bobby47

Enough already. Rather than demonise those who drink, I say society should be grateful that people like me drink to excess, pay huge levels of taxation and help recycle money within our fragile local economy. And why not gather near a place of worship to drink? Our Lord and Saviour, the sweet loving Jesus often went on the pistol in Gallilee. He saw no wrong in it and if it was good enough for Jesus then its good enough for me. The Wedding of Canna? Mary, his Mam staggered up to him and said, 'the wines running out'. What's he do? He came up with his much celebrated miracle, changing the water into wine. Well, either that or he shot off up the road to the off licence. The Last Supper? He didn't hand out bloody water did he? No, more bloody wine! I reckon they were out of their faces for much of the time whilst trekking around Judea and were not to different to all the confused and bewildered people that are regularly to be found staggering around our once fair City. Last Friday. I met the Mighty Grid Knocker in the Commercial. I had two pints of Lager. He had two large glasses of white. Twelve bloody quid straight back into our economy. After we parted, I went up to The Barrels. I met the lads, got into a round and over a oeriod of six hours I contributed fifty quid to my drunken haze. Fifty quid of my money went across the bar straight back into our economy. Then, unable to swallow any more lager, I left the lads, staggered back to Commercial Road where I collapsed in the Charcoal Grill ordering a large mixed kebab. Eight pound fifty! Then I staggered home eating my kebab managing to feed my fat face and dripping chilli sause and Mayonaisse all over me coat. Dry cleaning bill for this garment. Ten pounds twenty. Then, having got to my front door, I fell against my Ford Focus wing mirror and bloody bust it. Forty nine pounds including bloody vat. All this money and tax spent within our fragile economy and paid for by me. And what do I get for me bloody troubles? I'll tell you. Folk moaning that Im a burden on society and I should be showered with legislation to prevent me sharing my wealth and helping my home economy recover from the madness of New bloody Labour. I say, rather than single me out and shower me with criticism, I should be applauded whenever I leave my house to go on the pistol. They should say, 'thank you for paying all this tax. Keep up the good work. Drink wherever you wish. We appreciate it.'

I had a bit of the usual trouble last night. I was busying myself working on me home made Hadron Collider trying to find the elusive God Particle and she came in. Bloody wife! 'If you find the particle', she said, 'what on earth are you going to do with it. In here now I want intercourse. Bloody wanton strumpet! Anyway as we began to fornicate she screamed, 'talk dirty to me fatso'. I said, 'ok, get off me you dirty rotten old bag' and then, there was a strange tap, tap, tap on the bloody door. I thought, 'funny. Tap, tap, tap on my door. Who could it be?'. Seeing as you didn't ask, I'll tell you. I looked through the window to see Baroness Ashton and Herman Van Rompuy outside dogging on the bonnet of my Ford Focus. I said to the wife, who'd sensibly placed herself in the recovery position to get over her personal gratification, ' Ashton and Van Rompuy are writhing around on my bloody bonnet', to which she replied, 'we've gotta get out of the EU or build a bloody garage. And anyone who says this is codswallop has had a better education than I expected them to have had.

Good bloody grief! It's getting worse in the Ukraine and I ain't talking about the seventy odd poor souls who've lost their lives today in this bonfire of madness. What can be bloody worse? Bloody Baroness bloody Ashton. Good Lord! The European Union are wheeling her out to resolve this carnage. Bloody High Representative for EU Foreign Affairs and Security. My God! Baroness bloody Ashton. She, that nobody ever elected, who happened to be a mate of the liar Tony rotten Blair, is now deep in contemplation on how to stop the fighting in the Ukraine. She's bloody useless and a great example of why I want out of this European Union. The only way she can help to stop this madness is to stipulate that if the carnage doesn't cease forthwith then all of the protagonists would be legally obliged to cozy up to her and engage in acts of bloody love. That'd stop the fighting! In fact, thinking about it, if Baroness bloody Ashton put that proposition to me and handed me a small pocket derringer pistol as an alternative to cozying up with her, I'd pick that pistol up, check there was a bullet in the chamber, stand before the setting sun and blow me bloody brains out and be happy to do it knowing that I'd avoided listening to her clipped regional tones celebrating the greatness of being a part of the United States of Europe. Mark my words, the worst is yet to come and many of the poor people of the Ukraine may be required to pay with their lives as the EU and Russia battle for the prize which is the land, the assets and the citizens of the Ukraine.

