IT'S TIME FOR A PROPER BALLY LEADER.

So Cleggy thinks the way forward is to maintain a flabby coalition, despite the fact that no blighter really wants to take charge.
I think the sooner we flush-out these wishy-washy salmon pinkos, the better the United Kingdom of Great Britain & The Northern Bit of Ireland will be, and we can all get on with boosting the economy, elevating house prices, bettering our investment portfolios, and our sorry excuse for a military machine, the Greatest British Army.

The wagon-jumping, rat-faced Teather's abandoned ship, Huhne's incarcerated, Kennedy's plastering three sheets onto the wind, Oaten's a chutney weasel and Major-Captain Ashdown has finally joined the war party (albeit from the wrong side of the benches).
I think the liberal-demagogues should ruddy well buck up their ideas, stop recruiting teenagers and realise that no-one actually reads the Independent newspaper other than pot-smokers and female impersonators.

If we don't bomb Syria soon, the Argentines and the Spanish will inevitably invade British sovereign soil, and we'll be handing over the Isle of Wight to the Russians, before we can say "No Deal Uncle Bulgaria".

And I see Moriband is all set to sack those hard-working chaps at ATOS.
Another 10,000 on the unemployment scrap-heap.
If my experience with the DWP is anything to go by, he'll replace ATOS as soon as is bally well possible (probably with a Trot-infested organisation like the Co-Op or the Mail on Sunday's colour supplement).
Those fellows are doing a damned fine job at keeping Johnny Foreigner away from our poorly NHS and our ever-shrinking pot of gold.
Moriband won't get into Number 10 now anyway.
Not if Australia and Germany's recent elections are a sign of better things to come.

Still no word from Lowestoft John (My Personal Adviser).
A chap with an illegible scribble of a signature sent me a letter recently, informing me that I could attend a 'Work Focused Interview' if I really wanted, but I was under no obligation.

Now, if this was the Army, I wouldn't have a ruddy choice!

I'd be expected to attend the interview, and the onus would be on me to have polished shoes, a sensible haircut, a smart uniform and a positive attitude.
All this laissez-faire, non-committal, voluntary attitude is what's wrong with this sceptic isle.
A bit of National Service, a few medals, a trade and a pension wouldn't do anybody any harm, and it would keep the feckless, the scroungers, the idle and twerkers from vegetating in front of Pointless on a regular basis.

My letter explained that as I had paid into the National Insurance scheme all of my life, I was in the 'Contributory' group, and this means I'm not entitled to free prescriptions, eye-tests or dental treatment.

And quite right too!
We can't be seen to be wasting valuable government resources on those who 'can do'.
If the unwashed snivelling masses knew where their housing & child benefits came from, they'd only want more of the same, and this would put unnecessary strains on the Ministry of Defence, the Church of England, Iain Duncan Smith (peace be upon him) and quite probably the Countryside Alliance too.

2015 can't come quick enough for me.
If we have to coalesce, please God let it be with Farage.
A man with his military pedigree would be the tonic to accompany a gin-soaked Tory revival, in which we kick out the lemons and replace them with a dash of bitters, and a private pensions renaissance.

God Save the Queen!
Iain Duncan Smith for Prime Minister!

HANDS OFF OUR MINERAL DEPOSITS, MRS.ARGY-BARGY!

Nothing like a near unanimous vote to put British democracy firmly back on the map of the world, and in so doing, wipe the cheeky little dago claim to sovereignty, off the faces of Mrs Kitchener and her gaggle of lady politicos.
Las Malvinas?
This is the British Empire madam!
Not some kiss-me-quick island resort in the Med.

The Falklands are as British as Marmite and KitKats.
Argentina may well have Elaine Paige and Lionel Messy, but we are the custodians of blue-blood Englishmen.
We are soldiers, farmers, politicians and seamstresses.
We have no time for sheet metal workers and gazpacho horse riders.

Look at any map of worth and what does it say above the aggravating lump off the southern coast of the Americas?
It says "Falkland Islands (GB)" - the furthest outpost of empire, the land of sheep & glory.
Our little England in the South Pacific, with its rolling green hills & mountains, and its arrows of desire.

Would the French be happy if the Scots laid claim to Guernsey?
Would the Spanish tolerate an invasion of the Canaries?
No. They ruddy well wouldn't stand for it

And I ask you. Who were the three that voted in favour of Argie rule?
Mentalists with a penchant for corned beef sandwiches and Peronism no doubt.
I shall be writing to the Lord High Governor and asking him to catch these ne'er-do-wells and put them on the next blasted container ship to Venezuela.
I'm sure there's a Huge(o) vacancy for them there!
Bally Bolsheviks.

Failing that, they could be returned home and made to stack shelves in Poundworld.

Well Mrs Kitchener; I have some news for you.

We won't forget how we lost Hong Kong.
We won't accept Aussie insults towards Her Majesty the Queen.
We cannot stand by and let Romanian become our 2nd language.
And we will NEVER forgive Ossie Ardiles for eating our penguins.

Rule Britannia.

NOW IS THE WINTER OF THE MALCONTENT

Hello.
I know it's been a while since I last 'touched-base' with you chaps, but things have gone slightly awry recently.
Here at Dwile Flonker HQ, we have found ourselves wrangling with a bally sticky issue.
We haven't been this fidgety since we thought we'd found reds under Penelope's bed, only to discover later that it was her school prep.
I personally feel that the aforementioned issue is one of grave pertinence, but Mrs.Mac has, since only this past Thursday, refused to discuss the matter completely.

The subject is the Winter Fuel Allowance.

In my experience, those that qualify for the Trot-inspired piece of welfare shenanigary, only spend their allowances on frippery & tut.
The skivers, the shirkers and the shivering timbers take the money that 'Dave's economy' can ill-afford to give, and literally set fire to it, with their superking cigarettes and their Paddy Power gambling habits.
Allotment Alan's small but spacious semi-detached is frequently cold, but the fumes generated by his special cigarettes could evict a bee colony from the top floor of a blasted tower-block, were he ever to get out of his armchair!

As a nation, we're due extremely low temperatures this weekend (notably coming in from the scroungier parts of Eastern Europe); so I hope the feckless and unwashed have invested in a blanket or two, because it's the idle who will suffer in the cold, along with their taxpayer-benefited children.
And will they moan!
I personally feel the allowance should be presented to the deserving (the Atos frieze-marked disabled, key-workers, ex-civil service, Sky TV subscribers and the military) in the form of a crossed cheque made payable to British Gas, or in the form of kindling, logs or coal.
Those of us who do not require their allowance, should be able to donate their fuel to Falkland Islanders in need, or in very special circumstances, old ladies with British passports.

If Millibland and his pinko cronies would only shut their bally mouths once in a while, (Sir) Iain Duncan Smith  may lead us to a promised land; a less corrupt, better run, 'newer' society; one based on hard work, savings and sensible opinions.
Strivers who earn over a certain amount should not be penalised for being better than everyone else.
The carrot & stick approach is beginning to work on old Cleggy, so I'm hoping we can switch to a crop & a whip before it's too late.
I also worry that Mrs.Mac may be afflicted with this modern scourge of liberalism; this Facedbook generation's Twittery Spring thing.
So we'll see how she copes when I let her out of the coal-bunker on Monday.

Until then, keep warm.
And God save the Queen.

He Who Strives

He Who Strives