LADIES FINGERS & FABIO-A-GO-GO

Spilt some Brasso on the bally carpet.
I was only buffing up the county shields, and the kids' school trophy.
It was hardly worth the ensuing panic.

Mrs.Mac is on one of her residential poetry weekends.
Can't see the point myself.
Full of libidinous types, who think daffodils are a deterrent to modern warfare.

Telephone-ordered an Indian takeaway.
Disappointedly a little greasy.
Uncorked the damson wine - a gift from Lionel on hearing the news about my polyp.
Lionel's very active in the autumn months.
Industrious.

Found myself watching that Gak Won fellow on the goggle-box.
Terribly anxious for a heavy-set colonial.
Made me feel slightly uneasy.
The BBC news was full of Fabio Costello's departure.
Good riddance I say. Ruddy Johnny Foreigner.
About time the sweet FA did something about all these migrant workers.

Why I didn't carefully spread out yesterday's Mail-on-Sunday I will never know?
A huge stain. Massive. Shaped like Malaya before the uprising.
Probably have to forego the 'no-claims' on this one.

And still no idea as to how The Moghul cooks their ladies' fingers?
Were they supposed to weep so sadly?

Mrs.Mac's back tomorrow.
She'll have a few answers.
No doubt.

Fine filly.
(Very similar in stature to Lowestoft John).

SNIVELLING LITTLE FLAG-WAVING GROVELLERS

Now, I'm all for a bit of patriotism.
If Strauss & Co. weren't such whingers, I'd probably have bought Mrs.Mac a subscription to SkyTV for her birthday; or at least a one-way ticket to Abu Dhabi.

But this whole Diamond Jubilee thing.

It's gone beyond a celebration of Her Royal Highness, Her Majesty's Power & Dominion Over All Things Great British & Northern Irish, and turned into a rather poorly attended barbecue, in the garden of a work-shy layabout, who only shops at Asda.

Yes. Of course we should celebrate Elizabeth Regina's 100years on the throne.
And yes. We should take to the streets, festooned in the colours of Empire, for one day, in which hard-working bank clerks and their employers, can relax and enjoy themselves.
But all this Official Accession Day, followed by Official Coronation Day, followed by Trooping the Colour, and then the Olympics, followed by then another Bank Holiday.
Well, it all seems a little, dare I say, jingoistic?

I have been found 'fit for work' by those fine chappies at Atos, and despite his initial reluctance, Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) thinks I may have a chance at being employed as well. He only joked yesterday that my perseverance in using landline telephonic communications would make me an awfully good double-glazing/solar panelling salesperson! (He said 'salesman' so I naturally corrected his mistake).
The problem with Lowestoft John is that he doesn't yet realise that I have no experience in windows or doors.
Nice to be thought of though.

So my problem is, if we are to have almost half a year off for flag-waving, plus another 3 months off for inclement weather, will there be enough work to go around?
I know Dave seems to think so, that's why he's welcoming Australians to our shore; the ones who can act or sing a bit.
If I'm honest, when Kylie Minogue left for home, things did start to get a little worse. And the economy slid further downhill when Dannii left X Factor, so there's a method in his antipodean madness.
And IDS is still hopeful, although he remains steadfastly quiet these days.

I wept a little when I saw children waving flags at Her Majesty this morning.
Not because they were being patriotic to our head of state, but because they were out of school (called 'truancy' in my day), when the snow had quite obviously melted, and there was little excuse.
I noted one or two feckless parents trying to avoid the glare of the cameras too.
I bet they're all on this £26,000 gravy train?

What we need is more Personal Advisers, and a lot less holidays.
Bring back the 6day week, abolish the benefits system, and let's make the Britain that the fine filly Elizabeth inherited, 'Great' again.

WE ARE NOTHING WITHOUT OUR BANKS

It turns out that Allotment Alan was up to no good.
I only caught the end of the conversation in the Legion last night, but it would appear that he was breeding skunks with an anthropomorphic lighting system.
He's looking at 18months.
Bilko reckons they'll throw away the key.

Meanwhile, all the pinkos on Facebook are getting uppity about bank managers' xmas bonuses.
May I take this opportunity to remind readers, that once upon a time banks were only there for the very rich. People would literally keep their savings 'under the mattress', and mortgages were just a pipe-dream.
Many people lived in houses made out of horse dung.
It was the banks that liberated us from domestic tyranny.