Our colleague, Councillor Chris Chappell has been appointed 'champion' for our fellow citizens who are disabled because of Learning Disability. This is really good news for those of us who understand this issue and I know that this appointment is an excellent one and one which will provide a great deal of comfort to Moms, Dads, Siblings and Carers who devote their lives to caring and providing love and support. Having been the recipient of his biting teeth, I am confident that our Chris Chappell will fight, bite and snarl to protect those less fortunate than you and I and I congratulate him on this appointment and wish him luck during the forthcoming months which will require a great deal of challenging decisions to ensure we provide the proper care for those who have this disability. For my part, if there is anything that I can do to assist and help Councillor Chappell in this role, I'll do all I can to support him and his colleagues. Congratulations Mr Chappell.

Magicroundabout, Hello my old friend. Im sorry to disappoint you but I can't keep churning out this bloody pointless pigswill. Im serious! This bloody European Union is a threat to all the people's of Europe and whatsmore, if bloody Herman Van Rompuy ever pops round my house begging me for a bowl of sugar, a jug of milk and even contemplates discussing my views on him and his fat, bloated organisation that sees us all racing to the bottom of the economic ladder, he's going to get a piece of my mind. Im going to tell him, 'clear off Van Rompuy. I didn't bloody vote for you and as far as Im concerned, me, this house that I own and the doormat you are stood upon is no longer a part of your social engineering programme.' That's exactly what he's going to be getting if ever he jets over here from Brussels with the intention of winning me over. He can get stuffed and if his close protection team ain't paying enough attention to their charge then I'll hit him in the face with my wife's frying pan. Let him take that back to bloody Brussels. Getting hit in the face with a frying pan is the last thing he'll be expecting and it'll probably be the last thing that I do before I get dragged off to see the Magistrate. My very warmest regards.

Many observers say that if ever there is another World War it'll start in the Middle East. My view is that there is more chance of it starting off in Europe. History in Europe is beginning to repeat itself. The First and Second World Wars began within our Continent because of expansionist ideologies that began during times of economic hardship and nationalistic feelings that created an 'us' and 'them' feeling which eventually spiralled out of control resulting in War. Today, the very same expansionist policies are being pursued by the European Union creating the movement of vast numbers of people who want what the others have got. These times we are now living in are not that different to those of the twentieth century that wreaked havoc upon the world. Some nations, more notably the Greeks are being ruled by the mandarins of the EU. This great nation of people are suffering because they were swallowed up by the promise of expansionist ideals that saw them and their tiny economy trying to compete with the mighty Deutch Mark and the EU desire to strip them and everyone else of their sovereignty. In the United Kingdom, more people arrived in our Country at the beginning of the last decade than they did between the Battle of Hastings and the few years following World War Two. As a result, some seventy per cent of British people want immigration stopped or controlled. Far right groups all across Europe are springing up simply because they choose to keep their sovereignty, they do not want to be ruled by Brussels and they are feeding upon the very natural human emotion that makes people feel threatened and frightened by things they no longer understand. The Ukraine? Half their population wants to be tied and bound to Putin and Mother Russia, while the other half, notably the younger generation, want to become a part of the West. Throughout it all, the EU are wooing and seducing the people of the Ukraine in the hope that yet another state will become a part of the United States of Europe. The Ukraine is only a short step away from outright Civil War and despite all their woes, all the bloodshed and the frightening images we see on the tv, still the mandarins from Brussels are orchestrating chaos and madness in their pursuit of expansionist ideology. Mother Russia is on the rise and before to long I see the Ukraine government inviting Putin to aid them. Then? God knows what will happen. The Russian military will move into Ukraine, the EU and the United States will react and its not beyond the realms of possibility that other Central and Eastern European nations will begin to fragment and join this bonfire of madness. We've got to get out of the European Union. The EU is rapidly developing into a totalitarian communist styled base of managing people that are no longer British, Greek, Ukraine or anything else. Nationality, the place of your birth and your heritage and culture will become silly things of the past and seen as outdated and pointless labels that are meaningless to the collusus that is the European Union. Not so long ago, the great Mikael Gorbachev commented, that he was amazed that European political leaders appear to be intent upon creating another Communist style form of rule. These comments should not be quickly dismissed. The EU is now preparing to Hoover up poverty stricken nations like Albania, Macedonia and Kosovo and when Gorbachev suggests we should be frightened I believe we should start paying attention and understand that history is repeating itself and this social engineering experiment that is the EU is going to bring us all misery and national unhappiness. Many of you will read this and think it to be rubbish. You'll say, 'ridiculous. They'd be mad to allow another War to happen'. Well, perhaps your right. But, if you ain't, and they are mad then we are in the eye of a storm. The greatest man made catastrophe since we sat back and allowed the Nazis to gobble up all the living space they wanted together with the freedoms of millions of people. The advance of the European Union has already resulted in Countries losing their young people, their bright clever and gifted citizens to the lure of the West and the continued movement of people will continue leaving places like Romania and the Ukraine empty economic shells, asset stripped by the madness of the EU. There will be a price to pay for this foolhardy pursuit of expansion and it'll be met by us and our brothers and sisters within Continental Europe who'll wake up one morning and see that their future, namely the gifted and educated kids have all left to pick bloody fruit and process chicken in Hereford. Then they'll say, 'if only we had been told that this would happen to our homeland. Stripped bare by unelected power hungry idiots who've destroyed us all because they paid no attention to history and the folly of communism and destroying sovereignty.

