Old Long Since

I had an email from my old friend, Maxine, a few days ago. I didn't even know she was on-line. We used to be in a band together, only a handful of gigs, but it was fun while it lasted.

Once, when we were very drunk - which was not that unusual at the time - she told me about her first lover, Samantha. Maxine was living in London, Hampstead to be precise, when she met Samantha. As they were both living with their parents at the time, there wasn't really a place for them to get together. So they used to take a couple of bottles of cider into the cemetery when it got dark.

Anyway, Max told me about this one particular night when she was particularly drunk and... well... she couldn't respond when Sam went down on her. No matter how long, or how hard Sam tried, Max just could not come. What made it worse was that it was their final night together, they were off to different universities the next day (well, Max was on her way to Wolverhampton Poly - which is how we met, but that is another story - and Sam was off to Kent University). They had promised to keep in touch, but deep down they knew they would grow away from each other.

Whether it was the drink, or the anxiety of separation, or a combination of both Max did not know. But she told me how frantic Sam got, how desperately she tried, how urgently she wanted, maybe even needed, to get Max to come.

Eventually, Max had to get up from the grave she was lying on. She told a now-tearful Sam that it just wasn't working, she was sorry; it was her own fault and all that. But Sam just couldn't accept it and ran off crying into the dark. It was the last time Max saw Sam for a long, long time. Max said that she was so sore, from where Sam had been nibbling at her labia, that she could hardly walk for two days afterwards and couldn't wear her favourite tight jeans for nearly a whole week.

So, when Max told me about this story it was very late at night, we were both drunk and we were in a band together. So what happened next was almost inevitable - we wrote a song about it.

The song was probably the best we had ever written, but unfortunately the band broke up not long after - mainly out of frustration at not getting anywhere, I suppose. Not long after that Max split - she was always restless - and disappeared on her travels.

So, it has been almost thirty years since we last met. She is back, living in Hampstead with a new lover - Jane - and she wants me to go down and visit her in May. She said, in the email, that she wants to show me the actual grave where that incident with Sam took place. In fact, she has sent me directions on how to get to that specific grave, and that is where we are going to meet. Of course, I am going, taking my guitar along, and we will probably get drunk again and - almost inevitably - we will sing that song again together.

So, I'll meet Max by graves when it is spring again and we'll sing again of her chewed lips from Hampstead Sam.

Serving Suggestion

Well, think of a number.

Done that?

Good.

Now forget it again.

Instigate an inquiry into seven apricots.

Think of an aardvark.

Colour it purple and call it Nigel.

Venerate your spatula.

Now, once you have all the ingredients in the bowl, mix them well and then leave to marinate in a cool place - preferably a fridge - for several hours, ideally overnight, or at least until after the 10 o’clock News and weather forecast.

Then marinate the apricots with the mixture and pour it into a serving bowl next to Nigel the purple aardvark, garnish with any old booklet of Four-Figure Logarithmic Tables you may have available.

Once all that is done, you can then go on to think about a desert. I suggest either the Gobi or the Sahara. However, be careful about thinking about it too much, or you may end up with a severe bout of the camels and that is no way to end an evening.

The only thing then left to do is to think about doing the washing-up.

Once you feel you have thought about it long enough, decide to leave it for the morning and go to bed, not forgetting - of course - to say 'good night,' to Nigel.

The Dead Government Sketch

 

A reader (Mr. Praline) enters an opinion poll.

Mr. Praline:   'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.

(The pollster does not respond.)

Mr. Praline:   'Ello, Miss?

Pollster:       What do you mean, "miss"?

Mr. Praline:   I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!

Pollster:       We're closin' for lunch.

Mr. Praline:   Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about this government what I voted for over a decade or so ago in this very boutique.

Pollster:        Oh yes, the, uh, the Labour government...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?

Mr. Praline:    I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. It's dead, that's what's wrong with it!

Pollster:         No, no, It's uh,... It’s resting.

Mr. Praline:    Look, matey, I know a dead government when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.

Pollster:         No, no, it's not dead, he's, it's restin'! Remarkable government, the Labour government, in'it, ay? Beautiful policies!

Mr. Praline:    The policies don't enter into it. It's stone dead.

Pollster:         Nononono, no, no! It's resting!

Mr. Praline:    All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up! (shouting at the computer) 'Ello, Mister Labour government! I've got a lovely new electoral mandate for you if you show...

(Pollster hits the government benches)

Pollster:        There, a new policy!

Mr. Praline:    No, it isn't, that was you hitting the Houses of Parliament!

Pollster:         I never!!

Mr. Praline:    Yes, you did!

Pollster:         I never, never did anything...

