Archive for the ‘Enter Stage Left’ Category
A postcard from…
Greetings from state-sponsored revelry of night-time Pyongyang! Groovy lights like beneficent smile of incomparable leader shining path to ultimate victory! Grovel degenerate western scum and jealous manoeuvring of South Korean imperialism!
Downtown great leader relax after hard day purge and promulgation of glorious revolution. People gather see bright light because no have at home. Everyone good time. I order! Strict rota enjoyment… Ha! Ha!
We have curfew. Clean. Pyongyang – no immoral. No drug; no lady make you last long time like dirty street USA. No mug people… no worth steal. Only by police and army! You no laugh?! I funny man. All citizen split side at my joke. But you no laugh at me! Or split head…
I have popular cockertail sell in swinging club. It call The Jong-Un in celebration of luck of people North Korea. You drink up… like slap you round face then nuclear explosion in belly. Taste good like earth of glorious homeland that citizen eat in state holiday camp.
Also have cockertail call – The Rodman. He good friend of people. We basketball; dance together. He teach me move in disco. I clear dance floor. I so good. I shake not inconsiderable booty to North Korean techno. Wave glow stick in dark like victim of nuclear programme. I handsome magnet for politically correct babes of revolution. No decadent! No hot pant cheeky! Good girl only! Do as I say…
Life hard for dictator. People no realise. Adolf Hitler had easy – only lift arm up like girl… I have to wave to masses. Take ages march by. Rodman teach me fit so arm not fall off. I go now – they play my song again… And babes queue for next groovy dance! I exhaust!
“This one’s called Sympathy For The Devil…can’t be too careful at our age.”
“Alright gorgeous find your damn Zimmer Frame and meet me outside after the show – okay?!”
“You’re a great audience… I think we played here about six months ago. Well, I did… the rest of the guys have passed on I’m afraid… Though I guess that’s the same for you as well. Did we play here six months ago?! What’s that?! You don’t know… Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll enjoy us again. For those who don’t remember we’re doing the same set as last time. Right… now why am I here again?”
A postcard from…
Greetings from orchestrated spontaneity of downtown Pyongyang! Here sun always shine on people reflected from glorious leader. Come holiday! Except for western lackeys and curs of South Korean imperialism!
North Korea very clean… help by regular purge. Eat dinner off streets like local custom. We have best of both worlds… well I do. People welcome tourists always smile. If don’t sent on long holiday. Enjoy… no come back.
We nuclear family. All family dispute but we happy now filthy factionalist uncle gone. Pyongyang groovy place to be! Night time we have electric light. People always gathering on spur of moment because love me! We local saying… Be hip – be in Kim Il-sung square! God bless big, big daddy! Maybe you see me – supreme leader. Give me wave? Better if you do…
People dance with joy. But no decadent! No gangnam stylee! No PSY! No tolerate South Korean scum! But we no killjoy. I despot but no desperate! Like all kind music – especially stirring call to arms that preface our great final victory. Also song – Who let the dogs out? My little joke… Why you no laugh!?
Extracts from Dave’s Diary Blog… found on a Blackberry under a Red Box on a beach somewhere…
“Well, here we are fetched up in St Petersburg for the G20 – it’s not Ibiza is it?! The wheels of state of our great country have put me in an invidious position. Damned democracy has cut me off at the knees and prevents me fulfilling my statesman’s destiny. Winston, Margaret and David has a nice ring to it… I am destiny’s child – though if the vote on Syria had gone my way I might be a bit more Beyoncé than Kelly Rowland. Remind myself to be more like the Iron Lady – she never let democracy stand in her way. I’m certainly not crazy in love with our Mr Putin… Dreadful little man Vladimir – all pushy muscles and machismo… I felt like telling him to go away and compare the target… Simples. Chemical weapons or not it was a perfectly toxic atmosphere though I did manage to find some new chums so wasn’t a complete waste of time.
“Small island? How dare he insult our great country! By Jiminy I put him in his place… I managed to get in all the best bits of Blighty like some latter-day Shakespearean monologue… and I even got down with the kids by slipping in One Direction. Yes, you might have the missiles and the gas supply pipe Putin old mate but we’ve got the pre-pubescent girls on our side. Britain is still rocking Vladdio! I’ve got hair like Harry Styles’ elder brother – so Sam says. Me, George and Michael could form a boy band. I asked Barack Obama to add some soul but he went off on one about respect and George not being Jeffrey. Me neither… I almost felt sorry for Barack here. I say almost as he certainly didn’t make me feel special.