Last night, shortly after I'd engaged in sexual intercourse with my tormentor the wife, I began to read a very interesting book. It's all about reincarnation. How, when we die we get to come back from the other side but instead of being another human, destined to fail miserably in life, you get to be another earthly species. In Chapter Two, titled, ' you don't want to come back as a dung beetle', the author suggested that you can actually will your choice of species after your heart attack brought about by high levels of cholesterol which then got me thinking! Nibbling upon my custard slice I thought, well I've no desire to come back as an insect. I mean, who would? You'd be an odd sort if you wished for that. Horrid little things if my views are worth a jot of notice. Birds crossed my mind. Lovely things. Glorious creations of God but of course they eat insects and are forever pecking away at the contents of our black bin bags and whilst I loved the idea of flight I didn't fancy getting out of me nest every bloody day, flying off in search of an insect to eat. In fact, its this notion of eating vast numbers of insects, day in, day out, week after week that made me quickly decide that birds, fish and other creatures who enjoyed eating the mosquito were definitely not for me. After reaching Chapter seven, titled, ' don't pick something that sees you wrapped up in cling film on a supermarket shelf', I decided upon the ferret. The ferret is a lovely creature. Highly intelligent, it doesn't eat insects and judging by what goes on within the cage of my two hand reared ferrets, they enjoy a highly sensual and sexual lifestyle which makes me conclude, if ever I get flattened by a ten ton truck as I stagger down to the Wye to fish for barbel, when I zip off racing toward the light, Im coming back as a ferret. I mean, think about it, the ferret isn't something we choose to eat unless of course your bloody starving, it's not like the badger who's daily existence is blighted by the worry of a cull and the only unpleasant thing ever asked of a ferret is at Village Fetes when some fool steps forward, out of his mind on drugs and intoxicating liquor and he makes his ferrets rummage and scurry around beneath his trousers. No! Whilst I've no desire to become a pet to a man who enjoys having me scurrying about around his genitals to entertain himself or others, I've no problem in saying, when I die Im coming back as a ferret. There! Ain't that codswallop? Complete rubbish! Totally harmless and unless you are a fan of insects, it cannot cause any of you to cry out, 'oh! Im offended. Im upset by it all. So hurt and filled with angst am I, Im going to send Fortyseven a message saying I don't want to read this rubbish on our forum anymore'. I hope Aylestone Voice comes back as a Maggot! Mature enough to dangle upon my barbed hook!

For a starters, this place will not open in the Spring. It's more likely to be late Summer. As for the 'take up' of the units, all is not well, the developers are being asked to give away more than they'd like to give away and consequently the developers have taken the line, 'lets say nothing to the media' which will mitigate things when the bad news begins to drip our way. As for Debenhams, they're riding on the back of a slump in trade that's seen their shares slashed by a huge 8% and so, given our low regional disposable income levels, they'll simply 'suck it and see', open up with a short term five year action plan and when, as is likely that they don't make the money they wish to make, they'll simply remove their fittings and fixtures and clear off leaving us with a hulk of a building that we've no idea what to do with. In the meantime, the wage levels will not rise, the youngsters will continue to leave for a more prosperous place, our crumbling infra structure will continue to hamstring any prospect of high tech industry settling here, our dependence on a vast and cheap migrant workforce will continue, this demographics wages will continue to remain low because of the increasing market pressures that demand, 'if you don't pick our fruit for this money, another group will take your place and they'll be happy to do it,' and on and on it goes as we slide ever more quickly toward economic ruin. It's a dog of an idea. It's a dog. It's got fleas and these fleas that are dug into our flesh bite and there'll be no happy ending to this tragic tale brought about by bloody Jarvis and his bedfellows who've asset stripped us all. We are doomed!

