - for it is he!

Clive Lewis is shown above. Now far be it from me to indulge in stereotypification, but there seems to be more than a hint of eye make-up and lipstick here. As for the hair cut, it does seem a bit like that of a militant 'friend of Dorothy'! Do the Tories vet their candidates or is this just NFN (Normal for Norfolk - an acronym written on medical notes of bizarre patients by Junior Doctors)?

There was a strange TV debate between the leaders of the opposition parties last night. Cameron didn't want to play, and Cleggy's Mum wouldn't let him out at that time of night. That left Milibean and Farage to deal with a triumvirate of excitable women, none of whom seemed to speak English. Blodwen from Plaid Cymru was joined by some Australian (Sheila?) who has washed ashore to represent the tree-huggers and by the SNP's Nicola Sturgeon. Nigel seemed pretty pissed off with the whole affair, called Miliband a liar at one stage (strangely NOT reported in the press this morning) and at the end, whilst the other candidates hugged each other and shook hands with the audience, just collected his papers and slunk off stage. He must have either been dying for a piss, or in dire need of a pint and a fag. 

The fragrant Mrs. Sturgeon, by the way, is making history as being the only Party Leader in British politics to have had a traditional folk song written about her. If you are not familiar with the tale of the  'Virgin Sturgeon - very fine fish' have a look here. 

Mrs Sturgeon commemorated on Britain's one
remaining warplane which will be needed when
she scraps Trident.

Right, must go and have a lie down now, as it seems there is the outside chance of England winning a test match ( although it's against the Ganja 2nd XI so there's no need to get too excited).

By their cheese shall ye know them.

A turophile's guide to the coming election.

In the absence of any political policies from the candidates, it seems that the only way to judge the runners and riders for the Westminster Grand National is to consider the cheese preference of each candidate.

David Cameron (Stinking Stilton)

Dave's favourite is the toff of cheeses - predominantly white throughout with blue coursing through its veins. Dave comes from a very privileged background, but is willing to mix with the hoi-poloi  for the sake of his post-PM bank balance. Dave is basically a glove puppet for that nice Mr. Osborne, but he does have a fruity wife who is wheeled out for photo opportunities whenever the Tories are on the slide. Dave thinks he is the big cheese.

Ed Miliband (Wensleydale - obviously)

The freaky one who Labour elected in mistake for his brother. Ed seems somewhat bewildered by modern life and has terrible issues with eating bacon sandwiches. The Wensleydale is an appropriate choice for Ed, somewhat mellow and tending to crumble when under pressure. Recent revelations seem to imply that Ed was a bit of a lothario when younger, - it seems the ladies were very impressed with the size of his protuberances. Ed has a lapdog called Balls who threatens to take over star billing after Ed's inevitable demise at these erections. Ed's second cheese is the Red Leicester.

Nick Clegg (Lymeswold)

Nick (R) with his 'coalition partner' Dave

Nick's favourite cheese-based treat is the late lamented Lymeswold. Brought into the world with a great fanfare as the new face of cheesedom, it was a totally synthetic product which disappointed on all fronts. At the time of its launch, it was hailed as "the first new English cheese in 200 years" but it proved to have a very short shelf life and was eventually retired from the shelves.

Nigel Farage (Aged Cheddar)

Nigel is your archetypal pub philosopher. His love of beer, fags and cheese endear him to the masses and he can be relied upon to have an opinion on all and everything, especially on immigrants coming over here and stealing our cheese. Like his favourite snack, Nigel appears from a distance to be the epitome of Englishness, but on closer inspection he appears crusty around the edges. On getting close to him there is a distinct whiff of decay. Nigel's platform for this election is to ban the import of foreign cheeses altogether and to force the repatriation of fancy cheeses whose name does not include an English county or town.

Nicola Sturgeon (Bishop Kennedy)

Nicola is the acceptable face of Alex Salmond (an oxymoron surely - Ed). Her aim is to hold the balance of power after the election and to impose haggis and highland brie on the menus of schools and hospitals across the UK. Nicola proposes to turn the Holy Loch nuclear base into a Farmer's Market and to use our submarines for express delivery of cheese-based snacks.Nicola's favourite oatmeal bridie topping is the Bishop Kennedy: A 'trappist' cheese originating in the medieval monasteries of France but now made in Scotland. Full fat soft cheese, rind washed in malt whisky to produce a distinctive orangey red crust and a strong creamy taste. Like Nicola, this cheese is described as "runny when ripe."

So what has persuaded me to start blogging again?

Joyous pie-based news!

The Daily Telegraph (hereafter the Torygraph) today published the news that all afficionados of the pie have been waiting for. It seems that being a bit of a porker means that you are less likely to get dementia than that skinny health freak down the road whose pie-denial actually predisposes him or her (so skinny, could be either) to losing their marbles in later life.

Your correspondent has only to decide which regime to adopt; the one pie a day lifestyle which leads to being overweight and having an 18% reduction in probability of senility or, to be on the safe side, the two or more pies per day which should lead to clinical obesity and a 24% less chance of going ga-ga.

Daniel Lambert - the fattest man in Britain
Born 1770, and still completes the Torygraph crossword every morning!

(Reference: 

BMI and risk of dementia in two million people over two decades: a retrospective cohort study 

Dr Nawab Qizilbash, MRCP, John Gregson, PhD, Michelle E Johnson, MSc, Prof Neil Pearce, PhD, Ian Douglas, PhD, 

Kevin Wing, MSc, Prof Stephen J W Evans, MSc, Prof Stuart J Pocock, PhD

Published Online: 09 April 2015)

Vicar banned from wine bar for wearing sandals

It seems that the Rev Andrew Dotchin, 58, has been banned "for health and safety reasons as a glass could fall on his foot and break a toe." Now I have no problems with banning the clergy from the boozer. The last thing you want with a pint (and pie -see above!) is some sky-pilot whingeing on about mortal sin and the cost of cassocks. Come to think of it, a nationwide ban on priests in pubs could prove a vote winner in the erection (about which more later). At least the Methodists have had the decency to ban themselves.

What really got me in this 'Elf and Safety gone mad 'tale was the bar manager's explanation;- "Unfortunately it's because we are a glass-led venue - a lot of venues in Ipswich use glass substitutes now." What on Earth is this language? A glass-led venue? Glass substitutes? It seems that Suffolk has entered a parallel universe and forsaken the traditional pastime of incest for speaking in tongues.

Presumably the bar bans all young ladies not wearing industrial protective footwear, and this is yet another inn which has no room for Jesus.

Those offending sandals in full

Perhaps the last words should go to the vicar;- "I am infamous for only ever wearing sandals because I find socks devilish."

And so farewell then....

Sad news about Richie Benaud. A great cricketer and a brilliant wordsmith as a commentator, I think Tony Abbott's idea of a state funeral is a bit over the top, but then Australia has been a bit short on real heroes since Ned Kelly copped it, and Abbott needs a bit of cheap popularity. I think a fitting memorial to the great man would be for everyone at the Boxing Day test at the MCG to go dressed as Richie.