Hold on to your Cocks!

Your correspondent was deeply concerned today to learn that one of Britain's most endearing and historical traditions was coming under fire from the frightful harridans of the PC brigade.

It seems that some lunatic from an animal rights group called Peta had declared war on an eighth century hostelry in St. Albans called Ye Olde Fighting Cocks, acknowledged by The Guinness Book of Records as Britain's Oldest standing tavern. (I couldn't find out what Peta stands for, but pet is the French for fart so I think we can guess what sort of group this is!). Anyway the good burghers of St. Albans have been minding their own business and quaffing real ale for 1200 odd years and now some stupid woman called Mimi Bekhechi (sounds suspiciously foreign to me, must alert the Border Security Police, if he's not in Benidorm on holiday) wants the pub renamed Ye Olde Clever Cocks.

That pub sign in full

Miss Bekhechi was quoted as saying "Changing the name would reflect today's rejection of needless violence and help to celebrate chickens as the intelligent, sensitive and social animals that they are."

For Christ's sake Mimi! Chickens are NOT intelligent! Have you ever seen one on Mastermind? Did a chicken help crack the Enigma Code? (They can't even crack eggs - that's the way their bums are designed - Ed.) Has a French chicken ever won the Poule-itzer Prize? No. Let's face it Mimi, chickens are as thick as pig shit and their only contributions to man's progress has been as the subject of "Why did the chicken cross the road?" jokes, providers of eggs for the full English breakfast and as an ingredient of chicken tikka masala. As for being sensitive, don't make me laugh. Has a chicken ever come up to you when you are feeling blue and inquired as to your health? I thought not. As to being sociable, have you even seen chickens at a hen party or cocking about with the lads? I rest my case.

Sensing that this proposal by the animal rights lobby might just gain traction, one wonders how the following traditionally named pubs might fair if this PC nonsense really gets going.

• Dirty Dicks (near Liverpool Street)
• The Legend of Oily Johnnies (in Winscale, Cumbria)
• The Frill and Faggot
• The Parson's Prophylactic
• The Turtle's Head
• The Frog and Bidet
• The Abba Trois
• Kate's Bush
• The Farting Parrot
• The Errant Apostrophe's
• The Pork Sword
• The Pope and Prostitute
• The Brewery Taff
• The Dog and Doodoo
• The Cricketer's Box
• The Dame and Dildo
• The Old Thirteenth Cheshire Astley Volunteer Rifleman Corps Inn (in Stalybridge)
• Ye Olde Trip to Blaenavon

(OK, that's enough fictitious pub names. I know you're either making them up or pinching them from

http://www.readersdoglist.com/pubnames.html you plagiarising bastard - Ed.)

It's Hartley Credible!

World of English Rugby Shaken to its Foundations

English rugby fans (Lord Sid and Lady Doris Jock-Strap) were left in a state of shock last night when their pin-up hooker Dylan Hartley achieved a triple record that will surely never be broken. "Isn't he marvellous?" said Lord Sid "It just goes to show that this government's policy of unfettered immigration is fully justified." Lady Doris was equally enthusiastic "Ooh such lovely quads - he makes me go really wet at times".

To remind those of you for whom Rugby Union Football is not a passion (what's the matter with you?) here are some photos;-

Spot the odd one out;-

Dylan (for it is he!)

The Ginger Ninjah

Ooh I say!

Answer: The bottom one. (The other two are tits in England rugby shirts, whilst the bottom bunch of lovelies have their tits out of their England rugby shirts.)

Dylan's Terrific Trio of records are as follows;-

1. With his latest ban for gently head butting an opponent, Dylan has taken his total suspension time to over one year. This is unprecedented in the game in the modern era and demonstrates Dylan's devotion to eye gouging, kicking and general violence.
2. It was only two year's ago that Dylan's critique of referee Wayne Barnes as a "F***ing cheat" issued during the Premiership Final and live on TV brought the poor misunderstood lad a lengthy ban and cost him his place on the British Lions tour. Dylan maintains to this day that he was misunderstood on account of his Kiwi accent and that he was just enquiring whether Barnesy was enjoying the afternoon  which Dylan felt was "rucking sweet."
3. The upshot of Darling Dylan's latest appearance before the rugby beaks is that he has been thrown out of the England squad for the Autumn Rugby World Cup. A Lions and England ban double is a fitting testimonial to the lad's willingness to engage in biting, beating and beastliness for his (adopted) country's cause.