If the feckless and the undeserving cannot see that being a bank manager is stressful enough, without having to justify his(or her!)salary, then what hope have we got getting people back into work?
I would like a bit more money yes, but I'm not prepared to work my way up in the Alliance & Leicester.
It's a tough old climb, requiring long hours and an ability to find numbers interesting.
No. This public outcry is just professional jealousy.
If all the jobless, and disableds and irresponsible shirkers want parity with the Captain Mainwarings of this world, perhaps they should get their fingers out, stop watching Jeremy Springers, and forge a more prosperous relationship with their Personal Advisers.
If they weren't rewarding themselves with over-inflated child benefits and emus, maybe we could all get through this cold spell without a cap.

(And if I were Allotment Alan, I'd start thinking about more than a protective cap!)

IF ONLY REAL LIFE WAS PAPERLESS LIKE THE LEVESON ENQUIRY?

Further problems in my attempt to get the old career kick-started.

Another letter arrived from IDS and those bods at Social Security on Saturday.
It would appear that I've opened up a can of worms with regard to this 'appeals' procedure.
Lowestoft-John (my Personal Adviser) is away for the weekend, and I'm loathe to take advice from all the lefty campaigners I now seem to be surrounded with.

It transpires that I am automatically 'up' for a tribunal.
It's in Birmingham, and if I'm honest, I'm not a big fan.
I once spent an enjoyable weekend at The Belfry near Coventry, but that was in the 1980s and I've been listening to The Archers for too long now.
It would appear I have to fill out this new 6 page document, if I DO NOT wish to proceed with my appeal.
I can't help think that the unionised commies at the GPO have more than a passing interest in this drawn-out correspondence.

So I've decided to go.
I'm involved now, and we didn't rescue the Falklands from the corned beef colonials by being hesistant.
It'll save the cost of another stamp, and I might get the chance to tell these tribunal chappies just what a good job Dave & IDS are doing.
I might even find out what they're really going to do with Clegg, now that he appears to have lost his last marble.

Apparently they do not envisage conducting the interview until at least the 6th of August, so it'll give me time to get a railcard, as I don't fancy re-negotiating the M42. Travel expenses are guaranteed on this one, so I'll book an hotel like before.
I'm also allowed to take a friend, so I think I'll take Derek.
We'll probably visit the Borchester & Ambridge set if we get a spare moment.

They've asked for documents detailing savings, mortgage payments etc.as these will go a long way to proving how disabled I am.
I'll probably give them my phone bill and a copy of my teenage diary from when I was at school.
I might let them have my Observer's Guide to Horses & Ponies as well.
A tribunal requires 'evidence' according to their letter, and I intend to be heavily laden with paper.
They're bound to like that.

HEIGH HO/HI HO, IT'S OFF TO WORK WE GO.....

Had quite a problem with the title of this one.
Wikipedia is down due to some sort of industrial action, probably because of unionised Trots whingeing about their pensions, or freedom of speech.
Managed to Google 'Heigh Ho' and 'Hi Ho', and spent the past three hours counting the amount of results.
I think it's fair to say that 'Heigh Ho' is used by those of us who went to school, and 'Hi Ho' is used by the work-shy YouTube generation.
I will be using 'Heigh Ho' (over 3 million search results) forthwith.

I was at dinner with a bright young filly last year, who managed to persuade me that I should 'appeal' Personal Adviser Lowestoft-John's decision that I was 'fit for work'. It was fairly obvious that this young lady was a pinko, and that she'd never read any other paper than The Guardian in her life, but I gave it some thought whilst ogling her ample cleavage, and thought; if I don't test their capabilities, how can they test mine?

I'd heard several horror stories about people appealing, and subsequently dying, but I wasn't ready to shuffle any coils just yet; not with the prospect of Lowestoft-John finding me a suitable position as a wine-taster/food critic within the year.

So 'appeal' I did, and imagine my delight at receiving an incredibly prompt reply yesterday, from those DWP lackeys Atos, on the very day Dave, IDS and Ed Millitant were discussing the Welfare Reform Bill.
I left the weighty package unopened whilst I caught up on world news with the Mail Online.
Couldn't help feeling rather sorry for old friends Brigadier Giles Rowntree and Lieutenant-Colonel Crawley having to take early retirement, mainly due to that do-gooding Lumley woman. I suppose they'll still direct the odd military campaign from their conservatories in OxShott or Bagshot or wherever it is? (It's not Aldershot - marvellous town now overrun by unemployed Nepalese - terrible business).

So after my mid-morning G&T, I nervously embarked on reading the missive from JobCentrePlus in Belfast, hoping upon hope that they wouldn't put me back on the sick-pay.
I needn't have worried.
My Approved Disabilty Analyst Lesley had found me more than capable for work "and cannot see any reason to change the original decision given".
Luckily I hadn't really given them any reasons.
I listed my medications, attached a letter from my GP, explained how I can always be a little stiff on certain mornings (but this did not stop me enjoying fine wines & restaurant food!)and how I was hopeful that Lowestoft-John would find me a suitable employer very soon.

