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Peter Cook had the right idea. Lampoon them into change.


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Course, it hasn't been my best day down at Plough Lane has it! There I was, sat in me office nibbling on a kilo of Pork Rind harvested following the slaughter and strangulation of the Council's prize winning Razorback Suckling Sow, when me secretary Agnes tapped on the door and said, 'have you finished pleasuring yourself. I've got your ten thirty here'.

I said, 'bloody hell! Tell the world won't you, I can't help it if I produce an ungodly amount of semen.Is it Little Bill and has he agreed to present himself naked?'. With an odd mix of tones that could best be described as gently feminine whispers and a howling screaming yell brought about because she'd stubbed her toe on an old cast iron cooking pot whilst preparing a meat stew to feed a table of eight, Agnes cried, 'Yes, but he ain't happy with it'. 'Excellent', I responded, 'send Little Bill in and we'll begin my scrutiny of his Strimming activities'.

And in he came. Naked, angry and clearly uncomfortable that I had chosen to wear my Grannies old boxing shorts, her sports bra and had consequently placed him at an immediate physchological disadvantage to me. Greeting him with a manly hug and a firm handshake, I immediately put him at ease by saying, 'your penis is flaccid, as is mine so please relax, banish any thoughts that you'll be violated in this room, help yourself to a scratching and lets deal with the issues that need to be addressed by me, the Councils new Ethics And Standards Monitoring Officer'.

Cognisant that Little Bill was at his most vulnerable, I went straight for the jugular. I said, ' on dates unknown in the hamlets of Orcop, Pencoed and Saddlebow Hill, whilst engaged in Strimming the grass bloody verges, you Little Bill, the Wild Beast Buggaring scoundrel, ninny and downright stinker crept into several lush green meadows and subjected a herd of bovine beasts to acts of manly love. The games up Little Wild Billy. Lets have the truth. Admit it and clear yourself before God and Man'.

Course, it didn't go well. He screamed, 'I'm no Strimmer. Im the finest legal mind in Herefordshire'. I said, 'slow down. Reverse a little. There's no need to overeact. Why get so upset. It's a perfectly reasonable question. I put it to you that you've subjected untold numbers of commercial farming animals to acts that even God would describe as 'the work of a complete rotter'.

He said, 'I ain't no Strimmer. I've never Strimmed, ive no desire to ever Strim and I'll be damned if I sit back and take this'. And then the penny dropped. The realisation that I'd perhaps strayed into an area that placed me in a frightfully difficult position with someone who had the Latin. Oh he had it all. 'Habeas Corpus, Mens Rea and Affadavit. I had in fact put my beastly allegation to Herefordshire's finest legal mind Bill Norman instead of a Strimmer of overgrown grass.

I said, ' Are you a Strimmer of Grass'.? 'Have you ever been a Strimmer'. Would you ever choose to Strim even if it weren't your job, and then, after perusing through my notes and realising that I was interviewing the wrong Billy, I said, 'I sincerely apologise Bill. It's all an administrative error.'

Brousing through the notes, whilst the finest legal mind in Hereford tried to throttle me with Grannies bra I desperately tried to explain to Billy that I'd mixed him up with Little Bill the notorious beast Buggaring Violator of members of the Animal Kingdom. Quite simply, because the Chief Legal Officer was described on my list as ' A Beastly drain on public funds and a dodger of FOI's to establish how much money he'd been able to get from the public purse, the term 'beast' had completely thrown me, ruined me entire day and left me with a sore neck after getting throttled for perfectly understandable reasons.

The moral of this pointless and nonsensical pile of rats urine? Get your facts right. Study your brief and above all, ensure that a Strimmer of overgrown grass does actually involve themselves in the Strimming of overgrown grass and, better still they own a Strimmer to cut that overgrown grass or have access to a Strimmer that would enable overgrown grass to be cut at hazardous road junctions.

As for Freedom of Information requests that perhaps try to she'd some light on the wrongdoing that can lawfully take place nowadays because 'we' no longer matter, I often wonder whether or not its become a pointless excercise.

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Ethics and Standards Monitoring Officer, Bobby??


Good grief, this role is going to keep you very busy indeed - too busy for regular afternoons in The Commercial, or a spot of fishing on The Wye!


Monitoring the ethics and standards of Harry and Trish alone, will keep you gainfully employed until at least  Christmas!

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Dear Bobby, I really feel for you with your sore neck, in a manly punch on the shoulder masculine sort of way of course, and the moral you portray is a sound one 'the devil is in the detail' and all that.

But also, one must trust ones instincts, ones 'gut feelings', and with a gut like mine there's a lot to trust.

Really, after all your personal dealings with Brockington Towers and the Plough Lane Mafia, you should know, within these fine establishments, there is no such thing as a 'Little Bill'.

There may be a 'Big Bill', there may be a 'Hefty Bill', there may even be a an 'Eye Watering, Enormously Gigantic Bill', but a 'Little Bill'? never!

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And I'll tell you something else that's got buggar all to do with anything. I've no time for Strimmers, the Strimming community and their desperate need to Strim and whatsmore, I'll tell you why. Not that its worth bothering to read.

Me and the lads are members of the Triple 'H' society and we meet thrice daily down at the Commercial where we discuss the business that relates directly, indirectly or not directly to the Hereford Hoard Hunters.