Yes, it is an epic chapter isn't it. I gave some consideration to tethering a couple of raptors, common buzzards to my nemesis but then I thought, why destroy two birds that have never done anything to me. So I decided he'd undergo this hazardous journey alone and Im quite comfortable with this decision. Of course I could have got you to have thrown in a full English breakfast. Perhaps I should have. Mind, its to late. He's gone and there's no point bringing him back, feeding him his full English breakfast and firing him off again. He's gone and that's that!

Exhausted by the attentions of all these flimsily clad wanton strumpets who, by now were getting on me bloody nerves with their constant demands of, 'be mine tonight', there was a tap, tap, tap on the barrel of my recently acquired John Slough Cannon that I'd purchased from the funds of my recently acquired fabulous wealth. It was bloody Jarvis! 'In Gods name', he screamed, 'I look ridiculous in this costume'. 'Rubbish', I said, ' you've never looked better in those white tights, blue skimpy shorts and your tiny little yellow cape. Now put your helmet on whilst the delightful Dippy explains the safety features that don't exist within the barrel of this hugely expensive cannon. Where's he flying to Ubique?'. Looking thoughtful, the old soldier who was busily calculating wadding, wind speed, trajectory, the weight of bloody Jarvis and of course the explosive and fuse, he confidently howled, 'bloody Bristol estuary. Mind, what with unknown variables such as a flock of migrating ducks, a lightening storm or worse, him flapping about screaming, 'I'm bloody freezing up here', he could land in South bloody Wales.' And it was done. TwoWheels with or without an 'e', the Gridknocker, Simon Brown and Glenda Vaughan Powell who didn't want to be a party to this illicit act, shoved the squealing wretch down into the depths of this barrel, the thoughtful Dippy threw Jarvis a Twix to nibble on during his flight, the fuse was lit, a mighty explosion ensued and we all gazed in wonder has bloody Jarvis began his flight toward the horizon howling, 'me bloody chin strap is to tight'. And that was that. He was gone.

I'll tell you what irritates me. These Lottery winners, who, having scooped the best part of fifty bloody million quid, emerge from their potting shed and say, 'it won't change me, these new Wellington Boots are my only extravagance and I feel greedy for splashing out on them'. Then give me your winning bloody ticket. I'd know exactly what to do if I won the best part of fifty million quid. Why buy the bloody ticket in the first place? Bloody hell! First thing I'd do if I suddenly became fabulously wealthy would be to send the wife on an exotic world cruise. Two years long. The sort of cruise and period of separation that gives someone like me the opportunity to do all the wicked and debauched things that someone with an imagination would like to do if they could avoid getting hit in the face with a frying pan because they've come home late and because of ale, are unable to string together a coherent sentence to avoid being hit in the face with a frying pan. For starters, after the bloody Captain had phoned me to confirm the wife was afloat upon international waters, I'd get into that kitchen, get that bloody frying pan out and I'd say, 'you've hit me in the face for the last time' and I'd throw it in a skip. That'd be liberating. That'd be a life changing feeling for a start. Why wouldn't you be pleased to see the backend of a kitchen object that's hit you in the face as often as my bloody wife's frying pan?' Then, completely satisfied that the Captain wasn't a bloody liar and my tormentor wasn't about to pop through the door shouting, 'where have you collapsed my darling?', I'd race into Town and buy an expensive suit of clothes. The sort of garments that, when adorned upon some other fool, you mutter, 'goodness what a wonderful suit of clothes'. Then, dressed in these wonderfully created garments I'd strut through High Town. Women, hitherto, happy and contented in their lives of domesticity, would suddenly gather around me chanting, 'what a lovely suit of clothes. You are irresistible. Let us become yours whenever you want us'. And, after establishing whether or not they owned a frying pan, I'd give them the nod as they joined me slavishly carrying out tasks that I couldn't be bothered to carry out. Carrying me cans of Lager, rolling me cigarettes and brushing me teeth. There's other things I'd do with this money and when I feel more like it I'll probably revisit this normal thought process and talk further about what I'd do if I became fabulously wealthy.

