Tuesday, 21 March 2017

Family fortunes...



There was yet another chaotic disturbance at Sodden Prickney's monthly meeting last Thursday, when it was announced that after the next local election, no members would be able to charge expenses and wages for family members. The decision had been taken by an overpaid crowd called IPSA, presumably funded from an island in Greece.

Sid Trumpet, who more or less runs the whole council these days, on account of Basil Kalashnikov sectioning himself, (not a pretty sight - Ed), announced that he couldn't give a damn, as he had enough money of his own, and also owned a string of garages. and as the mandatory uniform of a full length sheepskin coat and tweed cap was classed as a business expense, he charged no more to the hard-pressed general public.

Basil Kalashnikov, in a rare lucid moment (are there any - Ed), complained that the salary list of his family, plus two 'partners', a parrot for the answer phone, his eight children of assorted hues and nationalities and an aged aunt as a receptionist in his shed was a necessity to keep the wheels of local governance moving smoothly, and refused to come out and discuss the matter further without his bent solicitor, Herr Wilhelm Nargh taking notes and gabbling into an old Nokia.

Ms Cynthia Molestrangler went even further, and stripped off in protest, much to the annoyance of Norman Wibble, who's been trying to get her to do that for several years, but in the safety of her own home, but nobody else took much notice, so she had to stand there in the draught until someone put an old raincoat round her and ushered her to the geezerbird toilets to calm down.

The local press, under the influential Bicycling column headed up by Ms Edwina Baggage thought it was a good idea as Mr Kalashnikov's seven bedroom sheltered gated community home was not to the taste of most people, who seemed to be paying for all of it, but she was pointed at by Mr Nargh's ring-finger, and decided to say nothing further.

So there you have it, little local councils have to pay for their own stuff, and real business people carry on doing what they do best - earn their dosh!
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Wednesday, 15 March 2017

Wednesday, 8 March 2017

How do you hate...

When I was at boarding school, back in the fifties and sixties, I made many good friends; and also, sadly a few serious enemies.

I suppose that now I am in my late sixties, I should be constantly thinking of Daughts, grandchildren, gardening, pensions and lunch with old farts like me and Mrs Scroblene! And I do all of these things, very easily, without concern for anyone else (except for the said Mrs Scroblene, who is my pride and joy and definitely not an old fart - sorry Mrs S - slip of the keyboard)!

But it is a funny (not funny) recall that comes to me on occasions, on how I dealt with people who were unkind to me, back when I was at school.

I was never physically bullied as I could swing a punch as good as the next lad, but there were some chaps who were the type who just made a life nasty because of 'teasing'. It got to me seriously, as being an emergent Scrobs, with all the world at his feet, and despite wanting to like people first, some little-minded git would try and knock me down for reasons only known to himself, and think he was better than me.

I've never really bothered about anyone claiming to be 'better', if that's what they believe, then good luck to them, but just don't knock a more normal sort of bloke, eh?

I learned only yesterday, that the person who caused me such grief back when I was a simple teenager, died from a heart attack last year. He'd been a journalist of sorts, and was something high up in the Daily Mail, but as a lovely family member recalls (as she used to work for him') he hadn't changed, and was still a nasty little shit back then.

So 'bye then asshole. You caused me much pain and turned good friends against me, and you also hurt many others when you became a 'senior' at school. You're dead now, and I feel great about that.

Tuesday, 7 March 2017

So,'ere we go...

President Trump is all over the slimy gits trying to nail him for various 'ingenuities', and the MSM (sods who chafe), are getting absolutely nowhere.

Lovely times, for people like Scrobs. I'm fed up with the biased BBC, the Groanead, the Telegraph and the lefty US press like the Washington howsyourfather,...

I'm so old, that I can remember when the BBC were an organisation to be admired!

Not any more.

Saturday, 25 February 2017

Trumpet cocks snook at the press...


Basil Kalashnikov's current residence...


Councillor Sid Trumpet, who now chairs all the meetings at Sodden Prickney Parish Council, on account of Basil Kalashnikov being temporarily deranged, has decided to ban from all the council meetings, the local Sod-Pri Bugle, a silly sort of freebie paper where people sell second-hand beds, and melamine tables.

This has enraged Ms Cynthia Molestrangler, who has a reputation for faking it on several occasions, (not what I've heard - Ed), and also, funnily enough, Miss Amelia Newt, who often confuses the council meetings with whist drives, and gets very upset if she can't cheat a little with Ron Groat, her life-long squeeze, who used to run the drug trafficking franchise for the local chemist, until he was sacked for chewing tobacco on duty.

Councillor Trumpet has also banned the local BBC reporter, Jim Soap-Oprah, who has developed a particularly nasal sneer whenever he talks to the cameras.

The car-park wall is well under way, and Sagtrousers have delivered several large reels of barbed wire to the site, where feverish activity to nail it to the telegraph poles is continuing in earnest!

All in all, it's been a pretty good start to the year, and Councillor Trumpet doesn't bother with the press any more, just emailing a few mates, and telling them what's going on and stuff, and they're all quite happy!

Ms Billary is hoping for an Oscar this evening, and so is Willy Clinchton. They're both favourites for a walk-on non-speaking part in a short TV advert for something or other, which has been completely forgotten already! (Oh yes, it's the Deniercrats bid for the Sodden Prickney Council Election - Ed)

Saturday, 18 February 2017

Four quid...


Last evening, I met up with a friendly bunch of good friends for a beer and a chat.

Earlier in the day, I'd been writing to a lady about reminiscences from the nineteen-sixties, and explained how my first proper salary was £4.0.0 per week.

My pint(s) cost exactly that...

Gulp!

Friday, 10 February 2017