The rather sad news was that they had now moved the goalposts with regard to when I could start work.
Lesley said "I advise that a return to work could be considered within 18months".
This disappointed me somewhat.
It's obvious that I won't be considered for the Olympic Long-Jump judge now.
I'm unlikely to get the horse-groom job at Her Majesty's Diamond Jubbly celebrations neither.

The 33 page 'findings' (what is it with the Public Sector and trees?) did however highlight things that weren't wrong with me, and I found this reassuring coming from a designated government official.

I AM NOT likely to die within 6 months due to my chronic illness.
As I am male, pregnancy is NOT relevant.
I do NOT have a stoma, or serious problems with evacuating or voiding my bladder or bowels.
And I do NOT have a cognitive impairment or mental disorder that could lead to aggression in the workplace, or have difficulty in chewing or swallowing independently.

With that clean bill of health, I began my letters of application (cc;d of course to Lowestoft-John!).
I started with "Dear Mr Worrall-Thompson......"

R.I.P KIM

Father rang.
Turns out they've increased his Winter Fuel Payment, despite his persistent asking that they didn't.
His argument is that anyone geographically below the M4 motorway requires less heat than that grim northern lot, primarily due to lower winter temperatures, but more specifically due to voting choice.
The WFP was not something we voted for.
Blair and his chamois-socialist lot brought that little sweetener in, and a fat lot of good it did them!

Father has received countless Xmas cards from ex-members of the 49th Armoured Division this year, and it transpires that they also have had an increase in their WFP, despite living it up in Nicosia & Gib!
Tommo, Degsy, Trev and Barry have all agreed to pool their payments, and stick on a bally big beach party around the time of the next General Election.

I too received my annual £10 Xmas bonus from the DWP, but couldn't find anything in Waitrose for under a ruddy tenner, so I sunk a few shandies in the British Legion, and wrote a stern letter to IDS.

The way I see it (and I'm sure Pa would agree), with Iran getting all defensive over its natural resources, and this new fella in charge of what was quite a well organised bunch of Korean chaps, I couldn't help think that if all 2million of us on ESA gave our tenner back to HMG, we could invest in a early warning system, or at least a small tank?
We are all in this together, but it would appear that some of us are a little more privileged than others, at this special time of year.
Crack-dealers & Greggs must be rubbing their hands with glee.

Glad to see Dave is bringing marriage back into fashion.
'Moral neutrality or passive tolerance' won't get this constipated economy running again.
A bloody big bible in every school might do the job though!
Very much looking forward to the Compulsory Church Attendance Bill next spring.

Still no word from Lowestoft John, my Personal Adviser.
Probably has a month off over Xmas to work out how much more pension he's going to get (less WFP and Xmas bonus).

And RIP Kim.
At least you had the decency to go at a sensible age, like most Great Leaders.
No one likes a drain on the state.
There's only so much golf a pensioner can play.

Happy New Year Dwile Flonkers.

IT'S TIME FOR PARTITION

Let's not beat about the ruddy bush on this one.
If that olive-dunking, student-sucking, snivelling little trot Clegg wants a fight, he's got one after that outburst.
He's only 'deputy' prime minister because Red Ed & Blue Balls' party split the vote, and if he wants to be part of a Europe that's going down the lavatory quicker than the knickers on an X Factor girl-band, then lets draw some lines of demarcation shall we?

I propose a border wall around Greater London & the Home Counties, with a patrolled exit corridor stretching as far as Hunstanton, and stop-off points at Walberswick & Burnham Market(school holidays only).
Clegg and his short-sighted, Lavazza-loving cronies can have the rest.
While he's there he can have all the EU migrant workers, the long-term sick, the work-shy and the whole of the BBC.

There's no point just being nice in politics; it doesn't work.
If Margaret had been a nice guy, the Falkland Islanders would all be speaking Spanish now, and Lord Carrington would have his own prime-time TV show.

We can't let the kids have subsidised schooling.
Before you know it, the Canadians & Australians will all want to pay for their Creative Writing degrees without even attending our proud ex-polytechnics.

And we must veto the Europeans.
I can't believe we still think a shoddy currency and a Brussels expensefest is a good idea!?
I mean, what is the POINT of Nick Clegg?
And what is the point of being 'in' the EU?
If some of the great British population want to be led by a Gaul, yet run by a pinko, let them have their own bally republic.
Meanwhile, hard working, morally astute, indigenous types can be free (after all, that is surely the point of a democracy?) to spend our money, save our economy, drive our cars and holiday in Suffolk, without worrying about a bunch of Bubbles and Paddies who can't control their own purse strings.

I say we should have a referendum on partition.
Get Boris onto it.
And the sooner the better..........