BUT FIRST – AN EXPLANATION: I HAVE BEEN ASKED SEVERAL TIMES WHY I DO NOT ALLOW COMMENTS ON MY CHRONICLES ETC. THE ANSWER LIES IN SPAM. IF I ALLOW COMMENTS, WHAT I GET IS DOZENS UPON SCORES OF SHIT SPAM RESPONSES INVITING ME TO INCREASE MY PENIS SIZE AND DECREASE THE SIZE OF MY BREASTS, OR VICE VERSA. TO BUY FLOWERS, VIAGRA, HAIRSPRAY, FUCK KNOWS WHAT ELSE. I DO NOT HAVE THE TIME NOR THE DESIRE TO MODERATE INCOMING, SO I BLOCK EVERYTHING. THOSE WHO WANT TO MAKE GENUINE COMMENTS KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME, AND I RELY ON THOSE KIND PEOPLE TO SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT MY BLOG AND MY CONTACT DETAILS. THANK YOU AND THEM.
Parliament passes a whopper on the turd reading. The Cons do a deal with farridge, putin, erdogan, possibly Xi Ping Ding, Aung Sang-Soo Chi, others, to ensure they win the election, which will be a turkey in December, of course. Ten Sheep-Tories, frightened out of their wits by a face-to-face with the Bullmeister, are whipped into the fold and promise to be good baaaaaas.
Then – Bullmeister assures everyone that the election will, ahhhh, y’know, not, never ahhhh, be about Brexit, I, I, I, will y’know, fight on the peaches, on the coffee grounds, in the folds, on the Wolds and , ahhhhh, we will never surrender. Never in history of whatever has, y’know, so much ahhhhh, good garden stuff been fed to so many by so few. Have changed my name to Winston. Pass the cigar.
Meanwhile, Trumpo declares that someone called Abooooo Babooboooo Booogdoody has blown himself up. Trumpo inflates himself, announces that he is learning to write. Several more White House speechwriters resign. Trumpo wants to know why peaches are so important in politics. Queen’s peach. Impeachment. WTF?
And in Japan, England to play South Africa in World Cup Rugby. Outcome still to come, but English forwards replaced by eight sumo champions, with haircuts and whitey-masks. Loinscloths replaced by size 76 shorts. Taught to say “Fook me, old chap”. No other way to counter the Springbok pack which weighs seven tonnes. The South Africans do not Faf about (sorry – rugby joke for ruggerbuggers only)
But, clocks in Britain go backwards. Or possibly forwards or maybe sideways. Confused cows eschew the cud. Scots way-hey the consequences, complain they are kept in the dark. Dancing becomes Stricter with lots of rubber and whips and Dommy Natrix stands for Parliament in Weales. French now found to be eating more beoufffff, for energy required to shrug a lot more at plight of Les Cousins Anglais.
In Oxford, in deference to who-knows-whom, students decree that the clap must be replaced by jazz. STD doctors claim this is untreatable. All would-be students now required to undergo psychiatric evaluation to avoid admitting those obviously deranged. Oxford intake drops to exactly seven.
And so forth …