“I’d rather we were a beat combo like The Smiths but Iain Dour-Shit would want to be our manager so that’s off the agenda. He suggested Boris as our lead singer of all things – now that’s a light that very definitely should go out. I suppose we could call ourselves G4 – or has that already been done on X-Factor? Must see if I can’t get an appearance organised on that show somehow. Man of the people and all that; grist to the mill of the election… I’d like to say to Mrs O – Calm down dear – and see what she says?! Anyway got the British Lions to come at Downing Street soon – at least I’ll get some respect there from those rugger-buggers – though no doubt Edwood Millibrand and his goons will call me the Tory John Terry: I can’t help it if our country is more successful in every way under the Tories – can I?
“Dashed red box furore today! Sam and I were off to her sister’s wedding by train and I needed a pee. It was perfectly safe – er; the Parliamentary red box that is – not me having a pee though as the train lurched a bit like friend Boris on a bike. As I stood there in the cubicle I held the future in my hand so to speak – see what a perfect case for HS2! Bit risqué as a story to illustrate the case for the fast link – perhaps I could say I held a pushchair from toppling over? Or prevented a hot beverage from falling onto an old lady’s lap? As we went through a Labour constituency of course. I’ll get the boys and girls – if there are any – of Central Office onto The Daily Mail… by the time they’ve finished with it I’ll be lifting a toddler off the track while discovering a group of illegal immigrants intent on Jihad hiding underneath the wheels.
“The whole episode was a bit of a storm in a teacup; pointless really – much like the European Union. Detectives had their eye on the damn box all the time. It was a little thing blown out of all proportion. Sam agreed… a little too quickly for my liking I must say. What on earth does the electorate think I keep in it? Me and George call them ‘Duncan-Smiths’ – always there when you don’t want them and full to the brim of boring detail. I’m a big sky man myself – I leave the trivia of government to the little people. George says in jest that we should send IDS away to formulate a box tax. I’m afraid that he’d take it all as deadly serious; and with cardboard boxes there’s that whole can of worms of the homeless. The more I think of it the more I feel like a holiday… It’s been too long…
“Started to think about the Conference speech today… Vince Compo Cable and Nick Cleggy Clegg are starting to sharpen the knives to put in our backs. It won’t save them… Last of the summer whine I call it. No one can wave the flag like me: no one does it as much; apart from that dreadful Nigel Farrago – he’s more like a good Tory than we are damn him – though in his case it’s the last refuge of the scoundrel and all that. Made a few notes for the margins/marginals: at last count I had squeezed in twenty our countrys; three swivel-eyed loons; six derogatory references to those Ukip drongoes – sorry, looking at notes from Lynton’s draft: mind you get one of those every time Iain Door-Shut Smith (a new one that has just come to me – must tell George) opens his mouth. We’ll take what Lynton Crosby can give but he’s not one of us any more than Door-Shut. Sadly he believes that there should be no more all in this together – almost as painful as losing a holiday booking – shame; but no-one’s that stupid anymore.
“A badger joke might be a bit dodgy though the shires will love it; they’re my kind of people – call a spade an implement to cull a badger. Plenty of onwards and upwards and lots of values spelled out. British people – check: poisonous inheritance from the Socialists – check: turned a corner – hmm maybe I could get the train story in there? Perhaps he could be a little crippled boy who was part of our Olympic legacy? Yes definitely get in Stuck to our guns; the not for turning from our duty to hardworking families as well. Keeping Margaret’s legacy alive for our great nation…
“Yes, all the usual stuff but plenty of gusto and a good slogan behind the podium – Getting It Right For Britain; Battling For Britain; So Much Bigger Than We Look; Britain Needs A Big Man Not A Quiet One – or some such; Sam down the front leading the spontaneous standing ovations and it’s time to leave the Lib Dems eating our dust. What a splendid scenario! Look and learn Vladimir; look and learn.”
