Saturday, 20 June 2009

The run up to and complete guide to Liverpool Capital Of Custard. The Storeys behind the scenes and the life and times of Jasper Harbottle

I did it my way...says ex Chief Exec of the Custard Company Jasper Harbottle

The most accurate - ish account of the politics and intrigues around Grotty Cash's Year in the headlights as European Capital of Custard 2008. The Rise and Fall of Jasper Harbottle, Stunned Fish, the influence of Sir Diddy and Wally Bradlow's Gang. But despite them all...we got through it, thanks to Professor Phil Rednose saving the he tells everyone. Where's his bench by the way?
The Archived collection of posts is at the foot of the page. Read on and learn yerself Culture.
This is also the closure of the blog to Celebrate Capital Of Custard 2008 but fear not, you can still keep up to date with;
Professor Chucklebutty's Liverpool
Political & Cultural Chronic Calls
New for 2009 the legacy years start now!

Tuesday, 13 January 2009

Transfusion and Legacy as 2008 forced to close down due to the credibility crunch all hopes are on 2009 and the return of Brookside

By Jove Missus, it’s all over bar the shovelling! As thousands rush to throw Rednose into the canal link to celebrate the official “Transfusion.” So-called after all of the bloodsuckers and parasites that milked the year for every fluid ounce of chardonnay and hard cash they could squeeze out of it.

Oh but I am not going to be negative, that’s not like me, I am in a celebratory mood in fact I am tickled missus yes tickled by the success of our year in the headlights.

2008 European Capful of Custard. A glorious chapter in the history of Grotty Cash, that will be remembered in council tax bills for years to come. Of course I’m no longer under contract to the Custard Company to provide my in depth analysis but felt it important that I pay tribute to those who didn’t make it happen and look forward to the future. Incidentally, as my loyal readers will both be aware, I was paid off through the Sayers sponsorship with 200,000 sausage rolls, since my actual salary for this was £3.98 per entry that is a massive investment in the city’s economy of £900million pounds when you add up all the cultural visitors to Sayers in 2008.

Forget the fireworks, and the light show; the climax for me was the long awaited limerick from Reggie McCough. Although I think it was amended on the night.

As the curtain falls off on two thousand and eight
For certain, the town wants to calculate
The passing of a 125 million pounds blown
As most of the greedy outsiders have flown.
“We won the Capital of Culture prize
and on our cash they tried to capitalise
The vultures, who plucked the Liver birds
Who had no clue about music, art and words.
“City of cover-ups where truth has been slain
Melting the facts with the fiction again
We’ll slam the door shut, with a cheer that is hearty
And sing when we’re rid of the Scouse Lib Dem Party.”


Last week also saw the arrival in Liverpool of Prime minister Mr Gordon Blimey who was clearly in the mood to celebrate, having brought with him his entire drinks cabinet. They all met up in the Bad News Bar to try and get some cash out of Professor Rednose, with Andy Barmy, the Custard Secretary tasked with thinking of something to compensate Lord Brookside for the lack of a Knighthood.

The exciting announcement that our very own Lord Rednose is to head a panel of highly self important experts on very little who will decide every four years which British city can ladle itself as a city of custard was met with stifled guffaws from the assembled audience and horror by civic leaders nationally at the thought of him ever visiting.

Of course one man who wasn’t laughing, was little Wally Bradlow the leader of the council who was locked out by security on Rednose’s instructions and was left to sit alone outside on the cold step, sobbing “ I am only a simple fireman” when a cruel passer by said, “well put that out then” stubbing a cigarette out on his head.

By the way missus, for all you people who mocked the good professor for his scruffy appearance, I was shocked to recently discover that he is not a multi millionaire living in Frodsham but is in fact a vagrant living under Tarpaulin. No wonder he came up with the idea of designing a bench for Liverpool, somewhere for him to have a kip.

Another man who wasn’t laughing (he only did that on the way to the bank) during the visit by the cabinet and who was also not on the invite list was our very own Sir Diddy Henshaw. Seen here watching the proceedings on Wicked TV.

As you know missus, Sir Diddy and I used to be very close - well I had to stoop down a bit – and it was of course Sir Diddy with his finger in so many pies who was crucial in getting us the year of custard. But Sir Diddy was cruelly driven out of the city before he could rake himself an even greater personal fortune. The last time I saw him was on that NHS you tube comedy video with him giving advice about healthy living, there he was looking like a pillowcase full of condemned meat, talking about obesity. How he kept a straight face I’ll never know.

The saddest loss for me during 2008 was Lloyd Goosefat. Anyone who can cook a
gourmet sausage through the keyhole has my utmost respect and as chair of our museums and sculleries I had great confidence in their future as a tourist attraction.

Now of course we have Mr and Mrs Rednose running them. No doubt the Walker Art Gallery will soon get rid of the pre-Raphaelites and have the Grange Hill exhibition and start replacing Turner with Tucker, Rembrandt with Bobby Grant, Holbein with Holly Oaks and dump Rodins’ The Kiss, for Brookies first Lesbian Kiss.

Yes, the quantity surveyor from Huyton, whose cultural contribution to the art world has been a kids telly programme that had minor rude bits in which made it a hit, and a soap opera, that in spite of some talented writers and actors (Jimmy Corkhead excluded) created some of the worst scouse stereotypes ever seen. Sadly both cancelled.

