Tuesday, April 28, 2009


Our Guest Blogger Juliette writes

(If you don't know the songs of West Side Story, this post will make absolutely no sense to you whatsoever. If you do, however, allow me to present...)


A Recession Era Musical

By Bernstein, Sondheim and Juliette

Scene 1
(Tough-looking ministers pirouette down Downing Street, and launch into the first big song-and-dance number - to the tune of When You're A Jet.)

When you're in debt,
You're in debt all the way
From your first cigarette
To your last dyin' day

When you're in debt,
And the worst comes to pass,
You got bailiffs around,
You're chucked out on your arse!

You're never alone,
You're never undetected!
The bank is on the phone
The bailiffs are expected
Your leccy's disconnected!

Then you are screwed
With a capital S,
And you'll never forget
It's a right fucking mess.

When you're in debt,
You stay in debt!

Scene 2
(Tony and Cherie Blair are lying on a sunny beach, surrounded by hundred dollar bills and bottles of Cristal. The couple launch into a perky duet, to the tune of I Like To Be In America...)

I like to be in America
More cash for me in America
Scrounging's okay in America
Ten grand a day in America

I'm glad we went into that war
Or we might still be a bit poor
Everyone there's scared they'll get shot
Everyone there can suck my cock

I like to be in America
Everything free in America
Not called a bitch in America
We're fucking rich in America...

Scene 3
(Alone in Ten Downing Street, Gordon Brown gazes out of the window thoughtfully. Begins to sing a moving solo, to the tune of Maria...)

Oh Dear!
I've just seen the figures, Oh Dear!
And suddenly my name
will never be the same

Oh Dear
We're right in the brown stuff, Oh Dear!
And suddenly I've found
How frightening a sound
Can be!

Say it loud and I hear angry scousers,
Say it soft and I just shit my trousers

Oh Dear

I'll never stop saying Oh Dear!

Scene 3
(Policeman sits at his desk in front of a mountain of paperwork. Suddenly, a group of people burst in and launch into big song-and-dance number, to the tune of 'Officer Krupke')

Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke
You gotta understand
It's just that we've been burgled
and the cunts took twenty grand
It's not that hard to find them
Unless you're fucking thick
Golly Moses, chuck 'em in the nick

Gee, Officer Krupke
We hate to be pests
A bit less PC bullshit and a few more arrests
Hugging a hoodie's
a right waste of time
Just go and solve some fucking crimes

Right! Officer Krupke
We know you're not Morse
And we know you've got to get to your diversity course
It's just that some scumbags
Broke into my flat
And now they've gone and nicked my cat

Oh, Officer Krupke
We know that you're stuck
It's not your fault you're managed by some useless old fuck
Your sergeant is a tosser
His chief of staff's a twit
Goodness me, of course you can't do shit

Dear Officer Krupke
What are we to do?
Gee, Officer Krupke, Krup you!

Scene 4
(Middle aged man pirouettes round room lined with final demands, and full of blank spaces where bits of furniture used to be. Admiring his stanley knife wielding reflection in the mirror, he sings to the tune of I Feel Pretty...)

I feel shitty
Oh, so shitty,
I feel shitty and just want to fight!
And I pity
Any fucker in a suit tonight

See the shitty flat in that mirror there
Whose can that depressing flat be?
Such a shitty mess,
Telly repossessed,
Family looking stressed
Such a shitty me!

My mood's crashing
I hate bankers
Feel like smashing some wankers with bricks
For I'm fucked
By a pretty detestable clique!

Scene 5
(Grand finale. Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling dance off into the sunset hand in hand, and launch into a stirring duet, to the tune of Somewhere....)

There's a place for us,
You'll find it on the bus
Lose your job and we'll take you there
Where you'll wait for hours on a wonky chair

There's a place for us
Called the Job Centre Plus
Get your cards and we'll take you there
It all started with Tony Blair

We'll make a shitload of money
And wriggle out of this scot-free


J x
Posted by juliette at 21.14

Chamberlain eat your heart out

I have in my hands a piece of paper....

Send Gordon the shirt off your back

The picture says it all

Edit: Press Release

LPUK -- 'Taking the shirt off your back campaign'

In response to the government's disgraceful budget, which saw the introduction of a new 50p top tax rate, the Libertarian Party are today launching their 'Taking the shirt off your back campaign'.

The campaign asks people to send a used shirt to Gordon Brown to highlight the fact that this budget will push the UK further into the red. And will not lead us towards economic recovery.

The Party also advise people to include a note telling the Prime Minister what they think of the budget and asks all participants to send an email to 1984@lpuk.org once they have done this.

