WHO PUT THE 'TORY' IN INFLAMMATORY?

Ahead of my fourth tribunal hearing on Monday, I thought I'd better keep the old interblog chaps up to speed, so as to avoid any confusion if I'm shipped overnight to L.A., to replace Simon Towell on that talent show thingy.

I must say I'm not sure this is a good waste of taxpayers' money.
I'm perfectly capable of finding myself fit for work, without these bally DWP chaps suggesting I might not be.

My last tribunal hearing was cancelled because of (off the record & only allegedly) "the judge and doctor being struck off".
Now I know most of the GPs, JPs and BPs in East Anglia, and you have try ruddy bloody hard to get struck off these days.
An old friend of mine (let's call him Bunny) was eventually dispatched for charging his patients 200 guineas for a sick-note, something the GMC frowned heavily upon.
Bunny set up his own private practice after that, turning his back on the whole shoddy affair.
As he correctly said;
"What's more important?
Saving lives or creating work for a bunch of left-wing namby pamby trots in a nurse uniform?"
I think we can all agree with the sentiment.

I am however getting a tad miffed about all this 'Con-Dem' naysaying, and general dissent within the ranks.
It's not our Dave's fault the spics (and the wops) spent all the ready cash, and forced us all into upping the drawbridge.
Dave cares about England, and he and his cohorts IDS(RIP) & Christopher Grayling are damned fine chaps when it comes to getting the economy up and running again.
Only last week, an Air Commodore friend of mine (let's call him Piggy) told me in the strictest confidence, that our arms industry is worth £22 BILLION to old blighty's crown jewel purse.
That's an awful lot of cash when compared to say sales figures for the liberal nonsense comic The Guardian, that rarely breaks the £6million mark.
(My association soccer team Brighton & Hove Albion have a left-half worth more than that!)

Anyway. I think it's time we started looking at the positives in this whole welfare reform thingy.
Mrs Mac feels that my desire to pack up my old kit-bag and pick up my rifle again should be tempered with a visit to Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser).
I personally feel she is always wrong, and with a little joined-up sky and a little blue thinking, we could get England (and a large part of Wales) back into work and out of the labour exchange. We need progressive thinkers like Bunny & Piggy, a good dose of the old bamboo, a few cold showers and a jolly bracing work-ethic that says

No! To shirkers.
No! To disabled benefit hoarders.
No! To mini-cabs.
No! To heavy-petting & bombing.
No! To council houses for single mums with itinerant boyfriends.
No! To foreigners who aren't tourists.
No! To free stuff for those who haven't earned the right to free stuff yet.

And no to this have-a-go-hero culture that rewards immigrants with no grasp of the King James' Holy Bible, and who insist on having families.
This 'bogof' society that expects free prescriptions, when men fought and died against the Germans to put square meals on the table, and the right to vote for discipline in schools and the right to bare their arms.
This septic isle, rotten to the core, and full of alcopops and Stephen Fry homogenousness.

It's time to keep Britain tidy again!
It's time to dig deep for victory.
It's time to keep mum.
It's time to bag it & bin it (or face a fine of up to a maximum of £1000).

THE SUN'LL COME OUT TOMORROW.......

So tomorrow's the Big Day.
My tribunal has been moved to Norwich, and although they'll refund reasonable taxi costs, a hotel is out of the question.
It's a terrible shame, as there's a damn fine Travel Lodge by the bus-station, and a Waitrose directly opposite. I foresaw a night of Bravo Gold & gouda cheese crispy crumbs, in a bed that I was not about to make!

Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) has gone rather quiet on the whole subject of finding me suitable employment. I took it upon myself in the end to apply for eleven jobs.
Most of the Armed Forces were kind, but brutally honest when it came to rejection.
(And if I'm totally honest, I wouldn't necessarily want me as a bombardier over the skies of Syria or Argentina either).
The RNLI have no current vacancies for a helmsman, and the Fire Service no longer have a a bell-ringer on the back of their trucks.
I'm still awaiting a response from Clinton Cards and La Senza, but I think retail may be a step too far.

 From what I can gather, tomorrow's meeting will reassure me of my 'capability for work'. It's a bit like a preliminary interview (to ascertain that I'm not a disabled, a terrorist or a benefit cheat, I imagine).
 IDS also reassured me last week that I would not have to have a 'soft job' in a factory, as he is closing all factories down. The Great British pastime of elongated tea-breaks must be checked, if we are to forge our identity as the world's leading financial services provider, and armoured protector of democracy.

 I'm not taking Derek with me. We fell out over a game of draughts.
I personally think it's irrelevant how one wins, but I will not tolerate him calling it 'Checkers'.

 Off to Bedfordshire now. Need a good night in the arms of Morpheus, if I'm to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning.
 There's always a chance too that the bally taxi-drivers will go on strike (sorry, 'protest') tomorrow.
It's not too late to enforce compulsory National Service for the feckless.