MEET OUR NEW COLUMNIST – Zara Bullingdon-Cross…
She’s formidable; feisty and fearless. With an approach that is bullish, brash, belligerent and biting – sometimes downright bolshie – but always bold. She’s strident and irrepressible: standing up fervently for what she believes in. She’s lived and she’s loved and she’s not afraid to show it. She takes the shots so you won’t have to – with a no holds barred style that takes no prisoners. She’s crusading, candid, combative and yet completely current. Funny and forthright: she’s the columnist they all fear; who values what you value. She shoots straight from the lip and swings from the hip; seeking out injustice no matter what the cost. You’ll love her but they won’t. Acerbic and abrasive… she’s the writer they can’t gag. Always on point – telling it like it is… frank without fear or favour. About town and about everything. For women that know what they want. And who want it all. That’s Zara Bullingdon-Cross…
“I don’t know about you but I love Take That – even now that cheeky chappie Mark Owen makes me go all mushy inside, and dare I say deliciously coy, in a way that recalls my girlish youth…”
Some thoughts on the occasion of the birth of His Royal Highness Prince George (Alexander Louis) of Cambridge through a blur of heat, champagne corks, cancelled TV programmes, strung-out birth specials and gawd-bless-em popular sentiment…
The BBC’s Royal Correspondent Nick Witchell of old is now Nicholas Witchell… Is this a sign that he wants his establishment status endorsed (Honours list anyone?) thus reinforcing his spectre at the feast demeanour? From go-getter to regurgitating the same old hack platitudes – is this really a job for a grown man? To think he used to be a serious journalist – still one out of two ain’t bad I suppose.
Back to the future… you may not remember Richard Dimbleby and his hold on state events and the spirit of the nation past but he lives on in words like resplendent and majesty and stately and…
Talking of which… Do all BBC staff go on a training course in magisterial dead pan deference where you – talk – slowly – and – reverentially – as – if – the – world – is – on – hold – and – revolves – all – around – the – haus – of – Windsor – like – we’ve – all – gone – Gaga?
I never knew there were so many Royal experts; ex-bodyguards; ex-press-secretaries and excited excerpts from a line-up of formidable women with big hair and school marm attitude who look like they’ve been kept in a wardrobe ready to be pulled out for the occasion. Like watching a police line-up of dominatrix ex-Bros groupies who need to maintain that level of blind acceptance/involvement in something in adult life.
As credit-grabbing minority government spokesman Prime Minister David Cameron speaks to us – and on behalf of the nation – about the happy event… when is he going into default mode and instituting a private alternative to this state run monopoly of royalty? If it’s good enough for the rest of us in these enlightened meritocratic times…
I thought Lindo Wing was a reason for well-to-do ladies of a certain age to wear sleeves in the summer.
Is One happy that One has one or does One want more than one for One because one is not enough?
Unbelievably the word I am hearing most trotted out by this abnormal media circus is normal. Apparently the new born is just like me! He’s one of us – he must be because God knows they’ve all said it often enough – oh look there’s William and he’s actually driving a car!
The justifiers who post-Olympics can throw some airy-fairy figures at the screen of the perceived economic benefit to the nation of every event… Let’s raise a glass to the price of everything and the value of nothing!
Is it the heatwave – phew what a scorcher! © The Sun – that has me feeling nauseous and wanting to shout at the screen?
Talking of profit get your money on brown paper stocks… bags are big for brown-nosed nausea and someone tells me – er, not Nicholas Witchell obviously – that white van deliveries have reached unprecedented levels for hyper-ventilating Express, Telegraph and Mail journalists
Finally to the vox pop woman on the BBC who gushingly described George as such a beautiful name… Get a life! Get out more! Get real! Get me out of here as they wheel in a celebrity instead!
Postscript: For anyone ready to condemn I hope mother and son are well and have a good healthy life – thinking the opposite to the suffocating media fest does not make you an ungrateful, raving, anti-monarchist, left-wing, benefit-scrounging, unpatriotic, loony misery guts – amazingly enough! Gawd-bless-‘im!
Osborne’s Olde Austerity ™
Takeaway your last bit of dignity range © One Nation!?!?!?
Available now in a new selection of pasties and burgers for hardworking families – and Northeners who”ll eat anything.
The Badger Pasty…
Fresh country-culled TB-free food that’s as safe as a Banker’s promissory note.
“Bismillah! It’s there in black and white” – BRIAN MAY
A pasty with a burger in the middle – savour the rich filling that’s always guaranteed and ask yourself – Are you big enough to take on the Banker?
“Even one is difficult to swallow” – ‘BIG’ ED MILIBAND
The Bedroom Burger…
From the unaffordable luxury range – an exquisite base layer with plenty on top… Can you really afford to have more than one?
“I’m looking forward to the Bungalow and also the even tastier Bedsit” – IAIN DUNCAN SMITH
Osborne’s Olde Austerity ™
“Right… Hands up if you like The Grateful Dead?”
“Me rider? Oh; just two aspirin, an incontinence pad – and a nice cup of tea.”