Shirts should be sent to:

Gordon Brown
10, Downing Street

Libertarian Party leader Ian Parker Joseph said of the campaign and budget, "This budget is the last desperate action of a no hope government, showing that they detached from the reality of the world in which they operate. Brown's government are hell bent on taking what they can while they can, knowing that others will have to pay for their ineptitude.

"It materially helps not one citizen, yet will further impoverish millions of Britons, dragging this country ever further into debt."

Notes for editors

1) The Libertarian Party was founded on November 21st 2007 and officially launched on January 1st 2008. The party's website can be found at:

2) Further details of the party's policies can be found in our manifesto:

3) The Libertarian Party UK is a minarchist party utilising political philosophy based on support for individual liberty.
Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Libertarianism

4) This campaign was put together with the help of the Old Holborn blog.

Blogging recess

Blogging will be patchy, and will return with a vengeance in a week or so

Im under deadline to produce written work, so I have to focus on that instead.

To all my loyal readers please bear with me Its not for long.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Get Gordon Brown to resign

Someone clever and thoughtful unlike Mr Gordon Brown, has put up a petition on the No 10 website asking for Gordon Brown to resign

Just think if the whole populace signed up ? Show your displeasure and as they say in Nike Adverts, Just Do It.

You know it makes sense. Do you want to pay 50% tax which will be 63% once NI is taken into account.

Force him to have an election. Show the man just where you want him to go, and then he might think about not pulling a silly giggle and gurning at you.

Go here and sign up Already 1385 signatures

Hat tip Guido and Tory Bear

Guidos site is currently heaving with traffic Can't get in there

Update Managed to get there here is his link

28 Dates Later

From our Guest Blogger Juliette.

In a spirit of reflection, and after countless online dates, I thought I'd compile a Spotter's Guide To Online Dating. If you've spent any time in this particular circle of hell, see if you can recognise any of these guys...

The Heartbreaker
The total package. Ultimate man of your dreams. Created by a benevolent God to sweep you off into the sunset and father your unborn babies. Chemistry couldn't be better. Signs couldn't be better. Shame you never heard from him after the second date, really. His memory will occupy a small forlorn patch of mental real estate for the rest of your life, along with a legion never-to-be-answered questions. The Heartbreaker makes you realise why people become stalkers and bunny boilers and kil themselves for love. Or, more prosaically, drink far too many Margaritas at a cheesy bar and deliver awful karaoke renditions of I Will Survive.

The Heartbruiser
Not the total package, but scores a straight 10 in a crucial area which may be shallow but matters a great deal to you - this may be looks, money or the ability to tie a cherry stalk in a knot with his tongue. Either way, you'll never hear from him again after the first date, so don't worry about it.

The No
This man comes complete with a deal-breaker so quick and final, its revelation might as well be greeted with a get-the-fuck-off-the-stage buzzer a la America's Got Talent. Perhaps this moment came when you first saw that he had a waist-length beard or six fingers on one hand. Or the moment where he said he was sleeping on his parents' couch. Or the moment when he showed you the authentic Zyklon B canister he'd just snapped up on Ebay. Either way - don't call us, we'll call you.

The Pervert
It's nice when people are open and honest about their sexual predilections. Long gone are the days when people were forced to skulk in the sexual shadows on account of their lifelong splosh fetish. It's just that you didn't necessarily need to know about this before the starter course on your first date.

The What Happened There?
You go out for quite a nice evening with him. He's quite attractive. Quite pleasant. Sends you a nice text when you get home, saying he had a lovely time. You text each other a few more times the following day. Then he just vanishes. Maybe he didn't get your last text or something. Maybe you should resend it. Then again, maybe not. You didn't fancy him that much anyway.

The Yeti
An elusive and possibly mythical creature. Allegedly recent photos of the Yeti have been posted on dating sites - but are widely claimed by experts to be fake or severely outdated. Beyond these dubious photos, the Yeti's existence is solely verified by tell-tale signs known as 'texts' and 'emails.' Its habits include repeatedly attempting to initiate contact via very long dull exchanges of very short dull emails and texts (heavily featuring phrases such as HOW RU? and HOWS YOUR WEEKEND GOIN?) When startled by a direct question such as 'so how about meeting up for a drink some time?' the Yeti will mysteriously vanish into thin air - only to initiate another long rambling pointless text/email conversation approximately 24 hours later. Scientists claim that, when cornered, the Yeti resembles a forty-two year old IT manager with novelty Homer Simpson socks. However, nobody's ever seen the bloody thing in real life, so fuck knows.

The Meh
Well, there's nothing particularly wrong with him. He doesn't vanish into thin air after the first or second date. He doesn't have an extra nose or a National Front tattoo. He doesn't discuss his lifelong passion for nipple clamps over your first cocktail. Okay, he's about as irresistibly alluring as a loaf of bread, but you can't have everything. If encountered after a long string of Heartbreakers and Nos, a relationship with the Meh may end in marriage.