"We are really disappointed with Dylan's unfair exclusion," said an ashen-faced Lord Sid last night as he downed his sixth glass of Martin Johnson's Old Calamity gin and Jonny Wilkinson tonic, "without the chance of the cherubic little chap popping up to clog someone or roundly abuse the officials, there seems little point in watching the RWC now. I think Lady Doris and I will probably pop over to Switzerland to stay with our old chum Sepp Blatter and get his unparallelled views on the sporting scene."

Since sneaking into the country dear, dear Dylan has given his all for England;-

Here we see Dylan undergoing his ritual initiation into the England team
under the throbbing loins of neo-royal Mike 'Knobber' Tindall

Meanwhile, back in New Zealand at a secret headquarters deep in the bowels of the Eden Park stadium the shadowy supremo of SMERSH (Send Mother England Right Shite Heads) known only as "Ted" stroked his pet 'Beaver' and thought about this latest set back in his organisation's nefarious plans to ensure New Zealand's successful defence of the RWC. "Bugger" said Ted. "This is all turning to custard. We knew that agent Tuilagi was never going to work, since his brain was mis-wired from birth. When we put the self-destruct implant into the the dear boy it was obviously not working properly. It went off on the Auckland ferry once, and then again when he was at a taxi rank in Leicester." The SMERSH campaign is aimed at infiltrating clapped out Kiwis (who would never make it to the All Blacks) into the England XV and then to remotely cause them to self-destruct through violent or abusive behaviour when the knock out stages of the RWC had commenced and when it was felt propitious to improve New Zealand's chances of retaining the Webb-Ellis trophy.

"We had high hopes of agent Hartley," said Ted. "We had established a pattern of idiotic behaviour, so that the authorities would not suspect our involvement, but unfortunately Dylan got a bit addicted to being a knob-end and started going freelance. We tried to curb his over-enthusiasm by applying electro-convulsive treatment to his private parts, but the stupid bugger seemed to enjoy that!"

With the seemed failure of this tactic, it is feared that SMERSH may resort to other dubious tactics such as releasing an obscene version of Swing Low Sweet Chariot on Youtube or revealing that Stuart Lancaster once appeared on Jim'll Fix It. Rest assured that Bobbledegook will be keeping a close eye on developments!

What now for Dylan Hartley?

Help may be at hand for the Hapless Hooker as the government (this is true- honest) have announced their latest spiffing plan to try and reinstate some discipline in the nation's schools by drafting  England internationals and Premiership coaches into the classroom. "Rugby teaches how to bounce back from setbacks, to show integrity in victory and defeat and to respect others, especially your opponents" said gushing Education Secretary Nicky Morgan. (Why can't I report something that actually happened. You couldn't make this crap up, could you?). This is so much up Demented Dylan's street that I thoroughly expect him to be named Schools' Supremo in the New Year. I can see it all now, GCSE's in Blindside Mugging and Scrotal Scratching along with courses in Dwarf Throwing and Tour Mayhem.

I seem to remember that the politicos tried something like this before with Soldiers in Schools or some such nonsense. It seems that the British teenager proved too much of a handful for the SAS so now they have turned to the Scrum-meisters to sort out the yobs. We will know that the nation has finally hit the buffers when we hear that they are calling in Premier League footballers to sort out Wayne and Waynetta.

Mental meanderings on a cricket theme

What an excellent long weekend! Your correspondent apologises for a lack of communication of late, but I have spent a very enjoyable 5 days watching an excellent test match between England and the Kiwis.

A very exciting game indeed, swinging first one way and then the other and the young guns of the New England finally gaining the ascendancy.

A couple of points struck me;-

What is it with members of the MCC?

(This next section comes with sincere apologies to my mate Barrie who I hope will forgive me and keep on providing tickets for further tests!)

Now I can easily understand the pride with which MCC members wear their famous 'bacon and eggs' ties. Membership of this august body should certainly be celebrated, but is there any excuse for some of the frankly outrageous outfits we saw at Lord's?

"Fill the bugger up Binky!"

What on Earth possesses grown men to go out of the house in outfits like this? The tie -no problem, Panama hat with MCC band - practical and appropriate, bowtie and blazer - steady on chaps!, but the caps!! Is this a throwback to prep school days or what? (At least the MCC members wear the things with the peak at the front, which is a partial saving grace.)

My favourite MCC related image is this one;-

I think that the MCC should remind their members that a little thought is needed if they are to approach the sartorial standards set by these members of the YMCA;-

(Man in helmet) "Do I look like Jimmy Anderson?"

England appoint new coach

Congratulations also to England and Andrew Strauss on appointing Trevor Baylis as their new coach.

