REDS UNDER THE SHED

The X5 is in for a full scrub & body wax, so I journeyed to see Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) via public transport, and I'd just like to say what a marvellous job Abellio trains have made of First Class these days.
Bravo Abellio!

I was late arriving at the station, so their punctuality met mine within a millisecond.
A whole carriage to myself, and free coffee from a smashing young orange-coloured lady made the journey as painless as a trip to a private dentist.
The only poor moment was when a drainpipe-clad youth embarked at Oulton Broad, looking like a demob Elvis in Springbok training shoes, and proceeded to spread his hate-filled media rag all over our cubicle!
I have never read The Guardian, but I couldn't believe my eyes when I read some of the headlines.
It's an incredibly worrying sight to see such hate-filled filth written about the newly elected 45th President of the Unites States of America & the British Empire.
I was appalled at the way they were castigating this democratically elected businessman.
Our cousins over the pond have always had a special relationship with our imperial Queendom, so to accuse this hard-working and sincere everyman of somehow creating a maelstrom of ill-feeling was nothing short of leftist bleating and pinko sour grapes.
They'll be saying the Glorious Referendum was undemocratic next!

Mister Trump won fair & square.
The people of America have spoken.
They clearly wanted the best man to win, and the worst woman to lose.
I for one have every faith in Mister Trump, and only ask him to remember that NATO is a collective of like-minded freedom fighters, some with Great British Army excellence. others with a sort of flaky dependence, but ALL with a message for the Chinese, Ruskies, North Careerists and Argentina - Britannia rules the waves - you lot stick to your dim sum and corned beef!

The Bolshevik Bulletin continued to moan about Donald's proposed 'Fajita-Fence', but I didn't see anyone complaining about Mister Arbuthnot at No.64's continuous row of leylandii.
They accused Trump of being homophobic, when I for one know he is a red-blooded hedgerow sexual, because I've seen the pictures of his girlfriends in the Mail Online.
And one of the lefty liberal luvvies even had the audacity to write a piece implying that Donald J was against Obamacare!
What the last president chooses to do with his retirement is of no concern to them.
If Mister Barracks wants to work as a nurse for the elderly, I say we should let him.

The limp-quiffed Showaddywaddy body left his libelous leaflet on the seat next to me at Lowestoft, so I scooped it up and retained it for the rat poison bedding underneath Allotment Alan's shed.
This sort of doctrinal slander is nothing short of communist propaganda.
I shall be writing a very stern letter to the Telegraph as soon as I've attended my work-related support group interview at Northrop Grumman.

God bless America.
God save the Queen.
In Democracy we trust.

MODERN LANGUAGES

They say all good things must come to an end.
Today, myself & Mrs. Mac said goodbye to the Amstrad 464.
And if we're perfectly honest, we say 'Good riddance'.
There was nothing 'good' about this old word-processing behemoth, but it outlasted the Ford Cortina; and apart from Cursor-gate in 1992, it did the job we expected of it.
We tried contacting Amstrad with regard to the warranty they supplied us during that long hot Littlewoods Cup summer, but no-one answered the telephone.
I personally think that if Mr.Sugar has any designs on being the President of Europe, he'd better buck his bally ideas up and get himself an apprentice secretary or receptionist.
There was nothing for it.
If I were to continue with my quest to make Britain great again, I would have to visit Rumbelows and purchase a new mainframe.

Enter stage left - Jack. The eldest grandson, and recently ejected from our 'legacy pot' for a willful impersonation of that idiot Russell Brand.
There's no excuse for unruly hair, and the only men who should wear make-up are combat soldiers in camouflage.
(The less we say about the jewellery the better).
But it was Jack that had the Wellington College education and the criminal record for internet-trolling, so it was he that we turned to in our hour of need.
After deconstructing a series of grunts spewing from our landline, we were of the opinion that he thought we both needed tablets.
Mrs.Mac has a daily dose of forgiving HRT to stop her from soaking the bri-nylon sheets of a summer's evening, but I have never taken so much as an aspirin in my life so far, not even when Allotment Alan had a 'mixed bag of  Mitsubishi speckles' at the British Legion Christmas Party.
A tablet it transpires, is like a very large eye-phone.
Imagine an Etch-a-Sketch with no dials, but a touch-sensitive screen like the ones you find in a GP's waiting room.
Too big for your pocket, but too ruddy small for anyone with normal eyesight! ROLF.

Mrs.Mac had heard one of the cleaning ladies at the Con Club talking about kindling, huddling and Sir Jeremy Clarkson, and I thought she was off to blasted Glastonbury (again!) until she explained it was technically a digital library without any decent reference books, and a noticeable lack of date-stamps.
I told her that we must have one installed immediately, as the latest Len Deighton was in Waterstones, and I wasn't going to pay their latte'-drenched, beatnik, pinko, shop girls any more of my hard-earned civil service pension than was necessary.