IMHO, 99.99999% of online men fit into at least one of these categories - and sometimes more. For example, a Meh can easily become a What Happened There - while a Pervert is almost certainly a sub-species of the No.

Or perhaps I'm just bitter...

J x
Posted by juliette at 7:10 AM

Henry is having a short allotment break, call it gardening leave. He wants to use the sunshine to make hay.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Budget Day What a Day to announce things on

From the Cons who would do the same to you given half the chance.

And our guest blogger today is Russell Grant
Set for 12.30 pm 22nd April, 2009

The chart is intriguing, what else but Sun/Taurus at the zenith of the chart - hows about that for a chart dealing with finance and wealth! But I am drawn to the colossal quartet of Uranus/Moon/Mars/Venus in Pisces squared by Pluto (Cap) disassociate. I think we can reasonably say that with the Part of Fortune involving this gruesome set-up in a mutable/cardinal T Square there will be more ducking/diving than the most sneaky spiv could ever spin. Secrets abound (remember how accurate my G20 interpretation was regarding authority and the police, it has come back to haunt them as I suggested) - the same will happen here: a web of spin, gloss, secrets even lies and sooner rather than later the chickens will come home to roost as the Labour Government will have laid the biggest egg since Easter. Whatever figures, stats, facts come from the Dispatch Box, you'd be advised not to believe them, pie in the sky, wishful thinking, just like the last time.

There is very little honesty in the chart and when the Sun (ruler of the chart) in Taurus exactly squares the Leo Ascendant, the fixity is rigid. There are lots of theatrics in this chart: there's no business like show business, but show business is all about creating a fantasy so people can forget their troubles. This budget merely stores them up for the future. A heavy chart with refuge found in the Saturn trine Mercury, realism - so the more realistic and honest Chancellor Darling is the better but will he be? Can he afford to be? Doubtful, as the rest of the chart is great for a movie premiere than a serious piece of down-to-earth politics. But that's the problem with the chart, it doesn't want honesty and openness too afraid of the consequences, but holding onto power (Pluto) is a risky business when you have squares to Mars/Venus/Moon/Uranus it could all blow up in the Govt's face. I am intuitively drawn to the South Node of the Moon rising in the 1st - what we learn from others? It is squared by the Sun Taurus and quincunx Pluto Cap - so basically this is a Govt who learns nothing from no-one as they always think they know best. This budget is about a Govt forcing the British - 'take the medicine as we know what's good for you, you have no idea what's good for yourself.' That fixed Sun/Ascendant is typical of a bully who refuses to budge and gives no options. With the Moon (public) conjunct Uranus/Venus/Mars how much longer will the British stand for this kind of medicine? Once the fantasy sugar wears off and they see the light, that's Goodbye Mr Brown you've had your chips.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Green Energy?

Im freaking about the budget but Im really busy in real life so this is to get us all through until we hear the "good news" on Wednesday

Britains Got Talent: About a Boyle

From Juliette our guest Blogger

Henry has been having a bloody nightmare with house insurance agencies and underwriters today and so Juliette kindly stepped in.

Have recently, along with the rest of the country, been watching the Susan Boyle clip on YouTube. I'm in two minds about the whole Susan Boyle thing. On one hand, part of me finds it uplifting and heartwarming, because you'd quite simply need a heart of stone not to. Miss Boyle is undeniably a great singer, a lovely lady, and you'd have to walk a very long way to find anyone who deserved a big break more than her.

On other hand, part of me absolutely hated it - and found the judge's amazed reactions as nauseatingly and blatantly ersatz as everything else on the damn show. Of course Simon, Piers and Amanda never had the slightest idea that Susan Boyle could sing. Because random people can just wander onto that stage and go for it, quite unvetted. They don't have to go through about ten rounds of auditions before they ever get near a camera at all.

What an utterly, uttely hateful show this is. Manipulative, callous, contrived, mindless, heartless, soulless and fake fake fake, it leaves me with the worst taste I've had in my mouth since I last ate a Pot Noodle (hey, that Slag of Snacks ad campaign was bloody persuasive.) And my hatred applies just as much to its bastard siblings the X Factor, America's Got Talent and American Idol.

I hate these shows because they blithely and cynically assume that the general public are total and utter fucking idiots.

I hate them even more because - as they've proved time and time again - they're absolutely right.

I've always loathed this particular stable of shows. My hatred goes all the way back to the Pop Idol days. Incidentally, and veering slightly off topic, I remember back in the day, a friend of mine - aware of my kink-tastic sexual predilections - archly referred to the dark, Dom sex apeal of Simon Cowell.

