Saturday, 3 December 2016

Small uproar in Poorman, nobody really interested...

There was uproar in Poorman-on-Rhine's by-election, when a nobody called something like Susan Oxney became Sodden Prickney ward's elected member for something or other.

The Lob-Dum contender  had long campaigned for leaving the GLC's deplorable record on some sort of issue, mainly understood by three members of a sort of committee, mainly at the discretion of Basil Kalashnikov, and also she said that she supported some sort of vote for staying in the EU (they haven't - Ed).

So Ms Sissie Oberon had to talk to a proper person on the wireless, and found that she really didn't want the 'job' after all, and so her son grabbed the microphone and uttered the famous words 'Ok yaaaaah, we're orf down the wine baaaaar, so sucks to you lot, OK'!

This outraged Timmy Flange, who is supposed to be some sort of leader in the little party, he squeaked long and hard at proper people who definitely didn't understand that they were voting for a silly little girl, and not Zonk Silversmith!

But that's politics for you folks!

Who really gives a flying fuck!

Wednesday, 30 November 2016

Has-beens attack Brexit, not many take notice...

While Basil Kalashnikov was on holiday in North Korea, two forgotten old farts from his parish council days decided to try and develop a 'coup', by endangering Miss Newt's landlord, Sid Trumpet, and getting the postcards and letters counted again.

There was uproar in the council chamber, as Edwin A. Loser (shown left) raised a high nasal sneer at everyone who voted for Mr Trumpet and said he wished he could try and be chairman again. His chum, Tone 'Dodger' Tossier, agreed, and they both sang and danced a quadrille while chanting some sort of anthem while nobody took much notice.

Most of the village stayed at home, preferring to watch re-runs of 'Breakback Mountain biking' with sub-titles.

Sunday, 20 November 2016

The Great Race...

The film, not the recent US Presidential race...

As Mrs O'Blene and I watched one of our favourite films again last evening, 'The Great Race', with Jack Lemmon, Natalie Wood and Tony Curtis, and in between absolute hoots of laughter, we suddenly realised that the cars all had their steering wheels on the right!

This was news to me, so I had to find out if it was one of Blake Edwards' merry japes, or a true fact!

It is indeed the latter, as the pic above shows, and here's the link to more info...

Every time I've tried to drive a left-hand drive  manual-gearbox car, I've managed to change from 1st to top in one easy swipe on many occasions, but that's another story!

Sunday, 13 November 2016

The idylls of Basil Kalashnikov...

Well, as mentioned by one of our best bloggers earlier this week, 'Bugger me'!

Mr Kalshnikov has been raging and shrieking to nobody in particular, why he wanted to have Ms Billary on his table (not literally I hope - Ed), and that now she has been kicked out, he has to put up with Mr Trumpet and his lovely wife, who accompanies him everywhere, and irons his socks!

Mr Trumpet has always argued that the bus lay-by issue wouldn't ever go away, well, not until next Thursday anyway, and now he is on the Wongs and Mains Committee, he can do what he damn well likes can't he! Mrs Trumpet has already ordered a new suit from Poundland, and says she is looking forward to Christmas as well, when Mr Trumpet has offered to take her on a cruise to somewhere or other, on his yacht, which is a second-hand version of the 'Saint Philip Green', another floating gin-palace.

PC Lumbersnatch burst into tears, at the news of Sid Trumpet's enormous vote, as did all the other luvvies, out of work actors, bad singers and crap bands, who rely on the sort of people like Ms Billary and 'Willy' Clinchton for making them rich, even though they have no talent!

For consolation, Mr Clinchton took Ms Billary back to his small home in Emmerdale, and she microwaved him his favourite dinner of grits, biscuits and gravy, and afterwards, he gave her an old pendant, but only once.

So everyone else is to blame for the Billary fiasco aren't they! Directly the small yob clique in the village heard via their various thickphones, they broke the local bus shelter and shouted at everyone who doesn't drink lager.

Sid Trumpet took a call from Mr Kalashnikov, but couldn't understand a single word he said, so put the phone down on him mid-splutter.

Willy Clinchton is still ashen-faced.

Sunday, 6 November 2016

Layby woes...

Since Plod became 'emotionally' engaged in looking at various receipts in Ms Billary's Waitrose bag, it is understood that she has made some pretty shady purchases in recent months. It is clear that Mr 'Willy' Clinchton has a desire to enjoy the delicacies such as sausage rolls (you're getting too close - Ed), tartan cackleberries (do you mean Scotch eggs - Ed), and also raspberry ripples. (WHAAAT - Ed).

It is clear that her 'slots' with Waitrose have coincided with a spike in bad traffic conditions in Sodden Prickney, and that Plod are understandably miffed that as the traffic lights are out of sync for the fourth time this month, the seventeen lorries of comestibles have clogged up the system yet again!