Trevor (for it is he!) Note patriotic pith helmet

There has been some criticism in the media that Trevor knows bugger all about cricket, but the inventor of the wind-up radio has no qualms. "Look here, old chum" said Trevor " I'll soon get them fast bowlers winding their little arms like good uns. The Aussies won't know what's hit them!"

On the subject of Andrew Strauss, it is obvious that the new England supremo is rapidly losing what remains of his hair. What he needs is a quick chat with Shane Warne, Michael Vaughan and Graham Gooch and an introduction to their trichologist. Goochie was in the crowd at Lord's and had a barnet like a baboon's bum - quite amazing!

Goochie in his slap-head days

The new Gooch, looking for a porn film part

On matters trichological, keen followers of the Royal scene will have noticed that Princess Charlotte was conspicuous by her absence from Lord's. Bobbledegook can exclusively report that the poor might has been shunted off to farthest Norfolk to be repaired since it seems she was born with her Uncle Harry's carrot top.

Princess Charlotte -notice how her bonce has cunningly
been covered by the Royal courtiers to hide her gingeredness

We can now reveal that Shane Warne's hair transplant surgeon was secretly landed from a submarine by the SBS and transported under cover of darkness to the Royal's Norfolk hideaway. Transplant procedures have been a great success and the Duke and Duchess are understood to be delighted with Charlotte's transformation. "She looks like a real baby now, and less like my idiot of a brother "said an obviously relieved Prince William. "It's good that we've been able to get her mended." Originally the trichologist wanted to add a moustache and goatee beard to the Princess in honour of last year's winner of the Eurovision Song Contest and to celebrate the accession of Australia to this venerable song-fest. On hearing of this the Duke of Edinburgh (proud great grandfather) is understood to have set off from Sandringham with a shotgun vowing to "blow the balls off that f******* colonial son of a criminal" . It is understood that Charlotte's top lip thus remains unsullied.

Bessie - her memory liveth on!

In a startling new twist to the tragic death of Bessie the Wallsend cow, Gobbledegook can exclusively reveal that her short but heroic life has been commemorated in the field of high speed transport, her interest in which led to her tragic demise.

In a top secret move following Bessie's death, her cow pats were removed from her Tyne and Wear abode and airlifted to Reading, Berkshire under cover of dark. Here the dear old cow's poo was distilled to produce a methane propellent that scientists (Sid and Doris Crapfuel) have described as "shit hot". Bessie's bowel movements were then used to propel a Reading Corporation experimental bus at incredible speed around a test track at a hidden location somewhere in the Home Counties.

Reading Buses 'cow poo bus' sets speed record

A nervous looking test driver identified only as 'The Stig'

Chief engineer John Bickerton said his company wanted the "world's first service bus speed record" to bring to light the viability, power and credibility of buses fuelled by cow poo.

"Most importantly we wanted to get the image of bus transport away from being dirty, smelly, and slow. We're modern, fast, at the cutting edge of innovation and full of cow shit.

The crapmobus hurtles around the banked track!

A visibly excited Bickerton exclaimed "It was an impressive sight as it swept by on the track. It sounded like a Vulcan bomber - the aerodynamics aren't designed for going 80mph."

Here we see the majestic poo bus in its Fresian livery, a fitting tribute to Bessie if ever there was one!

Note the brown streaks down the side caused by partially-burned Bessie poo travelling at twice the speed of shite.

(That's more than enough Bessie-based blarney! Stop it - Ed.)

To laugh or to cry?...........

As irrevocable proof that this country has finally gone mental, I offer you this tale from the BBC website;-

Memorial vigil planned for shot Wallsend cow Bessie

Hundreds of people are expected to attend a memorial vigil for a cow which was shot dead by police marksmen.

The cow, nicknamed Bessie, was one of three which escaped from Rising Sun Country Park in North Tyneside on Sunday.

More than 6,000 people have liked a Facebook page put up in her memory.

Dave Turner, who set up the R.I.P. Wallsend Cow Facebook page, said: "It's not every day you get a cow getting shot in a field nearby. I think we need to mark this occasion with a serious send-off for Bessie."

Those attending are asked to wear a cow onesie and bring a candle.

"It wasn't doing anything, it was just eating a bit of grass - it probably got sick of the grass it was eating elsewhere, it heard about a nice new patch, went down and started grazing, and the next thing is police turn up and start firing at it.

"We are going to light candles and say a little prayer for her."

A Northumbria Police spokesman said Bessie was destroyed after becoming "increasingly distressed" and "causing dangerous and severe obstructions" on a major road.

(I swear I haven't made any of that up!)