'Now, he's got to be a fantasy figure of yours,' she said. 'Tell me he's not.'

I diplomatically said, 'well actually, not really. I'm not quite sure why.'

What I wanted to say was somewhat harsher.



Jesus Christ. He's camper than Dale Winton, for fuck's sake.

It totally astounds me that so many people don't see this. I've been in endless conversations on this particular subject with Cowell-loving ladies (most of whom are, let us say, unlikely to ever trouble the admissions panel of Mensa.) My opinions on the subject of the great man's sexuality have always been greeted with utter disbelieving contempt, and even mild concerns for my sanity. As if I'm earnestly claiming that Sir Terry Wogan spends his spare time dismembering female hitchhikers.

'But that's ridiculous. Look at all these ex-girlfriends.'

Hmm. Yes. All these 'ex girlfriends' who haven't got a bad word to say about him - and, coincidentally, are still living extremely well on his meal ticket. He's awfully generous to them even when they've split up, but that's not suspicious at all. Because multi-multi-multi millionaires always get that rich by random acts of purest philanthropy. And it's not as though he's paying them to convey any particular impression at all, is he?

'You're so cynical. Look at all the media stories from kiss and tell girls. They've all slept with him, so he's like totally not gay - right?'

Hmmm. Yes. They all say he was a tiger in bed. He was amazing. Demon lover. Five times a night. All man. And I'm sure he's absolutely horrified when those stories come out. They all come as a complete shock to him, even though he's on first-name terms with every red top editor in the country. I'm sure he does absolutely everything in his power to shut them up, and stop them from sharing the embarrasing truth about his stallion-like sexual prowess.

Of course, he never married any of these ladies. And he'll be a bachelor boy until his dying day.

Like that other icon of unambiguous heterosexuality, Sir Cliff Richard.

Seriously, regarding Simon Cowell. If your gaydar is not screaming away like a fire alarm at the sound of that arch, silky-bitchy, gently sibilant voice - a voice veritably designed for bitching about unsatisfactory dirty martinis with a group of other well-coiffed, ankle-crossing gentlemen in a five-star Soho watering hole - well, two options. You either live a very, very sheltered life in which you have never met any gay men (possibly in an Amish community). Or you need to change the battery on your gaydar alarm as a matter of urgency - before you accidentally find yourself married to the next Michael Barrymore.

In addition to believing in Simon Cowell being a heterosexual ladies' man, the utter cockweasels behind the show confidently expect us to believe that Cheryl Cole is as preternaturally sweet and well-meaning as the Good Witch of the West, that Dannii Minogue once had a successful singing career that wasn't entirely dependent on her being Kylie Minogue's sister - and that Piers Morgan is remotely fucking bearable, and doesn't veritably cry out to be battered to death with half a brick.

And the terrifying thing is that the vast majority of viewers actually do believe it. Really, honestly, truly.

Whenever I watch that show, I feel like I'm living in fucking Oceania.

From the inter-judge squabbles, which to anyone with a three-figure IQ are clearly about as real as an early Hulk Hogan fight (if, sadly, without the pleasing spectacle of Piers Morgan being violently smashed over the head with a stepladder) to the early auditions, the whole thing is a cold and cynical exercise in selling sickly old tat to a crowd of gape-jawed cretins. And is chillingly, horrifyingly successful at it. Well, as some Hollywood type astutely pointed out many moons ago, 'nobody ever lost money underestimating public taste.'

Perhaps the most pernicious fiction of all on the show is that Anything Can Happen - that, when Simon Cowell and co are lined up and waiting, the doors are wide open for all and sundry to come in and strut their stuff. What actually happens - as I may have mentioned before - is that nobody goes before the big famous judges on TV without first having gone through several unfilmed auditions before faceless non-celeb judges. So that only the entertaining best and the hilariously pathetic worst get through to the cameras.

But of course, the're not going to say to the hilariously pathetic worst, 'can you come through to the next round, so you can make a complete arse of yourself singing like a tortured cat and get ritually humiliated in front of the whole country? Oh go on. It'll be grand.'

So it stands to reason they tell them they've got through the first auditions, and are in with a chance at the big prize.

Now, I'm normally cynical to the point of utter callousness. But you don't need to be a bleeding-heart, bunny-hugging social worker to see there's something slightly wrong with this picture. A vulnerable and perhaps slightly disturbed plain podgy person ventures into their first unfilmed audition. Disturbed Plain Podgy Person is told - perhaps much to their surprise - they're through to the filmed audition round. Oh, and wear that nice outfit you wore last time round. The gold tinfoil dress with the pink ribbon round the waist.

Are you sure? I thought maybe I looked a bit fat in it.