Mr. Praline: (yelling and hitting the government benches repeatedly)      'ELLO LABOUR GOVERNMENT!!!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!

(Mr. Praline takes the Prime minister out from number 10 Downing Street and thumps him on the counter. Throws the PM up in the air and watches him fall to the floor.)

Mr. Praline:      Now that's what I call a dead government.

Pollster:          No, no..... No, it's stunned!

Mr. Praline:      STUNNED?!?

Pollster:          Yeah! You stunned it, just as it was formulating a policy' again! Labour governments stun easily, major.

Mr. Praline:       Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That government is definitely deceased, and when I voted for it at the last election, you assured me that its total lack of new ideas was due to it bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged period of governmental incompetence.

Pollster:          Well, it's...it's, ah...probably pining for Tony Blair.

Mr. Praline:      PININ' for TONY BLAIR?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that? Look, why did it fall back on its outworn notions of class conflict the moment I got it home?

Pollster:          The Labour government prefers fighting a class war! Remarkable government, init, squire? Lovely polices!

Mr. Praline:      Look, I took the liberty of examining that government when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its government benches in the first place was that it had been NAILED there.

(pause)

Pollster:        Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed that government down, it would have nuzzled up to those opposition benches, bent 'em apart with its electoral majority, and VOOM! Feeweeweewee!

Mr. Praline:    "VOOM"?!? Mate, this government wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through it! it's bleedin' demised!

Pollster:         No no! it's pining!

Mr. Praline:     It's not pinin'! it's passed on! This government is no more! It has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to meet its maker! It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed it to the House of Commons, it'd be pushing up the daisies! Its metabolic processes are now 'istory! It's off the twig! It's kicked the bucket, It's shuffled off its mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!! THIS IS AN EX-GOVERNMENT!!

(pause)

Pollster:        Well, I'd better replace it, then. (he takes a quick peek at the latest opinion polls) Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the political parties, and uh, we're right out of credible governments.

Mr. Praline:    I see. I see, I get the picture.

Pollster:         I got a new government from the Conservative party.

(pause)

Mr. Praline:      Pray, is there any chance they will be any better at running the country?

Pollster:           Nnnnot really.

Mr. Praline:       WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?

Pollster:           N-no, I guess not. (gets ashamed, looks at his feet)

Mr. Praline:      Well.

(pause)

Pollster: (quietly)  D'you.... d'you want to not bother voting for any of the worthless bastards at all then?

Mr. Praline: (looks around)   Yeah, all right, sure.

(My sincere apologies to the Monty Python team)

‘Special Spot’ Does Not Exist Say Researchers

According to some recent research, the elusive ‘P Spot’ that makes people interested in politics doesn’t seem to exist in any normal human being.

The researchers believe that any interest in politics may be a figment of people’s imaginations, egged on by TV, Radio and other media, seemingly constantly fascinated by even the most tedious minutiae of politics.

However, the BBC’s Political Editor said, from his kennel outside 10 Downing Street:

These researchers seem to have totally discounted and ignored people like MPs, their researchers, policy wonks, journalists and –even – me. People who seem to get orgasmically excited over the sub-sections in the small print of policy documents, that seem to leave the rest of the population totally cold and indifferent. The only time normal people notice politics is when the MPS do something so egregious it is impossible to ignore, like the recent expense scandal, or John Major playing hide the salami with Edwina Currie.

Sometimes, I think there must be people out there with no interest in politics at all… and they call me sad.

As a man in grubby raincoat in a nearby Westminster Political bookshop – who bore an uncanny resemblance to William Hague - said:

Politics has been getting me hot for as long as I can remember, here take a look at the manifestoes on her, aren’t they sexy?

However, as a ‘P Spot’ researcher said:

We had half a dozen test subjects at a time watch the BBC Parliament channel for an hour, but there wasn’t even the slightest glimmer of interest, even when the MPs were discussing the EU. In fact we had to give several of the test subjects repeated electric shocks to their genitalia just to keep them awake after the first 3 minutes.

UK Government To Introduce Body Scanners

The UK government announced yesterday that it will introduce full-body scanners at every polling station in the country in time for the forthcoming election.

A spokesman for the government commented:

There is a very serious danger that in the upcoming election our country’s polling booths could by attack by terrorist voters from the Al-Conservative and Taliberal organisations, determine to bring about the downfall of this, The People’s Government.

This is the most popular government in British history – at least to those of us who work for it – and, consequently, we will not allow these terrorist voters to bring about its destruction. We would also like to make sure that our voters, once they are allowed into the polling station do not have their worldview blown apart by voters for these dissident organisations, which could easily bring our own core voters back down to earth with a very nasty bump indeed.