It arrived last Thursday.
We are still unsure of how we switch it on, so Jack has become a regular feature in our lives, and Mrs.Mac thinks we should swap him for Sophie when it comes to disseminating the will.

This is what we have learned so far.
I have tried to detail it as much as possible, as I'm sure some of you will be in the heart of the digi-darkness.
The times are changing rather rapidly.
Thanks the heavens for Her Majesty.
And British manufactured weapons.

Assumed Computer Language
(Learnt not taught):

The little round chap with the sticky-out straight bit denotes the Off/On Switch.
Why it can't say 'On' in the Queen's ruddy English I do not know!?!?
It looks like what we used to call at school 'A Japanese Person's Eye'.

The lampshade on its side is not in fact anything to do with light.
It is sound.
Looking like a drunk space-rocket re-entry craft, the brackets denote whether it is increased volume you require (or the opposite).
The fact there are two brackets means 'more'.
One bracket means 'less'.
Why it can't say 'Up' or 'Down', once again in the lingua franca of this great British isle, I do not know?
The single cell Ever Ready battery is an indication of how much power the computer has.
PLEASE do not try & insert a single cell battery into the back of your computer! 
Mrs.Mac has 'unenabled' our ability to ever have an iTunes baby, even if we knew what one was.

The spanner is for people like Jack.
We are advised never to click on the spanner.
He also advises we ignore the circle with six cuboid dots in it.
He doesn't explain why?

The shield with a a heraldic harlequin print has absolutely nothing to do with the royal court, vexillology nor armourial bearings.
Jack has advised us not to click on this either.
We have put stickers on the TV screen.

The upside-down lampshade is also nothing to do with light.
Or sound.
It indicates whether or not we are getting a 'good package' from Great British Telecommunications?
Jack insisted we looked at some virgins.
I told him we were past those days.

The diagonal lampshade in the corner of an empty box has absolutely nothing to do with microwaves.
Supper was late.
Again.

We have yet to deal with the suitcase with the black triangle, the unlocked padlock, the big blue F, the big G, the clapperboard, the little white bird on a blue background, the little blue bird, the envelope, the satchel and what can only be described as a logo for the progressive alliance of those Bolshevik idiots in the Green Party, the Labour and the Libertine Demagogues.
Jack says it's something to do with Goggle, but I refuse to watch Channel 4.

There's absolutely no indication as how to access the typewriter, but some infuriating reason, every time I go to type, the screen fills with a cartoon keyboard.
Then it disappears again.

It's probably a design fault, but I see from the underside of the television screen that some of the parts were manufactured in the Far East.
There's just no morality anymore.

God save the Queen!
Bring Back the Galaxy Counters giraffe!
And ration-books.

WORK RELATED ACTIVIA

Felt I better dip back in before Larry Grayson gets to run Great Britain, and we're all sucking minestrone through the Eurotunnel on a formaldehyde bed made of chintzy pottery.
Shut that door and bolt it by all means.
Put up a ruddy great wall as well!
But if poofters in wigs & dresses start telling our democratically-elected GCHQ how to run this disunited kingdom of ours, what hope have we got when it comes to restoring parliamentary sovereignty?
The people demanded we were back in control.
The people have spoken.

Call Me Dave's definitive victory over those bearded Trots in opposition was a rallying cry to all of those who had parents who fought a war (then gave birth) to keep us free from the tyranny of fascism and stinky cheese.
And now the Iron Lady is back, to ensure we rightly take control of what is ours, was always ours, and will eventually be ours, once we've ascertained what exactly it really is?

Bravo to Nigel and Iain 'Peace Be Upon Him' DS.
Sterling work by Govey.
And I have to say, I thought Gidiot was one of those neo-liberal centrists for a bit.
But it turns out, he's just like his father!
So.
Jolly good show all round.
(Mrs.Mac says you have to start sentences with 'So' now, otherwise the Under 35's can't understand you).

I truly believe that if we can get President Trump's Fajita-Fence to circumnavigate the non-Rio dagoes, and throw up a barrier between Buenos Arses and Port Stanley, we're only two corned beef tins short of a brand new British Empire.

http://yannymac-dwileflonker.blogspot.com/2013/03/hands-off-our-mineral-deposits-mrsargy.html

So.
Good times ahead.
Bit disappointed with those who decided to jump ship with the pinkos in June.
Felt Branson would've been more patriotic, what with all that tax he doesn't pay.
A beard hides a multitude of sins.
And I couldn't for the life of me understand why Wiff-Waff Cumberbatch's eldest chose to bat for the Johnnies??
I thought after Her Royal Highness the Queen of the Commonwealth & the United Kingdom of GB & N.I. gave him that CBE he'd be a betting certainty for a place in the first XV, a landed-peerage in Dorset and an eleventh series of Sherlock?
Let that be a lesson to any luvvies out there - Don't play colonial wikipeadophiles.
They're just trying to bring attention to themselves.