No, really. The dress looks great. They'll love you. And make sure you sing that song exactly like you did today. You sounded fab.

This is not entertainment, people. This is the prom scene in Carrie.

(I just hope to Christ one of them turns out to be telekinetic one day, and sets Piers Morgan's head on fire. Now that's what I call entertainment.)

Now, with Susan Boyle, everyone's all patting themselves on the back as they wipe an easy, sentimental little tear away. We expected a freak to laugh at, but we got a brilliant singer - and we all hugged her to our bosoms and realised we loved and respected her after all. And she's Beautiful On The Inside And That's What Really Matters. And everyone cried. Aren't we all lovely people for liking her.

As Piers Morgan said, in the heartbreaking-yet-uplifting judges'-verdict conclusion to her truly brilliant performance - 'They were all laughing at you when you came on. Nobody's laughing now.'

But at the same time - and at the risk of spoiling the heartwarming side of the Susan Boyle success story - this cuddly feelgood ending is deliberately avoiding a very, very awkward question indeed.

What if Susan Boyle couldn't sing for toffee??

Answer - the lovely crowd and supportive people would have been about as lovely and supportive as the baying mob at a medieval witch-burning. Susan Boyle's inner beauty would have mattered about as much to the assembled crowds as her thoughts and feelings. All the nice sentimental people back home would have pointed and sniggered at the sad fat old munter with the funny eyebrows - and would have found it absolutely hilarious as wise kindly Simon Cowell pulled one of his trademark pained faces mid-verse. And Piers Morgan would have summed it all up at the end, in a heartbreaking-yet-uplifting conclusion...

'They were all laughing at you when you came on. And they're still laughing at you now. Fuck off back to Pebbles the cat.'

Exit, pursued by a bare-faced hypocrisy...

J x
Posted by juliette at 4:18 AM

Sunday, April 19, 2009

New Smear Email nails Labour Lies

Damning proof that vicious dirty tricks website did involve highest levels of party

News of the World exclusive.

Well well Been caught telling porkies?

A new email shows that Labour's General Secretary Ray Collins chaired a secret meeting to create the Red Rag website now ensnared in the Smeargate scandal.

So the party chairman was involved What does that mean? Why should a bigwig like that want to get his hands dirty unless it was delegated and asked for by someone even higher up.

And it exposes the LIE, put out by Downing Street, and repeated by government ministers this week, that the smears were just a minor aberration cooked up by a couple of renegades acting alone-and which would never have seen light of day.

Draper claimed: "The idea that it was a big project orchestrated in Downing Street is ridiculous."

However, our revelations show that Collins knew about the Red Rag site more than four months ago and did NOTHING to stop it-in fact he did the opposite.

Collins also tried to distance himself from Draper last week.

"I want to reiterate that Derek Draper does not hold a position or role with the Labour Party and this will remain the case," he said.

Yet the General Secretary himself recruited Draper last year to try to set up a unit inside the Labour Party to attack the Tories using the internet.

We can reveal that despite internal opposition Collins granted Draper a pass to Labour Party HQ in Westminster, and even allowed him a Labour Party email account.

Both were quietly rescinded by Collins this week after furious protests from staff following our Smeargate revelations.

The Red Rag site was borne out out of those foundations, and was set up on November 4, 2008, weeks before the secret meeting.

Lies, Denial, and Skullduggery Why do we have these people in power?

From a labour party insider

"Whelan is back as Gordon Brown's unofficial Mr Fix-it, and he's now so powerful that he's effectively running the party.

"If anyone in the party was still daft enough to believe the Downing Street line about this being minor, this email finally exposes that lie." Whelan was copied in to the vile emails between McBride and Draper and his role in the meeting at the Unite HQ raises further questions about how closely the union was involved in the dirty tricks campaign.

He is political director of Unite, which has two million members.

It is now the largest donor to the Labour Party, and it's cash is effectively paying the near-bankrupt party's wages as it struggles to manage debts topping £16million.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Jacqui Smith is a C**t

Hat tip to Old Holborn

After the fiasco of porn, expenses and Damian Green's arrest and subsequent exoneration here is the final nail in her rather overburdened and rather exposed coffin.

It now appears that Ian Tomlinson died of an abdominal haemorrhage

It is probably the case that the man being of the alcohol dependent sort would have had a big portocaval venous system and the push and the baton would have burst a blood vessel and the man bled to death three minutes later.


The family's solicitors have know about this result for a week, but were asked by the IPCC to keep quiet whilst investigations were carried out.

Something for the weekend Sir?