The late and much loved Bessie
(Her face and identification tag have been obscured to save further
distress amongst the bovine community)

Brian Bonehead, General Secretary of BOLLOX (The British Organisation for the Love and Livelihood of Oxen (and other cow-related species)) said "this is obviously a species-hate crime. It comes to something in the 21st Century when a gentle old animal like Bessie can't take a stroll down the A1 without being murdered by the fascist instruments of this new government. Mark my words, this wouldn't have happened if we had all voted UKIP." Bonehead droned on, "Would Bessie have been mown down in her prime if she had been a gerbil, meerkat or elephant? - I think not"

BOLLOX are now pressing for Bessie's assassin to be arraigned before the courts. 

The killer at the scene

"We are confident that we will be able to identify this trigger-happy cow killer" said Mr. Bonehead, "There are not many coppers in the Northumberland force with such a distinctive blurry face and we believe he has a habit of visiting McDonald's restaurants in the Newcastle area, and may be found purchasing packets of Bisto gravy and Auntie Bessie's (sob, sob) Yorkshire puddings at local emporia."

Cow onesies and other memorabilia may be obtained from the BOLLOX website,

Seriously(ish), this is just another example of the crap which is generated on 'Social Meejah' by idle bloody students who have bugger all to do all day but play with their smartphones whilst waiting to pick up their benefit cheques.

In a further development the owners of 'Rashers' bakery in Wallsend have been arrested for refusing to bake a cake with the logo 'Bessie, murdered by the cow killers' on it. Rashers' owner, Ron Meateater said in a tearful interview outside Newcastle nick, "We are a family of devout carnivores, we love our meat n' two veg, and will not be dictated to by a bunch of wishy-washy do-gooding bovine lovers who are seeking to destroy the traditional eating habits of the North East. Their perverted attitude to livestock runs against all we have fought for in two world wars and innumerable punch-ups with the Vegetarian Society."

Ay up me duck!

Did she really say "Hay up my duck"?

Dolly Parton has become the latest in a long list of celebs to butcher our local dialect in an attempt to curry favour with the inhabitants of the East Midlands.

Click here to listen to Dolly's mangulation along with Prince Harry and Angelina Jolie having a go.

As to the Beeb's question "Do normal people really say 'ay up me duck'? the answer is definitely yes.

One of my golfing chums, who is an ex-miner, greets me in this fashion each time we play and the terms 'duck' and 'ducky' are frequently heard in these parts. Personally I find this preferable to being addressed as 'my lover' as I once was by Gareth Chilcott, one of the most hairy-arsed and violent prop forwards to ever emerge from the West Country!

Shame to miss the chance of a glimpse of Dolly's magnificent frontage!

"My word!" says Coochee  "Just like Billy Beaumont's bum!"

Discipline!

Bobbledegook Salutes England Rugby Supremo Stuart Lancaster

But first, an Odd One Out competition. Is it A, B or C?

A: Manu Tuilagi

B: Pippa Middleton

C: Kevin Pietersen

(Hint: One of these arses has NOT been capped by England!)

Yes folks! The odd one out is of course the delightful butt known as Pippa's Posterior. The other two are just arseholes.

What Manu and Kevin have in common is, of course, that they both have prodigious sporting talent but are effectively mercenaries in that neither could get into their birth countries' national sides and so have prostituted themselves to play for England.

Manu, for those who don't follow the Great Game, has always been a loose cannon. His 'previous' includes jumping into Auckland Harbour from the deck of a ferry whilst representing the British Lions, knocking shite out England team-mate Chris Ashton in a club game, making 'bunny ears' signs behind the Prime Minister's head outside no.10 (Why do people do that? - I think we should be told) and having a spell as an illegal immigrant. All power and respect then to coach Stuart Lancaster who has told Tuilagi to sling his hook after his latest misdemeanour. It seems that Manu was getting a bit frustrated by a long lay off with a groin injury and took it out on a taxi driver, said taxi driver's motor and two policewomen who tried to arrest him. How the coconut brain avoided a custodial sentence we shall never know, but Lancaster has reminded him of his responsibilities as a role model both in and out of the England shirt and has told him to forget the Rugby World Cup this autumn. Would that other sports could act so decisively..........

