Paaaaarrrp...

Jim Davidson once said that he could never understand the fact that when you burp, you apologise, but when you fart, you laugh...

So you can understand why Rowan Atkinson is top of the list  here, at 4.20...

Update - it will be interesting if all those empty seats were paid for by local authorities, county councils, parliament flunkeys, failed banks etc...


Naturally Sebbiebaby will be expected to sort it out and beat these spongers into the ground, give them a few clops - not...

Bye Fi...

I used to love Fiona Bruce, with her fly chest, enigmatic smile, gorgeous voice; but no more. Awwww no!

I have no problem with people making money, it's what we do in my business, but, when the stupid tax I pay to the BBC pays for her enormous salary,  pension and lifestyle which I dream about, and then she does the 'service company bit',  - well sod it.

We (in the real world)  have no recompense regarding the way these parasites leech money from us. They're 'above the law', like stupid politicians like Prescott and Bliar.

Yeah, yeah yeah, I know I shouldn't pay the TV tax, but Britishers usually do! Sad Isn't it!

So, bye Fi! You used to be a watchable friend, but you aren't any more.

So I have to ask you to **** off.

Sorry, an' that being you're a lady, but money counts...

Senior Service...

Today, Scrobs joins the Senior Service!


Noooh, not going to sea, not that one, but the one where I've reached the day when by all accounts, I could retire and say to Mrs Scrobs that I was taking up growing roses, and buying a new pipe and slippers! It's not really like that, because as everyone knows, I will stop work when I'm 103, but I'd like to put in a good word for the Pension Service.


It took one phone call of about ten minutes to arrange everything,  They were splendid! They had everything they needed on a screen to unravel a lifetime of my work, gave reasons why my pension would be smaller, or larger at sixty-five, and it was all confirmed in writing in seven days!


So, here's a new one - kick the banks into touch, and give the money wasted on their balance sheets to the guys and gals Up North!


You'd get to talk to people on normal salaries, not eye-watering bonuses, they'd understand the public, not rip them off, they'd abide by strict rules, not flout them, they'd have a code of conduct far superior to those in big shiny Canary Wharf offices, and they'd be out of the tainted reach of meddling politicians!


That would solve the nation's woes at a stroke, and even maybe, I'd be able to retire a few days before that 103rd birthday...


Seeing the Grandchildren today, loads of cards to open, and a few tinctures as well!


Marvellous!


Update...
Talking to BP just now, he told me that he'd experienced exactly the same courtesy and friendly professional attitude, when he had to go through his affairs with The Pension Service in Motherwell! He said that he'd also heard similar stories from others as well, so perhaps I'm getting nearer to solving the woes of UK Inc than I thought...

Life's like a butterfly...

Mrs Scroblene had delightful ears, and likes to wear small delicate studs as a final embellishment, and who am I to wish it any other way!


These invariably get forgotten in the day-to-day hullabaloo of rushing around here and there, (the studs, not the ears - she hears EVERYTHING,), but the little metal butterflies which hold the things in usually end up on the carpet, or inside a pullover, or anywhere in fact! They're tiny, just a bit of metal which folds round a stem, and probably cost about .01 pence to make per dozen.


So while we had a few spare minutes in Hastings last week (seeing opticians for ages and ages, and eventually glasses), we popped into F. Hinds to get a dozen or so butterflies for spares.


It went something like this...


Mrs S. - "Hello, do you sell the butterflies which go on ear studs please"?


Miss Crone - "Can you be more precise on the type of studs, do you have them with you"?


Mrs S. - "Well, they go on the back of the stud, and keep them from falling out, I've lost one or two, and need some replacements, and no they're not here, they're at home"!


Miss Crone - "Oh Nooo, NOOO, we don't do anything like that, you have to bring them for us to evaluate them and provide a perfect match"!


Mrs S. - "But surely you sell them by the packet, I only want them to go on the b....., oh don't bother, thank you"!


Exit swiftly...


Into H. Samuel...


Mrs S. - "Hello, do you sell the butterflies which go on ear studs please"?


Young lady - "Yes we do madam"!


Mrs S - "Oh good, I'd like to buy some please, how much are they"?


Young lady - "They're £15.00 a pair, and you need to bring them in for us to fit them for you madam"!


Mrs S. - "What! They're only tiny little butte...oh forget it, we'll get them on the internet"!

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So that is why the High Street just dies away, leaving second-hand shops, crusties on Tennants, nasty smelly junk food pads, empty buildings, and ugly old bank buildings (which used to have ugly bankers within - couldn't resist that one)!


