Not tonight Darling

Licensees across the country are rushing to join a campaign to ban the Chancellor from every pub   Following Alastair Darling’s decision to ignore pleas to freeze beer duty and help save pubs, the Chancellor instead whacked 4p on a pint and promised a 2% above inflation rise for the next four years.Ian Pitbull, the landlord of “The Bucket of Blood” public house in Dagenham, has written to the Chancellor to inform him of the ban. (Well, his mum actually did the writing).

‘We don’t really get that much business from Mister Darling,’ said Mr Pitbull, ‘in fact I don’t think he’s ever been to my gaff or even to Dagenham come to that.  But if he ever does come here, and assuming we recognize him, and assuming he wants a drink, and it’s something we actually sell and we’re open – he won’t be served! Probably.’

There was a similar move in the Chancellor’s local pub in South Edinburgh.
‘Yeah, he’s banned here too,’ said the landlord, ‘but not because of the Budget.  He’s banned because he’s always getting into fights with punters who take the piss out of his poxy name!’

And what about the public house near Chequers, the governments country retreat, will Alistair Darling find comfort at “The Rat’s Refuge”?
‘No, he bloody won’t!’ said the landlord.
‘Because of the Budget?’
‘No, because he’s another poncey lawyer. I hate ‘em, we never served the bleedin’ Blairs either!’
 

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Poor show

It is with regret that these pages confirm that the English TV Show “‘Allo, ‘allo” has been sold to the Germans and will be broadcast and dubbed into German in its entirety.

How will Officer Crabtree be received in the German version, with his mangled French, “Good Moaning!” ?   How often did we laugh at that? No, really, how often?

And how amusing will the Germans find Michele and her catchphrase “Listen very carefully, I will say zis only once!” after she has said it in every episode?

Well, let’s be honest, it wasn’t funny in English was it? 

Aah… the number of times I sat through that awful, bland, humourless tripe because one of the more retarded members of my family insisted on watching it and there was nothing else on, and now some clever bastard has managed to foist it off on the poor Germans.

How embarrassing for us that they will see such a poor example of British humour, relying on tired catch phrases and childish innuendo.  How many times can we be expected to laugh because a painting is named “The Maddona with the big Boobies” or fall out of our chairs because somebody shouts “..flashing knobs!”? 

Selling this to the European cousins who gave us Bach, Einstein, Jung and Marx, to name just four of their top comedians, is one more insult that we throw over our shoulders as we wander aimlessly through the Brexit door.

If this shameful stereo typecasting doesn’t start The Third One off, I don’t know what will.

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Losing it

 Heather Mills poured a jug of water over the head of Sir Paul McCartney’s lawyer Fiona Shackleton at the end of their divorce case, she has admitted.

Ms Mills told the BBC she approached Ms Shackleton and said: “I’m not a loser.”  She then “poured the whole jug of water on her head”, she said.

In similar copy-cat incidents up and down the country various lawyers and court officials were soaked, sprayed and sodden with milk, jam, oil and mud as angry losers took petty revenge with no fear of reprisal. 

“I think Ms Mills has set a legal precedent there,” said Magistrate Stoat from Blackburn Court House, drying a pint of cream from his hair following a speeding prosecution against Milkman Ben Williams.

“I’m anxious about the outcome of my next case; the Crown versus Althorp’s Sewage Disposal.  I won’t leave the MG in the car-park with the soft-top down that day.”

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Cat girl

The village I lived in as a kid had some good-looking girls amongst the trolls and inbreds, but there was one beautiful girl who kept the rest in the shade.  She was such a looker that instead of whistling and shouting sexist comments, workmen would stand, slack-jawed and applaud as she walked by.
Let’s say her name was…mmmm…let’s say “Clair de Lune”

She lived in a huge Victorian house inherited from her father after he had become completely barmy and gone to stay in Margate.  There were more than forty rooms in the house and Clair lived there with twenty-three black and white rescue cats and a live in French servant called Eleanor.