Which brings us to dear, dear Kevin. Kevin is a rather sad case really, a pre-pubescent in a 30 year old's body. Probably the best attacking batsman of his generation, it is not for nothing that Kevin is known as 'The Ego' or 'Figjam' (F*** I'm good, just ask me). With his head so far up his own bum, it's amazing this bloke can walk to the wicket. I said earlier that KP played for England, but that is probably stretching things a bit, since KP only ever plays for Kevin Pietersen. The number of times he has batted irresponsibly and given away his wicket when a bit of circumspection was required in the light of his team's match position are legion. Anyway Kevin is currently throwing his toys out of the pram because those nasty men at the ECB (The England and Wales Cricket Board - although why they involve Wales I've no idea!) refuse to pick him for the summer's ashes series. With his batting ability waning, our Kevin sees this as a bit of an attack on his wallet and is not happy, oh no. Now, the ECB are not the sharpest set of tools in the sporting toolbox. Known to some as England's Cowardly Buffoons, the men in blazers are desperately trying to drag themselves into the 20th century with their management technique. Outdated as they are, the ECB through their new Director of Cricket, Andrew Strauss have told KP to go and hold hands with Manu on the naughty step. This should have come as no great surprise to KP after a decade of upsetting everyone associated with cricket, and there was a big clue that Kevin might not be the new supremo's favourite when Straussy (inadvertently) called him 'a complete c***' on air whilst commentating for SKY TV.

Anyway, the upshot is that Kevin will not be assimilated back into the England team, which probably comes as a great relief to his putative team-mates. 

Two good quotes about cricket came up in the analysis of KP's behaviour. One was when Douglas Jardine, captain of England during the notorious 'bodyline' tour of Australia in 1932, complained to his opposite number that someone on the Aussie side had called him a bastard. The Australian Captain duly gathered his troops together and addressed them with the words;- "Which one of you bastards called this bastard a bastard?" - Antipodean diplomacy at its best! The other good tale was when Mike Brearley, England's most cerebral post war cricket captain, was asked his opinion on the KP furore; "If being a bit of a knob was the criterion for being banned from the team, I'd have had half an England side during the 1980s."

I guess it's all about good management, in sport as in all things.

For the want of an apostrophe ...........

In a move which would seem to confirm David Hockney's fears that gay community is becoming boring and curmudgeonly ((see last-but-one post) It was reported yesterday that a homosexual married couple in Sevenoaks have complained to their MP about the naming of a cul-de-sac as Bangays Way.

Come on guys, loosen up a bit! One could understand offence being taken if it had been named Ban Gays Way, but there is bugger all to get humpy about here. The road was in fact named after well-known councillor, the late Frank Bangay. Would the protesters have insisted that Frank changed his name by deed poll?

Of course all this brouhaha would have been avoided if the local council had used the much maligned apostrophe. In a policy decision which seems patronising (at the least) or more likely down-right ignorant, many local authorities have now taken to omitting apostrophes from all road names on the grounds that "their inclusion leads to confusion". 

No mates, apostrophes are very simple to use and just need people to spend five minutes or so acquainting themselves with the uses of this punctuation mark.

This is dumbing down and a unilateral abandonment of part of our rich language!

So come on Borough Green Parish Council, make it Bangay's Way if you want to honour the late councillor individually or Bangays' Way if you want to honour the late councillor's family as a group who contributed much to your community.

For those of you suffering apostrophic angst, have a look at the website of the splendid Apostrophe Protection Society, and for some fabulous examples of apostrophe abuse set to a musical background see this clip, The Apostrophe Song on Youtube.



Whilst some of our gay chums seem to be getting a bit of a bum-rap (careful! - Ed.) in the above item, your correspondent was very pleased to see that one of Europe's more enlightened societies is confident enough to use reference to their liberality in the defence of their country.

Sweden has been having a problem of late with that nice Mr Putin sending his submarines into their territorial waters. In a bid to counter this The Swedish Peace and Arbitration Society have installed a "singing sailor" that emits a Morse code signal saying "this way if you're gay" (Just a thought, is there a Morse code sequence to signify an apostrophe?). The animated neon sign which has been lowered into the depths features a sailor wearing a fetching cap and white underpants and thrusting his hips.

That sign in full. 'Gay since 1944'
refers to when Sweden legalised gay marriage

The sign plays on the fears of the allegedly homophobic stance of the Russian military.

To see the sign in its (no apostrophe! Good work - Ed.) full animated glory complete with Morse code message click here. 

This is great work chaps! "Make Love not War" may be antiquated but it still holds good.

I couldn't resist showing you a photo of the the Swedish sailor going down(!)

Finally, there has been a real kerfuffle this week about the publication of some letters that the Prince of Wales sent to Cabinet Ministers. Good on the old fellow. I mean, he is a bit of a fruitcake with his talking to plants and espousal of dodgy alternative medicine techniques, but at least he's sufficiently interested in what's going on to have an opinion! The real surprise on the part of the great British people may have been incredulity that a member of the House of Windsor could actually write in joined-up script.