Post script...


Ebay - £1.50, plus .40p postage, for three pairs...

Spoken with a mouthful of teeth (final part), dream sequence...

The bar went quiet, and I wondered what was going to happen next. Gloriette and Elias were close, and for some reason, they both turned towards us at the same time. It was a seminal moment, and I felt considerable discomfort.

"Did I hear you say something Swedish"? boomed Elias with a big grin on his face! Gloriette giggled as she sipped a violent pink drink. He came over carrying a tray with four glasses and a bottle of champagne.


"Congratulations on the shopping centre, 'Q'", he  said, "That's taken a helluva long time - you deserve this"! He poured the wine and sat down opposite us.


The room became very quiet, and if it were not for a trilby hat being removed from the shiny dome of a well-bronzed head, and gently laid on the table next to the bottle, there'd have been no movement either. Even Gloriette's acreages had ceased wiggling!


"Bit silent here!" said Elias, slowly taking his glass. "What's occurring please"?


"There's a good reason for that". Replied 'Q'.


"I heard you mention banks back then, 'Q', and so I cocked my ear so to speak! Bastards aren't they"! Elias looked up gravely.


I nodded, and 'Q' started to explain his quandary. Elias listened intently, nodding sagely when the bank's failures were mentioned, agreeing with a grunt when the revelations of the manager's incompetence was laid out and how he had to deal with some idiot in some godforsaken town - or foreign country, by phone, and finally, he sat back in his chair, grabbed the wine bottle and filled the glasses to the brim. He 'cheered' both of us in turn, and drank deeply.


"Bloody marvellous!" he exclaimed! "That is the best news I've heard all week - for many weeks actually! The Swedish guys have been chatting to me of late, about how things are going, and I always explain that it's so-so, and mustn't grumble! My bank have been bloody useless at offering any help we need to expand the business. They've been hounding some of the staff, and generally been getting on my nerves! Well it ain't anymore is it!"! He refilled the glasses with a huge grin on his face.


'Q' looked at him quizzically. "So what will you do about it, old mate"? he asked, twirling his wine glass.


"I'm going to move to your new bank of course! Stuff RBS, they can piss off"! Shouted Elias! His triumphal yelp caused the whole bar to go quiet and turn to see what the commotion was all about!


When it was explained to all and sundry, what was going to happen, Gloriette squealed in delight, and began to peck all the blokes - and a few of the girls, and created a certain amount of testosterol mayhem amongst the younger, more tender men present. The talk began to turn into a babble, and from then on in, a party began to develop!


The celebrations about 'Q's new scheme continued well into the night. Elias got on to his accountant and immediately made plans to change all his financial affairs and join the new bank, and, instead of just taking notes, the little guy with the calculator came round to 'The Bells' and joined in! It was an evening to remember! Even the lawyer bought a round!

------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, word got out among the staff at Elias Sagtrouser's Builder's Merchants and suppliers of all sorts of brass things and concrete mixers, that they would all be in for a bonus soon, as 'Q' had decided that Elias would become a preferred supplier. He mentioned that if there were any problems with their old bank, Elias would take over and guarantee their situation, so everyone in the shop and the yard switched their accounts. All the subbies made new arrangements, again, these were guaranteed by Elias, (and actually 'Q' stepped in as well, for a few favoured chums who were in difficulties). One by one, they deserted the UK failed banks,


And it got worse; much worse, for the shredded bank, and also for the other publicly owned banks and the other rigging one as well.


Word got out in the small town, that they'd all lost several large accounts, and that they'd tried to bully some of the smaller customers even further. That caused a headline in the local paper, and the locals complained with much indignation. It was a good time to kick these charlatans where it hurt, and the public did so with much vigour.


This particular branch was forced to close, the staff were made redundant, and joined the furious locals in their vilification of the once liked, and now hated institution. The manager was moved to another post, but his reputation went before him, and it didn't take long before he was 'retired' early. He had to move his family away as well. Some graffiti kid had scribbled 'tosserz' on the empty building's closed doors.


The council became embroiled and caused a bitter row with everyone, because they'd wanted to take space in 'Q's scheme, and now, as their lavish budgets had been cut, they couldn't go ahead! They had to pay a huge sum in compensation, but 'Q' was delighted to re-let the prime space to none other than the Swedish Bank, and also he found he had several unused car-parking spaces, which the bankrupt council had demanded free, for all their staff.


And the sour smell of political, fiscal, financial ineptitude sank without trace, and one day, this story will come true...