Something uplifting for the weekend

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Why is whistleblowing frowned upon? Cover ups abound dont they

Nurse struck off for secret filming

Margaret Haywood has been struck off by the Nursing and Midwifery Council

A nurse who was struck off after she secretly filmed the neglect of patients has called for a review of how the NHS deals with whistleblowers.
Margaret Haywood broke down in tears as she was struck off by the Nursing and Midwifery Council panel and said she was "absolutely devastated" by the decision.
She insisted that recording the appalling conditions at the Royal Sussex Hospital in Brighton for the BBC's Panorama programme in July 2005 was the right thing to do.
But the NMC panel told the 58-year-old, who has worked as a nurse for more than 20 years, that her misconduct was a "major breach" of the profession's code and "it would not be in the public interest for her to be able to practise as a nurse".
Speaking after the hearing, Ms Haywood, of Liverpool, said: "There was no other way of getting the full picture. I am absolutely devastated and upset by it all. I think I have been treated very harshly.
"It is a serious issue and I knew it was a risk I was taking but I thought the filming was justified and it was in the public interest.
"I did voice my concerns through my immediate line manager and I also went to my ward manager but nothing was really taken on board."
Ms Haywood, who was found guilty of misconduct, said she had "owed it to the people on the ward" to expose the neglect.
Referring to last month's Healthcare Commission report which ound "appalling conditions" at Stafford Hospital, Ms Haywood called for a review of the system for NHS whistleblowers.
"Nurses are afraid to speak out about what is happening and the whole process needs to be reviewed so nurses can make it easier to voice their concerns," she said.

In a further development
This has appeared in private eye magazine

Statutory warning

Whistleblowing may damage your wealth.

Morally she is right and what has the NMC done. Removed her so she can't expose anymore neglect. They should be ashamed of themselves.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Wild Wild Westminster

For your delectation and delight here is some satire and fun from a guest blogger

She will occasionally be writing here for juicy salacious satire and sarcasm.

Todays Guest Blogger is Juliette from http://thenewadventuresofjuliette.blogspot.com/

The original is here

I've just been reading about the unfounded political rumours of Damian McBride. Now, I'm sorry, but if you're going to make things up, you could at least make something up that was a bit funnier or more interesting than that crap. So I started thinking along these lines myself. Admittedly, I haven't got a clue what I'm talking about, but it didn't slow Damian McBride down...

Things You Never Knew About Politicians (And Never Wanted To Ask)

Lembit Opik is a cunningly disguised alien. I mean, just look at him, for God's sake. His head's the wrong shape. And the name's a dead giveaway. Clearly he skimped on the research back on Planet Zog, and thought Lembit Opik would be nicely inconspicuous. It's Ford Prefect all over again.

Gordon Brown was inexplicably used as the model for the 'devastatingly handsome' human Shrek in Shrek 2. The truth is out there...

Cherie Blair is a fully paid-up member of the Undead. I can't believe nobody's figured this one out before.

George Osborne is concealing a terrible secret.

In 1998, ten prostitutes were found murdered and mutilated in Oxford. Horrific crimes that shocked even the hardened lead detective on the case - the hard-drinking, twice-divorced, reckless but loveable maverick Jack Riley.

When Riley interviewed the helpful, blandly smiling clean-cut student George Osbourne to take a routine witness statement, a distant alarm bell started ringing in the back of his mind. There was no evidence tying this handsome and well connected young man to the horrific murders, but....

There's something about him, thought Riley starkly. I can't put my finger on it. Something wrong.

He started investigating Osbourne's movements and alibis for the nights of the murders, and told his sergeant. The next day, Riley was summoned to a private meeting with his sergeant. He was formally told he was being removed from the investigation.

'We're replacing you with Detective Muppet,' his sergeant told him awkwardly. 'You're being transferred to the Makework case.'

Riley stared at him in disbelief.

'You can't be serious. Muppet's never solved a case in twenty years.'

His sergeant didn't quite meet his eyes.

'I'm sorry, Jack. This comes from higher up. I'm just following orders.'

Yet, haunted by his suspicions concerning Osborne, Riley continued digging in secret. God damn it, he needed to know the truth. The more he learned, the more chillingly certain he became that Osborne's charming facade concealed a deadly psychopath. He learned of the woman who'd been found killed in the exact same way near Eton five years ago. Another identical case near the village where Osborne had grown up. Jesus, Osbourne had been doing this all his life. And now he was out of control.

Then quite unexpectedly, Riley was summoned for a meeting with the Chief Commissioner. The urbane and silver-haired older man greeted him warmly, and ushered him into his book-lined inner sanctum.

'Care for a glass of scotch, dear boy? Forty years old. I have cigars too, if you'd care to indulge.'

They stood together before a roaring fire. Riley felt as tense as strung elastic. The Chief Commissioner patted Riley's arm. The gesture was avuncular, yet somehow sinister.