 I do hope my rheumatism doesn't play up.
The last thing I need is to come across as an incapacitated imbecile.

 In the words of the Iron Lady herself:
 Disciplining yourself to do what you know is right and important, although difficult, is the highroad to pride, self-esteem, and personal satisfaction.

A FOGGY CLEGG GOES BATTY OVER COMPO

So Kinky thinks he can push through a so-called 'Mansion Tax' does he?
Sneaking around the back of Parliament, hoping no-one will notice.

Well we for one have noticed Nick.
Don't think our minor celebrations at successfully reforming the welfare system (in theory)
have distracted us from what you were up to.
Oh no!
We are more than aware that you aim to persecute those that have legitimately inherited, or successfully accrued, properties as investments.

Have you heard the phrase "Property rich; cash poor"?
That's us Cleggy.

We can't afford tuition fees, foreign holidays, eye-pod dockers, widescreen wirelesses or wireless hi-fis anymore.
We can barely heat our houses since Blair sold us out to the Bolsheviks.
But an Englishman's home is his castle (as I imagine it is for a Taff or a Mick).
And without our castles, how do you expect us to secure loans or credit card agreements?
This country requires homeowners to spend and rack up debts to kick-start the economy.
And you want to rob the cash poor of their remaining savings, just to prop up a feckless and work-shy underclass?

That isn't egalitarianism Nick.
That's pinko-bully philosophy.

Our children aren't offered National Service any more, they're robbed of their student grants, they can't afford their mobile telephone bills, we can't get Olympics tickets anywhere (let alone child benefit), our horses have little or no grass, and now you want to force us, to make them homeless?

Some of them are barely 27 years old!

What kind of monster are you Mr.Clegg?

Shame on you.
(And shame on your proposals).

WHY TESCO COULD START SELLING GUNS

I'm beginning to feel a little bit out of touch with society.
I'm actually beginning to think that Lady T was right, on the one issue we disagreed.
How can so many British people be opposed to a Workshare scheme that offers good, solid, back-breaking opportunities, to the millions of hopeless kids from Generation i, that will keep them off MyFace and Bobo, and prevent them watching endless Jeremy Vine shows?
IDS and Chrissy G were right to call these luddites 'job-snobs'.
If Lowestoft John(my Personal Adviser) is correct in his calculations, there's a job for everyone out there. Not just me.
The work-shy have just got to get their fingers out of their eye-pods, and find one.
I myself applied for both the Wolverhampton Wanderers' manager's job AND the Chelsea manager's job this week.
(Chelsea were quick to respond that they didn't have a vacancy yet).

And I see that even more 'pseudo-capitalist' Trotskyite organisations are joining Jammy Oliver's Sainsburys lot.
I've no idea who Maplins, Argos or Superdrug are, but their withdrawal from this brilliant scheme just goes to show how liberal-lefty we've all become.

Only the other day I went to the theatre to see a play about John Peel's Shed by that Osborne fella; not the one who's spent too long under the bed with Red Vince (when did it become Tory policy to maintain taxation for heaven's sake? I sincerely hope Dr.Fox and his Network Chart can overthrow this ruddy pinko soon, and prevent further public spending!)
No. This Osborne was an arty-farty type with a shoddy haircut.
So after a huge argument with Mrs.Mac over whether I should wear Blue Stratos or Paco Rabanne (the latter won; as it always should for theatre engagements) we set about enduring an hour & ten minutes of idle tosh about 'popular music' of all things!
There wasn't one reference to John Peel's National Service days; something myself, and most Radio Times readers know him for, only too well.
We would've left early were it not for the hoardes of unwashed kids standing and clogging up the aisles.
Was this theatre or a bally pop concert?

Anyway, it led me to thinking about what Kinky Clegg had been saying with regard to all these so-called 'neets'.
If they really were a ticking time-bomb, and in the light of the recent defence cuts, why not use this explosive mass of apathy for military purposes?
Tesco's wishy-washy stance about offering these benefit scroungers a living wage, as well as a bit of discipline and a uniform, could be harnessed and packaged as a form of National Service, if you like.
It didn't do John Peel any harm, and just think how many Clubcard points one would get on the purchase of a GPMG or a Lee Enfield?
Give all of these eye-phone gazing hoodies a decent haircut, a tin of Kiwi boot polish, a bit of Duraglit and a massive dollop of elbow grease, and we might just save the Faroes from Argentine invasion.
I'm not necessarily advocating sending the Tesco feckless into battle with the Talibanese, but I am suggesting that if we have to give them money, let's prop up the nation before we prop up Tesco shareholders.
They get the experience, Tesco get the gun & polish sales, and we reap the Clubcard point rewards.

I might even think about applying for a PT instructor's role at boot camp!

(Providing it doesn't involve too much standing, or raising my arm at a right angle for prolonged periods).