Every door inside the house had a cat flap that could be set to open in either direction, or both, and every cat flap was linked to a central computer.  Each morning when she went to the University to teach modern languages Clair would set the cat flaps in a different sequence.  Each evening when she returned, she would find all twenty-three cats sat together in a different room from the day before.  As she walked in they would look up expectantly and she would stroke and feed them.

Later she would watch that day’s cctv recording of the interior of the house and laugh at the cats’ antics as they travelled from room to room, eventually all ending up in a furry heap through the final, one-way cat flap.

One day the police came for her, something to do with a fraud from which she and her father had removed millions of pounds from the vaults of a Neo-Nazi party.  The case proved so complex and labyrinthine that in the end all charges were dropped and the cult had to pay the costs.

The police picked her up from the big house one evening, just after she had dressed to go out.  She looked so good that if she had asked they would have beaten each other to death with their truncheons.  But she didn’t ask that, she asked them to stop at a nearby restaurant where she was due to attend a dinner party, so that they could let her guests know she would be delayed.

When PC Crass entered the restaurant twenty-three handsome young men, all wearing black dinner suits and white dress shirts looked up expectantly.  They all lived within twenty miles and had got there by following a series of clues.  Some of them had been travelling for days.

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Open sauce

These pages can exclusively reveal that a new game show is being produced by the BBC.  It will have a ten minute timeslot, just before the 6 o’clock News and be hosted by a top TV star, maybe even Adrian Chiles.  Members of the public can challenge leaders of industry in “Openly Embarrassed”.

Each evening a punter will demand that the Managing Director of a manufacturing company open one of their own products in full view of the Nation.  Already, some programs have been pre-recorded.  Our roving reporter spoke to some of the contestants.

“Yes, hello, I’m the MD of St Libel.  I successfully opened a four pack of strawberry Fromage Frais.”
“In the act of opening one yoghurt, did one or two others in the four pack also become unpeeled?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, but it must have been a defective pack.”
“And what’s that pink stuff on your tie and splattered across your face?”
“Um..I don’t know.”

Also involved was the MD of the firm that wraps pre-sliced delicatessen meats.
“How did you get on?” Our reporter asked.
“Uh..well, I didn’t actually get the packet of ham open, but then I only had ten minutes.”
“Is that blood on your hands?”
“Yeah,   I seem to have chipped a tooth somehow, and one of my finger nails has come off.”

According to rumour, in other shows we will see senior businessmen wrestling with overfilled cans of tuna, peel top sauce bottles and those plastic bags you can never open at the supermarket check-out when you have six people queuing behind you. 

Also, Jeremy Clarkson will try to open his mouth without embarrassing himself.

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Hopeless

Carol Thatcher was sacked from the BBC earlier this year after comparing a tennis player to a small, wooly, black rag-doll that she called a ‘golliwog’.
“The toy should have been referred to as ‘an ethnically styled rag doll of indeterminate, possibly African or Asian origin’,” said an indeterminate BBC public relations spokesman/woman, possibly from planet Earth.

 Now there have been complaints about ‘Strictly Come Dancing’s’ Anton Du Beke after he called his dance partner a “paki” and anti-racism campaign group Hope Not Hate has called for the dancer to be sacked.

A spokesman for Hope Not Hate said: “We hate him. The BBC took a clear line on the Carol Thatcher golliwog comment. If anything this comment is even more offensive.  We hope the BBC tie Mr Du Beke to a team of horses and drag him at a brisk foxtrot through the streets of London.  Then we want him axed from the program.  With an actual axe.”

 Mr Du Beke said that he was sorry and that all he wanted to do was carry on and win the dancing contest.
“We’d hate that,” said the Hope Not Hate spokesman, “he’s got more chance of winning a Music Of Black Origin award!”
“What hope is there of that?”
“None.  We’d hate it.”

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