'You are a young man. You have a promising career before you. I will do everything in my power to help that career progress. But first, you must let these ridiculous suspicions drop.'

Riley stared at the Chief Commissioner. He could feel the blood draining out of his face.

'W-what do you mean?'

There was a new and steely note to the Chief Commissioner's voice.

'You know exactly what I mean, Detective Riley.'

Riley hadn't told anyone he was still investigating Osbourne. He was sure of it. Jesus Christ, was he being followed?

As soon as he got back home that night, Riley went straight to his computer and started searching for answers. The luminous white light from the screen illuminated Riley's disbelieving face, as the final piece of the puzzle fell into place - and he found himself looking at a family photograph from an old news article that said it all.

Oh my God, Riley thought starkly. The Chief Commissioner is Osborne's uncle.

He grabbed up his mobile and rang a trusted friend - a newspaper journalist. He had to share what he knew with the world, before it was too late. His friend's voice answered on the sixth ring, sleepy and irritated.

'Jesus. Riley. Do you know what fucking time it is?'

'I've got something to tell you,' Riley said urgently. 'This is front page shit, Greg. I can't talk over the phone. It might be bugged.'

'So come on over,' his journalist friend grumbled. 'But this had better be good, motherfucker.'

Riley raced out of his flat, down the dark and silent stairs and out into the freezing, moonlit night. The world was deadly silent. Nobody around. He got into his car, his heart hammering away inside him. He slammed the door behind him, and turned the key in the ignition.

The car exploded in a ball of flame. Riley died instantly. His knowledge intact.

His death was blamed on a terrorist ring he'd helped to lock up five years ago.

To this day, the ten prostitutes' murders have never been solved.

Okay, it's not even remotely true, but it would make a fantastic story.


David Miliband has the smallest cock in Parliament. Ten gets you twenty.

David Cameron is actually a freshly boiled and buttered new potato with a smug, annoying little face drawn on it with a biro. Designed by the same dark CGI arts that created Piers Morgan.

Jack Straw is a serial killer. The sort whose neighbours say 'such a nice quiet chap. Keeps himself to himself.' Until the police break in and find he's got a fridge full of severed willies and a month-dead rent boy sitting on the sofa. Look at the face, for God's sake. Look at the eyes.

It's Fred Westminster.

Boris Johnson is the only remotely likeable person within five miles of Parliament. This may actually be true.

*Please share these completely unfounded rumours with a political editor friend, and get my blog in the papers*

J x

Posted by Juliette at 21.11

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Sunday Papers

I am not blogging anymore for the next 48 hours I am getting all the Sunday Papers in paper form and reading them.

An Open Letter to Kerry McCarthy MP Labour for Bristol East

Do as you would be done by Kerry

If you have cheated, lied and been nasty in any way shape or form, and not been transparent or have tried to say one thing when another is patently clear then Im afraid what comes around goes around

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction Its the basic law of the universe.

This Labour government has put through more than 3000 new laws

Most of us dont even know what they are and we fall foul of them because our representatives at Parliament dont bother telling us why wherefore and the reasons behind it. Our politicians dont speak the truth, they dont explain and help us the public who voted them in

I am a psychiatrist, If you think you can be nasty to someone and they will still respect your privacy and your rights you are quite frankly deluded.

If you have pissed someone off or not listened to them, and you cannot be considerate and give them the time of day to be listened to and acted upon and you act in a very different way to your speeches and what you have actually said to someone well you know the old saying you can fool some of the people some of the time but not all the time.

I dont know you I have never read this blog before and I as such do not know what you have done to elicit such oppobrium but believe me. You only get poison if you give it out.

Yes I admit to being human and I admit to failings and I have made mistakes, Im fully prepared to admit them Im standing for parliament because I am sick to the back teeth of not being informed by my MP, about important EU laws that are passed without even making the mainstream media and that affect our lives in such a way as to render us very upset.

We think why has someone done this without asking us if we wanted it Why are we living in a so called democratic state?

You should take a good hard long look and see where you have lied and cheated and misrepresented things in order to avoid any kind of tongue lashing, because that is your checks and balances,

You cannot get away with things if you are in the public eye.

Not unless you exclude the outside world

You know Ive known for some time that all phone calls are tapped

I always say Hello GCHQ if I am dealing with sensitive subjects on the phone because I know the call has been logged.

You dont seem to get it do you?

Put all the things that if you were a moral person with upstanding principles and mores you could not do and see how much you actually have done and then see why you are being subjected to such rage and anger.