T'other day, I stood up on the chair, ale dripping from me mouth and I said, 'Lads, for years we've been searching for the Herefordshire Hoard without any success whatsoever and so I've decided that from hereon we are not going to sweep fields that we know the Saxons never ever visited or settled in.' Course, then the lads kicked off gibbering and muttering calling me a Big Time Charlie with high cholesterol. I said, 'from hereon we are going to sweep fields that we know the Saxons travelled through'.

I explained that if we could find such a field we could take our Metal Detectors out and possibly find the whereabouts of three ton of gold left by a troupe of Saxons who perhaps had decided that they couldn't be bothered to carry it anymore, buried it and continued their journey to Bath & Wells to bathe in the Spring Water and cure themselves of whatever it was ,that made them to tired to carry the aforementioned three ton of Gold.

Course, the mood changed didnt it. 'Halleluzah'!, they cried, 'Fortyseven is a genius lets be gone, find this field and become rich' I said, ' Lads I've found such a field and we'll travel there right now but, under no circumstances do we turn our Metal Detectors on. I'll be damned if I sit back and repeat the mistake we've made on countless other occasions, namely, our Detectors become activated and we begin detecting precious elements before we've got halfway up Commercial Road.'

And so, with our Metal Detectors set on 'Sensitive' but switched in the 'Off' position, we set off avoiding the usual mayhem of the constant bloody beeping brought about because our Metal Detectors had detected the Ford Transit Van we were travelling upon.

Having arrived in this field, I gathered the lads together and said, 'lets spread out in a line, get ourselves one hundred yards apart and on my say so, we switch on our Detectors.' The lads, cognisant that I wasn't pis.sed and I had a look in my eyes that suggested I was determined to find three ton of gold, immediately carried out my instructions.

Then I shouted, 'lads turn on your Metal Detectors'. Course, because of the bloody distance we were all apart, they couldn't hear me could they so I waved and beckoned the lads back to me and I said, 'For Fu.cks sakes, we are to far apart. Lets do it all over again but this bloody time make it eighty bloody yards'.

Anyway, after repeating this pointless bloody process a few times we finally arrived at a distance of forty yards apart and I shouted, 'Lads, for the last fu.cking time turn on your Metal Detectors'. After telling two of the lads to buggar off because they had flat batteries, we began the sweep determined to find half a dozen Saxon Gold Death Masks and enough Gold to sate my personal vices for several lifetimes.

Then, as we all staggered through the cow shi.t, mole hills and rat droppings, all of a sudden me bloody Detector went Beep, beep, bloody beep, beep. I said, 'lads Im having a reaction and it ain't my eczema'. Then, incredibly, all the lads began to experience a reaction from their Metal Detectors. I cried, 'lads, glory beckons. Three ton of Gold and we've detected it'.

And so our exciting journey began following the beeping sound that became more rapid as we all hurtled across the field toward a small hillock. One of the lads yelled, 'me bloody bar is beginning to bend'. I said, 'that'll be three ton of Saxon Gold. The bar can tend to bend if you detect three ton of bloody Gold'. Then it happened! As we approached the hillock all our Metal Detectors began to give off a continuous siren, all our bars began to bend and as we hurtled up the hillock fully expecting to find three ton of Saxon Gold we suddenly stopped, turned off our devices and stared at a group of forty people commonly know as The Stretton Sugwas Strimmers.

We'd detected them rather than the three ton of Saxon Gold we'd been hoping to detect and that's why I hate bloody Strimmers.

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My God! I've been the purveyor of some nonsensical pigswill in my time but surely, having read this back to myself, there can be no one who can argue that Im not the King of Cr.ap!

Good God! Three Ton of Gold, Metal Detectors and the Triple 'H' Society. What's it got to do with Billy? Nothing! It's all rubbish. I've gotta get some help!

My apologies for my previous post. I've gone far, far to far over and beyond the edge of reason and sound thinking.

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Bobby , somebody had to say it ......Best it came from you Old Friend . You can now return to the Commersial with a clear heart . Maybe a good idea you do not visit the Traveller Rest when the Three S's have their Summer Strimmer's Show.

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  One day my friend, you'll hit the jackpot...........



                               Ode To Bobbys' Conkers.


King Bobby stood on Marcle Ridge,

Detector in his hand,

The random bleep

Was frightening sheep,

As he swept the grassy land.


Across the field the farmer strode,

His face showed great displeasure,

"I'll be within the law,

To use my 12 bore,

Unless you stop this hunt for treasure!" 


Taking aim he fired a warning shot,

Into an old Horse Chestnut tree,

This may sound bonkers,

But solid gold conkers,

Ricocheted off Bobbys flask of tea!


"Wealth beyond my wildest dreams!"

Bobby shouted with delight,

"I'll have riches untold,

From these conkers of gold,

Drinks on me in The Commercial tonight!"



By D Hippy.

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Well done Dippy - think it's your best to date -must have been a quiet day at work ![/quote.




I'll have you know I'm currently enjoying two weeks leave......and well deserved it is too, even if I do say so myself!!


As if I'd write an Ode to Bobby's Conkers during work time!!

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Good on you mr Paul Cardin your doing a sterling job! so keep on getting under there skin which I'm sure you will!!!

& as dippy says your like a dog with a bone, so don't let go of said bone until you have extracted out all of the juicy bits from within…of which I have no doubt you will succeed in doing!!

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