Sid Trumpet has immediately seized on this information as evidence that Ms Billary knew about the proposed bus layby all along, and that her partner Willy was also in the ring! Mr Trumpet has now produced more evidence that Ms Billary is guilty of conniving with the Sodden Prickney Highways dept so that her constituency office has in effect, a personalised parking space right outside, and she doesn't have to wait in the rain while Mr Clinchton goes and fetches the motorcar.

PC Lumbersnatch has been patrolling the area for a number of years, and has also noticed that the Waitrose deliveries have been making deliveries on a regular basis, and he wonders why. (PC Lumbersnatch leaves all his shopping to Mrs Lumbersnatch, who is a superviser of sheets and pillowcases in Sodden Prickney's Model Steam Laundry. She is also a distant cousin of Miss Newt, and her involvement in this farrago will become clearer, when the rental deals on her 560,000 retail emporium have been completed with Mr Trumpet and his advisers, Clegg, Twillit and Twonk).

Mr Basil Kalashnikov has been seen running in every direction and yelling 'Sod everyone', for some reason only known to himself, but it is likely that he was dead keen on getting Ms Billary on his committee, (and maybe on his couch - Ed) as he rather fancies her rolling eyes, which he puts down to ecstasy. As Mr Trumpet has now taken the lead in the proposed election to the Ways and Moans Committee, Mr Kalashnikov will probably have to endure several years of hatred and despair, and most citizens of Sodden Prickney who care a monkeys, think that he deserves all that!

Sunday, 30 October 2016

Superplod wades in - again...

There was a Richter 8 commotion in Sodden Prickney's village hall last Thursday, when a resident had complained that the provision of the new bus lay-by had been pushed through by the Chairman, Basil Kalashnikov, and that the alternative, at Gatport Airwick, would be abandoned until everyone changed their mind again.

PC Lumbersnatch had realised that things were not what they should be, and had decided to check the issues yet again.

The news straddled (don't you mean overtook - Ed), (STRADDLED, as in 'got on top of', bugger off), the other news concerning Ms Billary's postcards to various citizens, and the pictures thereupon. Mr Clinchton's favourite pictures of fat ladies on the beach, and even fatter men with obese kids were being handed out like a person with no arms, and Mr Kalashnikov was having none of it! (not what I've heard - Ed).

Mr Trumpet was leaping around in all directions when he heard the news on his Walkman, and began a whistle-stop tour of every street in the village including Boris Villas, as he wanted the spotlight maintained on Ms Billary's use of a laptop (oh, not again - Ed), and also getting in touch (THAT'S ENOUGH - Ed) with residents of other places where bus-stop laybys had been used for nefarious purposes including buying kebabs at the local typhoid dispensary.

When the embargo has been lifted, there will be much more news, but suffice it to say, there will be much to learn about Ms Billary, and her partner, Willy Clinchton, and also Sid Trumpet's endeavours to negotiate with Miss Newt about the rent on her 450,000 sf retail emporium, which she and Ron Groat leased all those years ago, when life was dismal under Gordon Brown.

Wednesday, 19 October 2016

The Billary emails...

During the Sodden Prickney meeting, which was hurriedly convened (after the unpleasantness in the church hall last Tuesday), to vote in a new Chairman for the Ways, Drains and Minge (don't you mean 'means' - Ed), committee, there was some commotion owing to certain personalities causing mayhem, while Mr Sid Trumpet took to the podium. (and allegedly to several usherettes - Ed)

Ms Billary and Mr Clinchton were seated in the front row of the assembled throng, and Mr Trumpet was in full flow under the searching light of the forty watt bulbs used to illuminate the flats on each side of the stage, and still bore the sad efforts of the Sodden Prickney AmDrams to produce a musical tribute to 'Ben Hur' last autumn.

Mr Trumpet pulled a silk handkerchief from the top pocket of his Harris Tweed, and out fluttered a Victoria's Secret receipt, which was pounced on by Mr Clinchton, to use as evidence of Mr Trumpet's inclination to aver towards the ladies more than somewhat, which was always his personal domain.

In doing the pounce, Mr Clinchton crashed into the trestle table where the rest of the committee were seated, and the result was rather like group sex in an E Type Jag, all legs, arms and broken glass! At a signal from Mr Trumpet, the back two rows of the assembled throng, which consisted of the bass section of the Basingstoke Ebenezer Church Girls Choir, began to march forward in unison, pointing accusatory fingers at Mr Clinchton, and singing The Hanging Song from 'Cat Ballou'!

Of course, Ms Billary became agitated, and as is the case when she is agitated, she sent off three emails to various countries, firing a small missile in India, causing all the traffic cameras in Scunthorpe to crash and starting a small famine in Denmark. She blamed Brexit of course, so Mr Obammaloo was as pleased as ever, as he wanted to be at the front of the queue, but nobody would let him! (I think you're becoming a little confused in that last bit, Mr O'Blene - Ed).

Sid Trumpet is ninety-three.

To one.

(As erudite as ever, Mr O'Blene. Perhaps we can alter one or two or seven passages during lunch - Ed)