Word reaches me that the Tory armies, fresh from their capture of Lundun, are on the march northwards and have now laid siege to Crewe. Dark days indeed. They say that the fool Brown sits sulking in his bunker, blind to the inevitable, while Darling has been seen eating his own young. This afternoon I climbed to the top of a nearby hill and heard cannon fire coming from the Cheshire hinterland. Later I helped my wife and children to pack their things and waved as they set off for the safety of Scotland, where they will stay until this horror is over.
I promised them that I would be joining them soon, but I could not look them in the eye. It’s the end, my friends. We’re doomed.
OK, I admit it, I didn’t die back in September. That whole canoe thing was just a ruse. I’ve been hiding out in Central America and I would have gotten away with it too if I hadn’t foolishly put a photo of myself holding my passport and driving licence on the website Look, It’s Me! I’m Here! In Panama!.com. It’s always the little things you overlook.
Turns out that in September I offended a group of Icelandic fundamentalists with my cheap fisting gag. Icelandic fundamentalists are a lot like Islamic fundamentalists but with warmer coats and a fanatical hatred of Kerry Katona. They did some digging and found that I’d recently named my pet cat Björk and after that it was just non-stop hate mail, effigy burning, flaxen-haired trawlermen outside the house demanding my death - you know the sort of thing.
In a last-ditch attempt to placate them I renamed the cat Atomic Kitten and that’s when the shit really hit the fan. Should I have known about the Kerry Katona thing? In retrospect, yeah, perhaps I should. Call me naive if you like - I just thought it was a nice name for a cat. In the end I felt I had no option but to stage my own death, cash in on the life insurance, go to Panama and buy a couple of yachts. Honestly, it’s been a living nightmare.
But now I find myself back in the UK and I’ll say one thing for British prisons: they know how to keep a man safe from Icelandic fundamentalism. I could get used to it in here.
Just one final note for my next-door neighbour (whose identity is obviously best not revealed for her own sake): please tell Atomic Kitten I forgive her for all the trouble she’s caused and I’m not dead after all. And make sure you do it that way round: get her feeling guilty first and then hopefully you can slip the not dead thing in “under the radar” as it were. I know one day she’ll understand.
A top UK judge made this astonishing pronouncement today, as pictured here by the BBC. He claims Q-Tips are a valuable source of protein and should be “force-fed to every man, woman and child in Britain”, along with beef brains and lead paint from China which apparently are “good for the backbone”.
See, this is how it goes with judges. One day they’re telling you you can’t do 90 in a built-up area, then it’s no murdering on week days, and before you know it’s all gone to their heads and they’re meddling in areas they know nothing about. These things should be left to experts such as Jamie Oliver and Ainsley Harriott.
The country’s gone to the dogs. I no more want an overpaid drag queen in a bad wig to tell me what to eat than I would seek legal advice from Gillian McKeith.
Can anyone tell me what the big surprise was today? Something to do with Blair apparently, but I haven’t been able to find anything about it in the papers.
Someone said that other bloke, the one with the mouth who sits next to him, was going to get his job? So obviously a hoax I didn’t even give it a second thought.
I was in half a mind to bring Tesco’s sorry arrangement of bananas to the attention of the authorities today. Greener than Kermit’s left bollock, the whole damn lot of them.
But then I stopped and thought: what right do I, an Englishman, have to demand yellow bananas in February?
I wish I had a wider point to make here about globalisation or the environmental impact of air freight, but I don’t really. I just thought it was interesting, the whole thing with the bananas.
Next time you’re writing a cheque for your licence fee, remember to seal it with a kiss for people like Chris Lake, expert on the cost of sending e-mails:
The cost of sending 1.8 million e-mails is about £6,000, estimates Chris Lake, editor of E-consultancy.com which advises people on internet strategy.
“Last week I had lunch with someone who sends out 180,000 a week as a newsletter, which cost him £600,” he says. “That would make it £6,000, but it could be much less or much more. Plus there are the resources to craft it and put it together.”
There are lots of variables so we can’t be sure, he says.
Thank God he had lunch with another idiot in time, otherwise where would we be now? Sheer guesswork from some pillock, that’s where. Imagine that.
I don’t know why they didn’t go straight to Guy Goma.
Quite why a Dutchman should concern himself with producing a wobbly picture of Paxman with a cat on his head I have no idea, but concern himself he did.
It reminds me of the animation I once did of Wim Kok with an ocelot up his arse: I must dig it out some time. (At least I think that was the title.)
Spent an exhilarating day out on the rob today. Boxing Day is traditionally a great day for breaking and entering, as houses are chock full of brand new gear and people are out visiting relatives. Technically, of course, burgling with crowbars is now illegal, outlawed by a control-freak government as part of its risible class war. But the law is an ass, and far too blunt a tool for killing a passion handed down over generations from man to boy. Loopholes will always be found and exploited. Blair will never understand our ancient city ways.
A Happy Boxing Day to you all!
Just part of the magnificent haul we liberated from an end terrace in West Kirby today.
Ministers and civil servants when you talk to them privately aren’t thinking about the beginning on today this Queen’s speech, they’re thinking: when’s he off and when’s the nude guy coming.
I’ve always thought very highly of Robinson in the past, but now I can see he’s just as demented and sex-crazed as the rest of them. I can hardly close my eyes without falling prey to the vilest images of him, knocking on my entrance with his Black Rod and such like.
And to think children could have been listening! Thank God ours prefer Radio 3.
OK, I admit it, I didn’t die back in September. That whole canoe thing was just a ruse. I’ve been hiding out in Central America and I would have gotten away with it too if I hadn’t foolishly put a photo of myself holding my passport and driving licence on the website Look, It’s Me! I’m Here! In Panama!.com. It’s always the little things you overlook.
A top UK judge made this 
The 
I’ve always thought very highly of Robinson in the past, but now I can see he’s just as demented and sex-crazed as the rest of them. I can hardly close my eyes without falling prey to the vilest images of him, knocking on my entrance with his Black Rod and such like.