A spokesman for the government contractor who supplied these machines broke off from counting his money long enough to explain how they work:

These scanners should be able to detect the tell-tale signs of someone likely to vote Conservative as they will have the haggard hangdog look of someone haunted by the fact that over half their salary is pissed away by the Labour government on Lesbian Senior-Citizen Lumberjack Diversity Equality Paedophile Awareness co-ordinators.

It can also pick up the subtle odour of privilege, detect a public school accent (although, not one pretending to be working class as that would denote a valid Labour voter, which it would let through, twice), it also has a camera to discover any of the subtle signs that the person being scanned has recently been fox hunting. It is also programmed to reveal any sign of sexual arousal as it flashes several pictures of Margaret Thatcher in front of the test subject’s eyes.

They should also be able to pick up signs of the sandals and beards and the telltale odour of lentils from any liberal voter too. Although, to be honest, there are so few of them about it is almost impossible for us to calibrate the machines to detect all both of them.

Wild Fowl With An Integral Sound System

Back when we early-adapters first applied audio devices to our hand-cranked semi-marmaladed swans people thought us a bit… shall we say eccentric?

Yes, let's say that.

Nowadays, of course, it is almost impossible to purchase any form of wild fowl without an integral sound system, some with room for a playlist of several thousand songs (or nearly half a movement from a Bruckner symphony at a decent bit-rate).

Not only that, it is rumoured that soon the Tattijunk Corporation of Korea is working on a lemon curd mallard duck with full colour high definition TV capability. If successful, this will give reality TV addicts the capability to watch celebrity status-seeking slappers getting their tops off anywhere and at any time from the bus stop to the take away without having to lose sight of the TV for even one second of their slowly ossifying purposeless existence.

Technological progress means that it is now possible to almost completely ignore one's immediate environment, with personal stereos for the ears, hand held TVs for the eyes, mobile phones for the mouth and - for those strong of stomach - the smell of recently-purchased take-away for the nose. So, with the possibility of complete-immersion virtual reality edging close and closer, soon it may be possible to do away with mundane reality altogether, and completely immerse oneself in a completely self-created environment free from all the awkward inconveniences of the outside world. A world that stubbornly refuses to acknowledge just how important we feel we ought to be to it, treating us with scant regard, if not absolute indifference.

So, now, with portable lap dogs with integral kebab-sized microwaves and porpoises with underwater TV facility on the horizon, it seems that total cyberisation of the human race is now a distinct possibility for us all, providing we can get the batteries, that is.

Labour Attempting Record-Breaking Election Defeat

In a clear sign that the Labour party has given up all hope of winning the forthcoming election, and – instead – has adopted the strategy of trying to achieve the worst-ever poll showing in recorded history, they have apparently appointed Harriet Harman to ‘front’ their campaign.

[Hatstand Harridan]

Strategists believe that Ms Harman’s general election presence could prove important in seriously pissing off both women and middle England, two groups who are, they believe, already completely resistant to any attempt by Gordon Brown to piss them off any more than he already has done. They believe that Harridan’s patronising attitude and complete unawareness of how ordinary women live their lives should be enough to make sure only the most seriously loopy left-wing tribalists, who are still deluded enough to believe that Hatstand Harriman’s ‘diversity agenda’ actually helps – rather than , as evidence shows, completely screws up – people’s lives - will still vote Labour.

This marks a change in strategy by the Labour party, who - when all hope of winning the election was lost – were seriously considering using Lord Dastardly of Foy to piss off both floating voters and their own core vote, as private Labour party polls show that it is only political journalists who can bear to be in the same room as him, and then because – in most cases - the Dark Lord of Foy has let them know he still has the negatives.

[Lord Dastardly of Foy]

As a Labour party spokeswoman said:

Even a cursory glance at the political history of the 20^th century will show that all Labour governments have been a total disaster, and that the consequent election losses have always been quite spectacular. However, when the Conservatives lost so spectacularly to Del-Boy Blair in 1997 we promised ourselves – and we now promise the people of this country – that our inevitable forthcoming defeat will be far more stunning than anything the Evil Tories have ever managed, thereby putting the Labour party back in its rightful place as the producer of the biggest disasters in British government, and –considering the stiff competition for that honour put up by the other parties – it is a record that we in - what will soon be the former - Labour government, if all goes to plan, can be more than justly proud.

Anyway, over the next few months, we in what we hope will be the last Labour government in history, are going to devote our remaining time in office to totally screwing up everything we haven’t managed to already destroy completely yet.

We plan to create the biggest cock-up in the history of British governments, something that will make the Rail Privatisation of the Major government’s last days in office look like a very well organised piss-up in a brewery.