As I understand it, and I may be entirely wrong, but this money has been thrown into a pot that is used to reduce the impact so called problem families have upon a community and the impact persistent and prolific offenders have upon criminal activity. The Council, the Police, the Probation Service and Social Services formally identify these two groups of people and they then get showered with attention in order to create order to their chaotic lifestyle and thus reduce their impact upon the rest of us.

Brilliant and it works perfectly with the tune. Well done Dippy!

Yes, I could have. I could have been extremely famous but instead I chose obscurity rather than have my body mutilated by an overly ambitious theatrical agent. Many will know that I am extremely strong and even fewer will be aware that I used to have a strong arm act. In my day people used to travel from miles around to watch my incredibly entertaining display of strength and the unique relationship I had formed with two common buzzards. I used to stand in Capuchin Lane naked holding an iron bar that had two aggressive, mating and territorial buzzards affixed and tethered upon each end of the mighty iron bar. Many of you might say, 'goodness, what an unusual thing to do', and you'd be right. It was a highly unusual thing to do on a packed Saturday afternoon but, it was this openly lewed display of theatrical strength that nearly made me famous. One particularly day, whilst stood in Capuchin Lane, adjacent to Hilda, the bearded lady who'd decided to have a shave, I began bending the iron bar upon my erect penis. People would shout, 'good grief ain't those raptors tame'. And they were tame. They'd spent years being tethered to the bar and instinct told them when they were going to go from a horizontal position and downward toward the ground as I began the bending process. Anyway, after completing the bending, this theatrical agent stepped forward, introduced himself and said, 'Today I've witnessed the future of entertainment. Im going to sign you up and together, you, me and those two birds are going to make your act famous. Mind you', he said, 'we are going to change your acts name. 'Bobby, the man who bends an iron bar across his erect penis whilst two Buzzards are tethered to the bar', is far to long. I propose we shorten it to 'Bobby the bender'. Keen to go along with this invitation to grasp superstardom I quickly agreed and so began the beginning of him disclosing his action plan to take me from Capuchin Lane onto the boards of the Courtyard Theatre. Keen to learn how determined and single minded I was to reach the top of the ladder of this somewhat narrow field of variety entertainment, he said, 'tell me, if an act emerged. We'll call him the Competitor and he had a similar act to yours but he had a clubbed foot, what would your reaction be?' I said, 'you mean his act was identical to mine in every single way but because of his clubbed foot, his act would be more interesting than mine?'. 'Exactly', he replied, 'you'd have to react to this competitor to make your act more interesting than his. You'd have to lose a foot'. 'Yes, I can see exactly where you are coming from', I replied, 'this competitor could become an obstacle to our future success. Yes, I'd be more than happy to lose a foot. Lets do it'. 'Excellent', he replied, 'you are a determined artiste and I can see from the look in your eyes you are determined to reach the top of your chosen field of entertainment. Mind', he said, 'say this competitor, the one we both fear will emerge to challenge you in your pursuit of greatness, say he comes back at you and he gets his leg amputated. Suddenly, his act is now more interesting than yours. What then?' 'Good grief', I replied, 'this competitor is relentless'. ' isn't he', replied the agent. 'Get into a war with this competitor and visually speaking, you could look very different to how you appear now. Are you prepared to lose both your legs in pursuit of fame and wealth and if necessary have other parts of your body surgically removed to stay ahead of this competitor who clearly is an extremely determined artiste'. In the end, I chose to hang onto what I was born with. I chose obscurity rather than fame and wealth.

And I thought Peter Cook was dead! If I could write like this I'd certainly not be posting this codswallop for nothing. Very, very good Nick.