So.
The real reason I called was to say how delighted I am that this new chap Damian 'Peace Also Be Upon Him' Green has managed to finally get me back off the feckless gravy boat, and back into the coalface; albeit without any coal, but with the promise of a career in the Independent Contractor Short Term Engagement sector.

Apparently Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) will be called upon to display all of his talents at DWP JC+, and find me and the other 'boys that I meet down on the line'
( LOLL!! ! # -(:; smiling face - hashtag )
worthwhile jobs in the newly booming post-Brexit/pre-Brexit economy.I toyed with applying for a banker's position, but when I realised there were more than two banks to choose from, I had a nosebleed and panicked with indecision.


So.
I've decided to apply for the post of Leader of the Opposition.
If there is one?
Damo says if the ESA Support Group don't go for auditions, all of that lottery money they've been splurging on the soap-dodgers will have to be withdrawn through sanctioning.
I'm massively in favour as you know.

http://yannymac-dwileflonker.blogspot.com/2012/02/we-are-nothing-without-our-banks.html

Zoinking oiks (along with badger-baiting) are well known rural pastimes, and if Mrs Merkin and the Belgiums want to stop us from smoking ferret pelts, as well as denying us a good old pint of two-star petrol, then I say bring back the 8 day week.
(And abolish the weekend).
The sheep-shirkers have had it their way for far too long!
Tax credits and Simon Cowell do not make for an imperial nation.

Now all I have to do is get old Abbot-snatcher off the pot, destroy the multi-party electoral system, recapture Calais, trigger Particle 50 and run for leader of UKIP.
Tally-ho!

I wonder if they'll reimburse my expenses?
Those fine chaps at ATOS did.

God save the Queen.
And bring back compulsory boarding school for the Under 5's.

THE FALLACY OF EXHAUSTIVE HYPOTHESES

Apologies for the delay in bloggering chaps.
This whole kerfuffle with St. Iain 'Peace Be Upon Him' Duncan Smith has left rather a sour taste in my mortgaged-up mouth, and Mrs.Mac is beside herself over who will win Top Gear.
Needless to say, the fellow that's taken over at DWP HQ appears to be cut from the same cloth-cap as St.Iain, and it's more of the same for Broken British Benefit Bolsheviks & Their Gypsy Wedding Council Houses.

Stick them in the ruddy army I say!
That'll sort the tweets from the chavs!

Anyhoo.
On to this bally Referendum thingamajig.
I was terribly undecided for a while.
Far too much choice.
When Jeremiah Corbine stuck his trotty little snout into the mix, I was very much in favour of going all-out with Rupert, Bernard and Bojo.
But when I saw that David & Gideon had plans for a Google-Airbus sponsored European Super Army,
AND they were going to sell-off our failing NHS to the Yanks, I must say I was torn like Imbruglia.

Luckily Mrs. Mac wants nothing to do with the whole shebang, favouring the Rosberg/Hamilton dichotomy over central party policy.
Therefore I shall take her proxy vote from her Chablis-stained trotters, and have two stabs at voting myself.

I'm thinking I will stick one in the back of the Euro Soccer net and go all out with Nicky Morgan and the Remain lot.
But I shall also move heaven & earth and the Isle of Wight to a more defensive position in the mid-Atlantic, and join Nigel & Govey for a damn good Leave vote as well.
Win/Win.
Job's a good 'un!

God save the Queen!

GOD SAVE THE KING!

Phew!
For a moment I began to think the bally Trots were going to mount a coup!

Normal service is resumed.

God save King Dave.
And IDS (Peace Be Upon Him).

I've got five years to extend that ruddy conservatory, or Mrs.Mac won't be getting that second home in Walberswick.
Time to phone Bagshot Russell (My financial advisor).
Might need to cash-in that extra pension.
Shame.
I was hoping to invest it in a mobility-copter for Glyndebourne or Glasto.

THE PROBLEM WITH TRUMPTONSHIRE (AND IN PARTICULAR, CAMBERWICK GREEN)

It would appear rather obvious to anyone who cares, that in order to reduce the deficit and maintain a robust economy, we need to cut public services.

Now, I'm all for a regular bus timetable.
Without concise timings, and rigid punctuality, the hard-fought plans of IDS (Peace Be Upon Him) would be nothing more than an exercise in redeployment.
We need workers, of course we do.
Our banks and retailers will not grow exponentially, if we don't feed them a healthy dose of human misery.