"Of course one always uses apostrophes correctly!"

Homage to Invercargill

Prince Harry meets reptilian namesake in New Zealand

Who would be cruel enough to name a tuatara (New Zealand's living dinosaur) "Scrounging Ginger-headed knob-end"?

When I saw this lovely little reptile a few years ago its name was Henry and he was the number one tourist attraction in Invercargill (which, to be honest, is not a great claim to fame!). For those of you unfamiliar with New Zealand's (and the planet's) southern-most city, let's just say that Henry's main rivals are the only set of traffic lights within 100 km and a 4500 seater indoor sports stadium which collapsed under the weight of snow on its roof in 2010. I had the pleasure(!) of a 24 hour stopover in this benighted hovel of a city some years ago; it seems that Invercargill aspires to become the asshole of the Antipodes. I saw Henry a number of times during my stay and the little bugger didn't so much as bat an eyelid or move an inch. My suspicion was that Henry had shuffled off this mortal coil, but that no one in InverC was letting on. I thus venture that the tuatara being fondled by old ginger knob is in fact a body double or a cunning animated model knocked up by Peter Jackson at Weta Workshops.

My interest in the Royal visit to Invercargill was further piqued by this headline;-

Prince Harry strokes 118 year-old reptile en route to New Zealand's Stewart Island

I thought that this was a bit harsh on the main subject of today's post, Invercargill mayor Tim Shadbolt.

Tim is here seen at a fancy dress soiree with his Royal visitor. Note that Tim is wearing the mayoral chain - he has past form in losing said symbol when pissed (on two occasions actually).

Now Tim has for many years been my favourite mayor. Yes, I know it's not much of a hobby, and that I should get out more, but it's marginally more interesting than train-spotting (I gave that up when they scrapped all the steam engines). Tim has few challengers in the Mayoral glamour stakes. Boris Johnson, the Mayor of London, is but a poor imitation.

Here we see Timbo with the aforementioned Henry. (For those of you unfamiliar with the fauna of New Zealand, Tim is on the left in this photo). It seems that Tim and Henry are old pals and that a summons to see their double act is obligatory for visiting knobs.

Mayor Shadbolt is a master of the manic staring eyes look. Personally I think that he looks like Robert Lindsay on speed as when playing Wolfie Smith in the 1970s series Citizen Smith.

So who is this chap Tim Shadbolt?

• During the late 60's (Oh happy days - Ed) Tim came to prominence as a student protester and managed to get himself arrested no less than 33 times.
• His most famous bust was when he was incarcerated for uttering the word "bullshit" during a demonstration. New Zealand was very liberal in those days!
• With nothing better to occupy his time, Tim stood for, and became, the Mayor of Waitemata City in west Auckland. To celebrate his election he famously took part in the mayoral parade towing his concrete mixer "Karl Marx" behind his official Daimler.
• "Karl Marx" was so named because it made a lot of noise but didn't work very well!
• In 1971 Tim wrote the first volume of his memoirs entitled "Bullshit and Jellybeans"

• In 1989 Tim got the push from Waitemata under local government reorganisation
• Tim disappeared for a few years then, but realising his mayoral addiction, popped up again on the South Island to become Supremo of Invercargill in 1993 and has been there (more or less) ever since
• In the 1996 General Erection Tim stood (unsuccessfully) as a candidate for the Aotearoa Legalise Cannabis Party
• In the 1990s our Tim appeared in an advertisement promoting New Zealand Cheese (see posts passim) using the pithy catchphrase "I don't care where as long as I'm mayor" to celebrate his obsession with serial mayorality
• In 2012 the great man entered the Guinness Book of World Records by virtue of taking part in the Universe's longest recorded television interview (26 hours)
• Tim spends the long dark Southland evenings pleasuring the ladies. He is presently on wife number three, Asha Dutt who is just out of her teens and produced a sprog to celebrate Tim getting his Winston Peters Goldcard at the age of 65.

The above is (more or less!) true. You couldn't make it up could you?

Your number one fan salutes you Mayor Shadbolt!

Sexual Shenanigans

A Slap(per) in the face for the Establishment

As the fall-out from the General Erection continues, readers will be sorry to hear of the marital difficulties of the Speaker, John "Short Arse" Bercow and his radiant wife Sally.

Observers of the Westminster scene will recall that Sally has been a long suffering supporter of Mr. Speaker, often appearing in the chamber to lift him up into the Speaker's Chair when the clerk forgets to put out his hop-up.