Two hundred and fifty bloody years. Nobody told me. Two hundred and fifty bloody years! Good bloody grief. What a lovely arrangement. Whoever negotiated this little slice of pleasure should definitely be kept well away from the table. Was it Jarvis? Tell me it was Jarvis and Im going to spit phlegm. Good grief! Two hundred and fifty bloody years. I mean Two bloody hundred is bad enough. That's plenty to bloody swallow but why add the other fifty on. Fifty years on top of two hundred. My God. Tie me down and tether me to a horizontal bar. Is this right? The vein in my neck is bulging as I transmit this message. Tell me TwoWheels with or without an 'e' that this is a throw away remark intended to tease me. Why two hundred and fifty bloody years? Good God. Surely the Council negotiation team could have lopped a bloody century off of this settlement. Im playing three card brag after and I need to know before I sit at the table is this true?

Steve, you haven't missed a thing. Our Rebecca, who's posts I allways look forward to reading, simply questioned, on another thread of news, those like me who are often negative about the new shopping development. I simply took this view, a perfectly good one, spun it upon its head, embellished it incorporating the word 'fool' and shovelled it out as yet another example of the rancid tripe that I can come up with seemingly with little effort at all. If I've caused you or Rebecca any offence at all, I appologise and I'll increase my medication that demands I remain in my home rather than become a burden upon the staff at The Stonebow Unit. I hope that this sincere appology sits well with you. My very warmest regards to you and anyone else who has taken offence with my embellishments of facts.

Of course the nettle is an extremely horrid little plant. There's very little about the nettle that you can like. In fact it has few redeeming qualities which probably explain why it's not mentioned anywhere in either the New or the Old Testaments. Jesus, for example, when delivering one of his cleverly crafted parables, never said, 'behold! The nettle. Aint it lovely.' He didn't say it because, like me and most other thoughtful people, he had no time at all for the nettle. Im sure that during one of his many treks up and down Judea he must, from time to time, have been stung by a nettle, shouted, 'bas.tard nettles' and rued the day his father gave us the bloody plant in the first place. Of course the nettle isnt the only thing that God gave us that makes no bloody sense. The maggot, the wasp, John Jarvis or a whole bunch of things that were created by God during his seven busy days fixing and arranging things to make our lives more or less interesting. Quite what he had in mind when he gifted us the nettle is quite beyond my understanding. Often when I stagger down the banks of the Wye, keen to fish for barbel and escape the attention of women who desire to have me I'll suddenly stop, experience the sharp pain of the nettles hyperdermic like barbs and shout, 'bast.ard nettles'. Then of course, I consider the throbbing pain that's been bloody delivered to my left bloody ankle and I'll think, 'I've been stung for a purpose. It's all a part of Gods vast plan to make my fishing experience as uncomfortable as he could possibly make it. Yes, all things considered, given the state our democratic system is in, I'd have no problem dragging a few Cabinet members kicking and screaming through a patch of nettles. Perhaps this is the purpose of us being gifted the nettle. To stop bloody Councillors wasting millions upon vanity projects, gimmicks and pointless and worthless schemes that we can't afford and didn't bloody want in the first bloody place.

Dippy, Yes, I have noticed the absence of any communication from Councillor Morgan. I've also noticed a great deal of communication from Councillor Liz Harvey. You or Jimmy Kenyon would do well to warn this good Councillor about getting burned out. She does put a lot of work in and its clear she cares. The problem is you can care to much and give to much of yourself and end up knackered by it all. Keep going kiddo. Onwards and downwards!