But I will not stand idly by, and watch millions of our Great British Pounds, wash away down the drains of the public sector.
In order to reduce the deficit and maintain a robust economy, we need to invest in stocks & shares, ensure everyone over 65 has a healthy mortgage, and stop spending our money on Johnny Foreigner, the feckless, the bad-back brigade and wanton single mothers.
If you're a bally bin-man, be thankful you're not in Afghanistan or The Falklands, taking on the Argies and IRIS.
If you're a teacher, enjoy your ruddy holidays, and TEACH for heaven's sake!
If you're a nurse, try & be a little more sympathetic, and make sure you can speak Her Majesty the Queen's English, before sticking anything up my bottom.

In order to reduce the deficit and maintain a robust economy, we need to be a lot more like we used to be, and a lot less like Trumpton.
Or for that matter, Chigley.

In the town of Camberwick Green there is a fire service.
Smart chaps.
Always well turned out, polished boots, shiny brass and the what-not.
But they are constantly out on-call, primarily because everything is wooden and made by traditional craftsmen, such as Chippy Minton.
And also because of cats.
Stuck up trees, stuck in trees, stuck near a tree, or caught up in a windmill.
They could improve things an awful lot if they banned cats.

The bureaucratic cretin at the Town Hall has no idea about funding (probably a bloody Trot) and he nonchalantly bank-rolls these public servants, every week, and then expects them to play music in the park bandstand every day!!!
What a complete waste of good honest taxpayers' money!
In order to reduce the deficit and maintain a robust economy we mustn't pay overtime to public sector workers.
We are not a ruddy something-for-nothing society!

And there's a whole PLATOON of soldiers at Pippin Fort.
And a drawbridge.
Instead of trundling around in an army truck (and a humpety-bumpety army truck at that) why doesn't Captain Snort teach his NCO's how to play a bally brass instrument, and relieve the overpaid & over-utilised fire service of some of their duties?

Bolsheviks I can only imagine?
And tree-huggers as well no doubt.
The army was never this incompetent under Major IDS (Peace Be Upon Him).
He knows how to motivate the idle.

So I therefore say, nay DEMAND - Bring Back National Service!

God Bless Her Majesty.
And in order to reduce the deficit and maintain a robust economy - Vote Tory.

JE SUIS MAXIMUS

Thought I'd re-join the blogosphere for a chance to express a few ruddy well chosen words or two.

Marvellous news today!
Despite a lot of nay-saying from Multi-Bland, Balls-Up and the dishonourable gentlemen opposite, it would appear that those of us on the Income Based Contribution Employment & Support Allowance Scheme do receive an annual pay increase, not so much in line with inflation, but more in recognition of austerity, and the tough times ahead.
A beautifully constructed letter from the DWP and IDS (Peace Be Upon Him) arrived this morning, informing me that as of April 2015, my fortnightly payment would rise by nearly two guineas, or two pounds & thirty pence in the new-fangled metric pinko sense.
The letter, sent from Belfast via Post Handling Site B in Wolverhampton, that acts on behalf of the Norwich, Norfolk office, out of Bury St.Edmunds (for all Lowestoft Area correspondence), did not calculate the exact pay rise percentage figure, but thanks to a free gift (a solar powered calculator) from my friends at Parker Knoll, I reckoned that it was an increase of either 4152% or 1.05%.
(I tend to favour the latter figure, as I know Dave & Georgie are getting tough on high percentages).
But even so, a sure sign that this septic isle is fast becoming an economic behemoth, in a world that quite frankly, is not what it used to be.

I can only assume that the Yanks had quite a lot to do with this.
They bailed us out in '44, kept the Commies and Johnny Foreigner from our door, and now in the shape of Maximus, they're going to put Benefit Street Britain back into work, and away from the seductive charms of Messrs Lambert, Butler & Greggs.
The chaps that masterminded the WorkFare scheme, have landed on our beaches and are ready to tackle the poor & undeserving, by nuking their culture of entitlement for the paltry sum of just £500million.

I certainly won't be missing those Froggy type blighters from ATOS.
If they can't handle some good-natured British banter, then what chance have they got re-homing our feckless young adults, all sitting at home indiscriminately shooting Prussians in Call of Candy Crush II, let alone any chance of winning the 5 Nations rugger?
As if Michael Roux and Hector's House isn't enough, they're practically running SeaLink these days! And most (if not all) are bolsheviks, with their late lunches and two-day-weeks on their minds;
when they're not smoking in cafes and leering at our women-folk.
Good riddance to the bally lot of them!
A bunch of Prosecco Charlies if you ask me.

I only hope that Lowestoft John (my Personal Advisor) can get his job back.
Myself & the chaps 'down on the line' really miss him.
Street credibility really isn't enough when you're unemployed, despite the fun that me & the lads have.
I suppose if you're a 'pub man' or a 'club man', you should make the most of every day and not let hard times stand in your way.I genuinely think it's time to give a wham (and a bam), because the benefit gang are going to pay.........

God Save The Queen.