Sally is here seen in typically relaxed attire welcoming visitors to one of her late night tours of the Speaker's House whilst husband John is still in Halitosis Hall.

Sally with husband John. "He's small, but perfectly formed" said Sal,
"Stand him on a footstool and he's an absolute tiger!"













Sally has always taken her duties as part of the Palace of Westminster establishment very seriously and is here seen waving goodbye to Her Majesty The Queen after her visit for the State Opening of Parliament.

As wife of the Speaker, it is often the duty of Our Sal to welcome overseas visitors to the Palace and to ensure that their visit is a happy and fulfilling one.

Sally is seen in typically exuberant manner welcoming the Prime Minister of a Central African state to her apartments.


(Editor's Note: There seems to be shome mishtake in the caption to this picture - and it's a pretty crap allusion to one of The Commitments greatest hits)






It seems that Sally and John may be going their separate ways. "It's not John's fault" said Sally,
"It's just that he gets so tired clambering up and down on the Woolsack during the day, that when I get the wee man home at night, he's useless in the sack. Quite frankly his little sac seems to be quite empty." (That's enough sack puns. You're er................... sacked- Ed.)

Boring Gays

Meanwhile the country's greatest living poseur (shurely you mean 'artist' ? - Ed.) is boring the arse off anyone who will listen with his opinion that gay men have just become too boring and just want to lead staid lives with their civil partners and adopted children.

I haven't seen Alan Bennet for ages - we used to love a good piss up and a snog
and then we'd send out for a couple of take-aways!

David (aged 77) is getting on a bit now, but really misses a bit of late night cottaging, brawls in gay-bars and the odd confrontation with homophobic coppers.

"The fun seems to have gone out of it all now" said David " I may as well stay at home, make a quiche and finish me knitting." 

Bobbledegook is pleased to support Hockney in his crusade to bring back gaiety to the LBGT community (I thought that was a sandwich - Ed). Come on for heaven's sake! You've pinched the word gay from everyday use so for Christ's sake stop being such a bunch of miserable bastards. 

If our gay chums are a bit short of ideas, then they should head up north of the border as the Beeb today disclosed that Scotland heads the Rainbow Index as the most gay-friendly country in Europe.

This should, of course, come as no surprise for a nation whose men romp around in tartan skirts with no underwear below and with their handbags (or 'sporrans' in polari *) nestling snugly to their groins.

(* Google it if you're too young to remember Julian and Sandy in Round the Horn!)

So come on, get out your best sleeveless T-shirts and lets party! If you ask nicely our Scottish cousins will whip out their instruments for a spot of Gay Gordons.

In the interests of sexual balance (don't even go there! - Ed.) I leave you with this charming image of a bus advert (since withdrawn) from the somewhat less enlightened Principality of Wales.

Why on Earth would anyone complain !?

Broken Dreams and Plagiarism

The woods come alive to celebrate a new blue dawn!

As Britain faces a new era with the chinless toffs rightfully returned to their place i/c the country, it is perhaps opportune to reflect on those poor members of our community whose dreams and aspirations have been shattered.

First up must of course be our old chum Terry Hutt, that arch-royalist and great fan of the Windsors.

Terry (as has been mentioned in previous blogs) devotes his life to being an A1 tit and to trying to get his photograph in the paper by imposing himself and his dodgy outfits on each and every Royal occasion. It was thus with some regret that your correspondent learnt that poor old Tel had rather ballsed up his latest project, to celebrate the new Royal baby's birth. It seems that at the time the birth was announced outside the Lindo Wing poor old Hutty was absent without leave, being ensconced in the loo having a quick pee and change of fancy dress!

Terry with an admirer

"Bollocks" said Terry, "two weeks of hanging around dressed like a twat, and my bladder goes and buggers the whole thing up!"

Terry is now thought to be camping out at Heathrow T3 to present Prince Harry with a tastefully crocheted willy-warmer on his return from the Antipodes.

From one loser to another then and we next commiserate with The Northamptonshire Police and Crime Commissioner (PCC) whose advert for a new Chief Constable drew the wrath of the Plain English Campaign.

Slap-headed mangler of the Queen's English

In a 26 page (!) advert for the post, Adam Simmonds (the PCC) came up with some beauties, calling for someone who was "resolutely client-centred and victim-focused", and opining that "our chief constable must be able to see beyond the horizons of convention to make the paradigm shift".

Now I've no idea at all what that all means and would agree with the Plain English Campaign that the requirement that the post required an "agent of change" who can get "client-side" and who "is a pioneer in blue-light collaboration" was a prime example of 'ploddledegook'.

