Bloody Sycophants!

After rejoicing yesterday about Gareth's Knighthood your correspondent was moved close to chundering this morning in reaction to this piece of journalistic bilge about Prince George going to watch his Dad play polo.

A Sunday afternoon, a two year old rolling about on the grass and having good fun (albeit surrounded by the paparazzi). End of, finito, fin de l'exercise .....? Oh no! Not according to the mentally challenged reptiles masquerading as the British press.

Small boy climbing up bank

Sorry! Got that one wrong - in fact George is "struggling to crawl his way up a daunting hill".

Christ mate, it's not the foothills of the bloody Himalayas (and, if I'm not mistaken, neither is that Sherpa Tensing on the left).

Child in dodgy footwear kicks pill

Oh no! Silly me. This is a "self assured" kick. What a crock of shite. He'll be playing centre forward for his father's 'beloved' Aston Villa next. (And while I'm moaning, why are football teams always 'beloved'? My dear lady wife is my 'beloved'. I 'support' Wales, but the thought of having sexual relations with any of that hairy-arsed bunch is appalling.) (Oh I don't know! - Mrs. Bobbledegookist)

Child rolls down hill

I can remember doing this as a kid and landing in a cow pat! I got my arse smacked for being a prat. Young kids today? Don't realise how lucky they are.

I think the final words in this rant should go to Prince George himself;-

Hurrumph!