In response to our Rebecca who rightly claims that those that moan are fools, this is my response and its not an attack on Rebecca.... I will never stop moaning. Ever! They could whisk me away from my humble dwelling and fly me away to some exotic south sea island and I'd moan all the way there. They could deliver me to my beach side hut that contained lovely living quarters that were fit to be used by the great and the good and I'd moan about it. Why, because I love moaning. I'll moan and groan about anything and everything. I could be woken in the morning by dozens of scantily dressed woman who all cried, 'be ours tonight. We can't keep our hands off you' and still I'd moan. These temptresses could be laden with barrows full of super strength lager, hand rolled cigarettes and the finest clams ever recovered from the sea bed and still I'd moan, shouting, 'clear off you harbingers of doom, I'll be damned if I get thrush from you lot'. Im relentless. These women could sit stroking my thinning bloody hair, washing the sand grit from between my toes and shove clams in my fat face whenever I shouted, 'give me a clam you wanton strumpet', and still, relentlessly and unabated I'd moan and groan my way through the entire delightful experience. I could be sat in my hut nibbling upon a family bucket of the finest pork Scratchings and there might be a tap, tap, tap on my beach hut door and when it was opened it was Angelina Jolie and I'd tell her, 'clear off Angelina, go bother bloody Brad Pitt Im mixing some ground bait to go fishing you'll not get me to engage in acts of love. Clear off and don't come bloody back'. At night time after wolfing back a handful of diazepam and psilocybin mushrooms these temptresses could gather around my bed wassailing and singing in pitch perfect tones, Paper bloody Laces rock classic, 'Billy Dont Be A Hero', and I'd tell them, 'clear off. We're trying to get some sleep round here. Go sing your bloody song to that sulking Jolie who clearly isn't used to being told to Sod Off'. I'll moan about anything and everything and rather than be ashamed of my propensity to moan and bloody groan, I celebrate it and I'll be damned if I stop. Mark my words, in years to come, the entire population of Hereford will celebrate my service to ranting and raving about this, that and the other, and say, ' Whilst he was a simple man with an extraordinary low intelligence quotient, he was consistent upon two things. Firstly, he refused to catch thrush and secondly he repeatedly warned that the new development would all end in tears'. And so, to conclude this mindless pigswill and utter codswallop, I say lets hurtle up to Brockington House, gather up our Council Cabinet and transport them all up to Haugh Woods where they'll be rolled around in stinging nettles. That'll teach them a lesson. I wouldn't want to be rolled around in nettles and I strongly doubt that being rolled around in nettles is something that they'd be particularly pleased to participate in. Who would? You'd be an odd sort if you did want that. There, I've said it. That's just a tiny slice of what's going on within my skull and there's plenty more where that came from.

GO TO THE HEREFORD TIMES NOW!!!! Find the incinerator story. Pat MORGAN has transmitted something. She w'ont ever communicate with me but she might if you lot pile in. Hurry up!!!

Keep your powder dry Jon and your wand in its holster. I'll moan, groan and throw my bloody toys out of my bloody perambulator whenever I wish. I lost sixty bloody quid at three card brag yesterday and I had an Ace, King, Queen flush so being slapped by you is of no consequence to me this evening. You can have your assertive moment in the light at my expense. It's free. A gift from me because of some shifty guy who's now making merry with my money. Mind, don't be thinking Im some verbal punchbag there for you and anyone else to slap me about. I bite back and I'll be damned if I sit back, say, 'thank you very much' a second time. That said, thanks for taking the time to respond, albeit, you've said very little and used a lot of words in a sequence to say it. Im bloody done. I've got the 'tappers', an ailment that affects stupid bloggers like me who've shovelled out to much nonsensical rubbish. As for you and your political future, good luck! You've earned it and good luck to the IOC. My warmest regards to all. Good bloody night!

Thank you Colin. I do appreciate your kind words. And what of the Countries of East Europe who's best and finest are leaving their homeland for money. We have qualified Doctors, Civil Engineers, and a guy I fish with is a former University Professor from Poland and they are all picking fruit, taxi driving and processing chicken. It's madness. These people, many of which are highly educated are picking bloody fruit for the minimum wage. What impact is this going to have on the future prosperity of these Countries who've been abandoned by their best and finest. While they are stuck picking fruit and unable to exploit their education here then they, we and their Mother country lose. Education of the youth is the most important piece of wealth that any nation can possess and this bloody crazy EU model is destroying it all for a short sighted, short term economic gain. And still no Councillor dares touch this issue!!!! Well, they can all get stuffed. Im done.

And just to add to my moans and groans, there's a couple of million people displaced by the horrors of Syria and we, the great Great Britain, ain't given a safe haven to a single family from that region. Why? Because of the madness of the EU that's seen our Country overwhelmed by uncontrolled movement of people. We're so full and out of control we cannot do the right thing and help our fellow man. We used to be in a position to do the right thing and help those less fortunate than ourselves but now, because of the global market and our slavish devotion to this crazy global market, we've prostituted ourselves and done nothing. Shame on us. All in the name of the EU and being hamstrung by their open border policies. I'll shut up now!

Thank you so much John. It's good to know that we are ok with this. Like you, Im the grandson of immigrants from across the Mersey and half my family are buried in the Catholic plots while the other half are beneath the other side. I know exactly how you feel and I feel exactly the same. When Blunkett decided to say what he said about The Roma it suddenly becomes completely ok to demonise a minority group, the gates of the media open up and off we go again, blaming people instead of grasping the nettle and talking sensibly about this issue. Thank you replying John.