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.

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

SAD NEWS

I lost Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) today.

Those cheat-geeks at the DWP have decided I won't be able to work any more.
The dream is over.
As a consequence, I lose the services of my Personal Adviser (Lowestoft John) and I receive a dole-scrounging payment called 'Support' every bally month from here on in.

I have to say I'll miss Lowestoft John (my ex- Personal Adviser).
For a public-sector pinko he had a good sense of what was possible.
John had vision.

He could see I didn't want to stack shelves, or worse still, lie around watching How Much Is My Attic Worth, eating Greggs burgers and jacking up crack.
No. John was a ruddy good fellow.

I shall miss him.

TIME TO SIEGE THE EMBASSY

Now I don't want to get into the legal differences between squatters' rights and political asylum, but if our 'boys in blue' are now allowed to evict the unwashed & feckless from empty unwanted properties, surely they can arrest known criminals that are camping out on working embassies' floors?

I never had much time for the Ecuadorians myself.
Funny bunch.
Never really forgave them for 1979.

But just last Tuesday, on speaking to my friend Captain Vaughan Lockhart-Smith of Ellingham (lets call him Pinky), he told me house prices have plummeted since the antipodean chose a Baby Belling and a floor-mat, over one of Suffolk's finest stately homes.

Assange may be a cad in the sack, and he jolly well is an enemy to Western governments' security, but when the Aussies start fiddling with our finances in our own backyards, I think it's time we ruddy well called out the SAS!

Still, I suppose we at least have Claudia 'Get Orf My Land' Schiffer to keep the natives away.

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).

IT WAS EXPLOITATION THAT BUILT US AN EMPIRE.

I'm absolutely livid with the state of the UK economy.
It would appear that some of our finest British institutions are making huge staff-cutbacks, whilst the seemingly neverending dole queue gets larger & larger, thus creating further queues of job-shirkers, trying to get Daytime Double-Deals.

Tried to book a mid-week, midday table last week, at Prezzos, Zizzis and WagaMaMas, and all were fully booked.
Couldn't even get a table at Nando's, and this was on the 13th of February, not the special day itself.
Ended up watching War Horse for a 3rd time, but I let Mrs.Mac have a cheesy dip with her nachos on this one occasion.

So it would appear we're going to go the way of the wops & Frogs, and have our Amateur Athletics Association ratings reduced.
Good riddance I say.
The sooner the Chinese get over here and re-instate National Service, the better.

Meanwhile, all the twittering dogshit-steppers are up in arms about Mandatory Work Activity. If they all stopped gazing into their eye-phones and watched where they're heading, they'd see that a bit of unpaid work could well be the bally tonic this septic isle is in need of.
Tesco are offering free uniforms and a potential career path for the feckless, and all the couch potato copy & pasters can do, is bleat to each other about so-called unfairness and unwarranted exploitation.

And I see the pinkos at Waterstones & Sainsbury's are distancing themselves from this brave move by Dave?
It's a 'workfare' scheme.
No one said anything about 'work-fair' schemes.
The DFS sale is over.
Your Moonpig app is worthless.
It's time to get your fingers out.
(I certainly won't be buying any of Jammy Oliver's Taste Your Differences Butternut Squash Risotto + Fresh Rocket for a while, that's for sure).

Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) has assured me that my inability to stand for any length of time, and my sporadic inability to lift anything, will not discount me from this new initiative.
I'm in one of IDS' DWP WRAGs, so I'm more than capable of having an equal chance with the unwashed.
It would appear that a lot of the bad-back brigade give up workfare within the first thirteen weeks (probably nipping back to mum & dads' in Poland for a handout!) thus creating even more career opportunities for those of us who actually want to work.

The problem with these million-or-so benefit scrounging kids is that they don't understand the concept of austerity.
Not all of us can be fashion designers or social-media experts.
Some of us are foot-soldiers.
An army marches on its stomach, and an apple a day can certainly make a man(or woman) of everyone.
And if Tesco go down the Swanee, it won't be just the Finest apples we'll be missing.
I think there's a fair chance that Value pet insurance and Clubcard deals will suffer too.

I think I'm going to try and excel at trolley-collecting.
Every Tom Dick or Mary is going to want to stack shelves, or be the Deputy Manager, so I might try my hand at more niche skills.
I hope I get a name badge.

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.