You have quite frankly brought it upon yourself I know that you will not publish this so I will copy and paste it as an open letter to you on my blog

You need to gain insight in to how you have been operating

Have you broken the law
Have you broken the moral code of a high society english gentleman

HAve you been improprietous have you cursed at people have you disregarded your constituents feelings because the party whip told you that if you didnt you would lose your seat the next time the election came round?

Think about it You seem to think that we should be conscientious to you well its a two way street and you cant shovel shit over people for too long

You know what I do I never claim for petrol when I work somewhere

Im being paid so much I think why bother Im not petty and greedy

See how many of the seven deadly sins you have committed and then think Could you actually have done this without anyone finding out about it?

You seem to think that because you're an MP you can get away with it. Well no you are answerable to your constituents.

They are the ones who voted you in to employment in the first place It is their unquestionable right to sack you and to ramonstrate about your behaviour as their representative.

Never forget that you are where you are because someone put a cross next to your name and put it in a secret ballot box.

You have to prove your worth If you cant handle the heat then for god sakes resign and have a by-election called, and apologise and recover what dignity you might have left.

Here endeth the lesson

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Look familiar?

Guess when this cartoon was drawn?

Ian Tomlinson

First of all I am thoroughly disgusted by the footage and by the attitude and the blatant lies put out by the Police, I wont link to the video anyone who can see this blog can easily find the Guardian and Itv videos. Sadly this is not uncommon as I well know and whilst I deplore it at present I can't go into details and blog about it effectively for now

My condolences to his wife and family and my heart bleeds for them. I hope they find the truth.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Blogging will return after Easter

Henry is on his Easter Break. There may be posts there may not be posts It depends on how much time I have this weekend.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

New Edlington

Much has been written in the newspapers about New Edlington recently. (Mirror)

Two children 10 and 11 have been murderous, and slit one childs neck from ear to ear, at the back of a neck, probably with a stanley knife, and bashed up his nephew with bricks, as well as divesting them of clothing and bikes.

It is also now known that they carried out a similar attack on an 11 year old the week before but the police were not interested They are now and are spending time questioning the boys.

Questions come to mind Why weren't they quizzed earlier? Is one attack not enough?

Both of them had to be taken to hospital, the 11 year old initially with such injuries as to be "critical"

Both of these young boys are in care
according to the Guardian

Why were they not placed in secure care when the first attack happened a week previously?

The Police are trotting out the usual line

In the three weeks that these two brothers have been in Edlington they have been linked with at least five incidents.

It gets worse in the above article.

Yes they have a right to be where they are but not to cause trouble. They should have been pointed out to the Police who should have been keeping an eye out for them.

Instead it takes the attempted murder of two children for these two to actually be questioned and be subject to the law.

Why am I interested in this story? I have watched New Edlington for 12 years, It was my route from Home to School, It is an hours walk away, about 4 miles, less over the fields, It concerns me that there are feral youngsters ready to rob beat and murder for what they want in the local vicinity to where I grew up in idyllic Yorkshire. It saddens me.

As a political rider the minister for Europe who is the local MP Caroline Flint admits to not having read the Lisbon treaty, you wonder what else she hasn't bothered to look up or bothered to investigate.

17.55 Update The Boys have been seen in court regarding the attempted murder of the other two boys.

For an update on the court case and the outcome click here

Firstly a quick round up

Ireland is starting to increase taxes, Switzerland is in deflation, and one wonders what Alistair Darling will plug the £39 billion pound gap in our budget with in two weeks time.

The Tamils have done what no god fearing Englishman would do and have surrounded parliament and held Westminster bridge for a time.

The BBC is diverting our attention with the Dog who swam through shark infested waters and telling us about Abba

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Youre once twice three times a Hoonie

Thanks for nothing
That youve given me
The memories are all distasteful
And now that weve come
To the end of our gravy
Theres something
I must say out loud
Youre once, twice
Three times a Hoonie
Yes youre once twice
Three times a Hoonie

And I Hate you
When we are far apart
The moments I detest
With every beat of my heart
To flame you to burn you
To hate you to hate you
Theres nothing to keep us together
Youre once twice
Three times a hoonie
And I hate you
I hate you

To Geoff Buff Hoon

With apologies to Lionel Richie

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Personal web data to be stored for a year

From Monday All your emails, web browsing history and mobile calls will be stored for a year due to sweeping new laws making Britain a proper kleptocracy.

Your web browsing will be stored from your ISP. The Government will force you to have it all revealed to them from your ISP. IP addresses the works.

Story in the Independent here

Welcome to Database Britain . Big Brother is now watching you real time.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Someone ripped Lenin a new hole

Someone thought April 1st was the ideal opportunity to rip Lenin a new hole. It even seems to be properly anatomically relevant. Link here

I'm not blogging about G20 today, I don't feel the need. It shouldn't be given the oxygen.