(Editor's note to PEC - like your sentiments, but how's about some recognition when you pinch my word-play on gobbledegook!)

My favourite was the PEC's opinion that "Police and crime commissioners seem to be repeat offenders in this regard for their mangling of the English language and this advert is borderline criminal"

What happened to the good old days when the fuzz just had to say "'Ello, 'ello, 'ello, what's goin' on 'ere then?" before pushing suspects down the stairs on the way to the nick? There wasn't much call for blue sky thinking and paradigm shifting in Z-cars and The Sweeney.

Talking of losers, it would be remiss to end this post without mention of Cleggy, Gormless and The Fascist. To have the leaders (sic) of three political parties all resign their posts within the space of an hour was pretty good going. 

This was a pretty drastic consequence of the Erection which seems to have been decided by a species called 'Shy Tories' who had a sudden change of heart in the polling booth and stuck their crosses next to the Conservative candidate's name when a vision came to them of 5 years under the leadership of a man who would difficulties in eating pig-based confections whilst licking the nether regions of the Highland Harridan.

The results north of the border were amazing. La Nicola was by far the star of the Erection, but strangely, possibly its greatest loser. With the bus-crash that was the Labour performance, the SNP had no waggon to-which-to-hitch (hope that's all right PEC!) their demands for the tartanisation of life as we know it. Undoubtedly they will gain traction (careful - Ed) as the third force in the chamber but basically Cameron can tell them to piss off back to the land of turnips, midges and deep-fried Mars bars and mind their own business.

I leave you with a snap of our chums at the VE day commemoration;-

The thoughts of these worthy gentlemen (from left to right);-

Bonking Boris Johnson (for it is he) "Cripes, five years to get rid of that tosser Cameron"

Ed Miliband "Bugger, I seem to have awoken to find myself at my own funeral"

Michael Fallon (Defence Secretary) "I'm cracking jokes to stop these two in front from crying"

Nick Clegg "It was looking to the right when I joined the Coalition that dropped me in this shit in the first place"

Philip Hammond (Foreign Office Minister) "Shouldn't we have some soldiers here? Oh no - they're both in Syria!"

David Cameron (Supremo) "If I bite my bottom lip I can just about stop myself laughing"

Right, enough of this political claptrap, I'm off down the pub for a consolation pint or twelve with a bloke in a camel-hair coat. We can laugh about the demise of that nice Ed Balls.

Dorset knob throwing: Hopes high for record

Who could resist a story like this!

With the nation en fete for the May Day Bank Holiday, Royalists all agog for the naming of the sprog, Chelsea winning the Championship, England losing yet another test match and the Erection dribbling to its final conclusion, what could better sum up the mood of our wonderful country than this?

Organisers of a "knob throwing" competition in Dorset hope the current champion tossing record will be broken 

Yes folks, when all else seems lost, you can always rely on a knob joke!

The Dorset Knob Throwing and Food Festival event in Cattistock  features a knob eating contest, knob darts and a knob-a-thon. "The knob-a-thon is a lot less strenuous than anything athletes such as Jessica Ennis-Hill or Mo Farah might compete in, but it involves taking part in at least five knob games," said organiser Mr Nigel Collins.

Other games include putt the knob, knob walking, knob archery, guess the weight of the knob and pin the knob on the Cerne Giant.

Bobbledegook is proud to showcase the favourites for this year's event;-

David Cameron is Britain's premier knob.

David developed his interest at Eton where he had a junior fag to attend to his knob. 

In recent years this role has been filled by that nice Mr. Clegg

Nicola Sturgeon loves her knob!

"Alex Salmond often gives me one after he's de-briefed me" said the sultry siren.

Nick Clegg is frequently mistaken for a knob.

Ed Miliband has great difficulty in controlling his knob.

"It's just like a bacon sandwich, tends to squirt everywhere."

Nigel Farage has a distinctly anglo-saxon approach to matters of the knob.

"The wife and I indulge when necessary, but we don't make a fetish of it" says Nigel, "personally I find it an excellent prelude to a pint and a fag."

"What we must avoid at all costs is an influx of foreign knobs coming over here and tempting our womenfolk with their sorry imitations of the GBK (Great British Knob)" said Nigel.






An important note from the Editor.

It has been brought to my attention that the article above might be misconstrued as being a crude and rather infantile series of innuendos relating to matters genital.

Bobbledegook would like to point out that, in this context, a knob is a local Dorset delicacy consisting of a spherical savoury biscuit. Having said that, most of the politicians could safely be described as knobs in the non-edible sense.