West Country Bitter

Enjoy Cameron’s (Our) Country Ale. Brewed with plentiful local water, a hint of political expediency and ‘special’ natural ingredients.

CHEERS! in Parliament today at a new Coalition motion…

 

Prime Minister David Cameron NekNominated Secretary of State for Communities and Local Government – Eric Pickles – to drink all the floodwater on the Somerset Levels.

David Cameron Awards Controversial New Honour

It’s been reported that a man who once half-smiled at Prime Minister David Cameron in a London street has been awarded a Knighthood…

David Cameron’s Notes From A Small Island

“That’s it – keep on smiling in one direction you treacherous meerkat… shame you can’t see the vice-like grip I’ve got on his moral high ground.”

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.

“Must get off this beach tout de suite – before that odious little man kicks sand in my face again.”

“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?

The parliamentary burden – another weekend away: another ‘Duncan-Smith.’

“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…

“I am big Russian bear Frankie… you see my hand – I say ‘Meeester Cameron… not Great Britain; small compare to Russian bear’ – when I do what bears do in woods I use Britain to wipe my… “

“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.

“Door-shut?  Funny… That’s just what that sniggering policeman said… Are you sure?  I do have an appointment with the Prime Minister…”

“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.”

Prince George, Nicholas Witchell And Me…

Nicholas Witchell – to the manor born…

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!