The pretend Professor, I am sorry to say, is the legacy the powers that be wish to impose upon us. Or he will be unless the real arts organisations, artists, writers and performers of Merseyside come together to keep genuine culture alive and growing in the city, just the way they did for 2008, and saved the city from the near disaster at the hands of Custard Company, the City leadership and the scouse wedding usher.

Now showing at the Odious Cinema and Everywhere
The Legacy Films present: The Culture Vultures

But anyway missus, back to lighter things. I simply cannot conclude the year of Custard without mentioning perhaps the most spectacular event on the streets during the entire year.

When the whole city was brought to a standstill by the amazing spectacle of La Princess, the grotesque hairy-legged creature that stalked the city streets. Yes, Princess Anne opening the Liverpool One shopping area.

Now some people were disappointed that London had the other thing with the big ears but I can tell you, when we got up close and the Princess stuck her head through our car window, it was a moment that my young niece will never forget.

And we will never forget our year as European Capital of Custard, as we hand over the laurel and hardy wreath to our guests, the new holders of the prestigious title (pictured left) from the Transylvanian City of Suk and the Bavarian City of Byte, lets hope they are free from the kind of bloodsuckers that almost wrecked it for us.

So ladies and gentlemen, as the year is concluded, so is my own little contribution to this capital of custard.

Unless anything amazing happens, like the standards board for England publishing the findings on the Wally Bradlow investigation or there is any scandalous behaviour or cover-ups from our local leadership, or the disgraced JackaStorey becomes Mayor in 2009, or Liverpool Direct continues to bleed the city coffers dry after march or the Lib Dems remain in power…so you never know.

In which case I’ll probably be back next week then. Somebody will have to change the title though!

How about Professor Chucklebutty’s Official Guide to Liverpool Capital of Custard 2008 and beyond or the Legacy years.

Before I go, I wish to congratulate all those of you who worked to make the year a success and also say thank you to those who gave me so much material. You owe it all to yourselves and nobody else.

And a special thank you to a couple of people in particular on the local parish council.

And so I end with some pictures of just a few of the stars of 2008 I haven’t mentioned this time. (Sobs into pair of Missus Chucklebutty’s Bloomers – realises what they are and runs to the kitchen for some swarfega)

Be Nice to each other!

The good and the great of 2008

Bryan Grain of the NWDAFT

Donald Duckinson of the first train out when there was trouble

DrAculaHinney of Liverpool Direct Debit

Conductor Sir Simon Throttle arriving at the Phil

Mr La De Da Gunner Stilton Chief of Executive of Undercover Operations

The next Mayor of Grotty Cash Muck Storeyteller

And once more to play us out, Sir Simon Throttle conducting the Royal Liverpool Philredmondic Orchestra in the anthem for 2008

All the Money's Gone.

This is also the closure of the blog to Celebrate Capital Of Custard 2008 but fear not, you can still keep up to date with

Professor Chucklebutty's Liverpool

Political & Cultural Chronic Calls

New for 2009 the legacy years start now!

follow the link below.

Tatty Bye Everybody Tatty Bye!

and Hello Chronic Calls.

Wednesday, 17 December 2008

Blog Standard Pantomime, Dickie Mint found guilty. Harshest sentence ever imposed on the city- he is still set to be Lord Muck for 2009

By Jove Missus! Following the publication by the Ironing Board for England of the result of their investigation into my former friend and colleague Dickie Mint, I come to you eating a large portion of humble pie, with a good helping of custard of course.

I may have inadvertently contributed to suggestions that Dickie Mint may have discussed with the press the ticky dodger of Mr Jasper Harbottle, erstwhile Executive Custard Creamer of the Custard Company. But only because I read it on some vile blog site, oh and in the newspapers and heard about it on the radio.

All I can say in my defence is that it was another error of judgement on my part to have ever mentioned it and I have written a letter of apology to somebody else in the hope that they may pass it on. The whole episode has caused deep distress to Mrs Chucklebutty, my good friend Mr Clack from the key-cutting shop and heel bar, (mind you, I wouldn’t risk taking a pair of shoes into him, he’ll throw them back at you refusing to handle something off of your stinking feet. I don’t know why he has the heel bar, it’s just an excuse to abuse customers) even our tortoise Bernstein has retreated into his shell during this sad and sorry episode. As you can see, she is still overfeeding him.

Now I now just want to put it all behind somebody.

Yes missus despite the work of dark shadows - I told Hank Marvin to lay off the sun beds – and the scurrilous blogs*ites running a smear campaign against a decent, honest and upstanding (usually in front of the standards board) man, I am delighted to see that Dickie Mint OAF, the current Deputy Lord Muck of Grotty Cash has, as far as he is concerned, been completely exonerated, apart from on the technicality of his guilt and that he consistently denied everything including his name at the first hearing. He has quite rightly made reference to the smear campaign against him by the evil blog sites that sprung up during his other appearances before the Ironing Board, when he was again found guilty of bringing his office into disrepute and forced to resign as leader.
The Evil Cobble blogs initially gave an account of his battle with the evil Sir Diddy, who, allegedly, with the assistance of some stool pigeons tried to launch a coo against him and blackmail him from office. Mind you, Dickie seemed to quite like the evil blog sites then, in fact so did current leader Wally Bradlow, who demanded an enquiry into who ordered them to be banned from council and public library computers.
Since those heady days of course, the vile suggestions of cock-ups, waste, pay-offs, dodgy contracts, financial mismanagement and cover-ups, or even the accusations that he discussed personal and private matters with a member of the press from the Oldham Chronic have continued to appear.

So I trust that tonight, a certain Mr Toby Porridge47 or however old he is, of the so-called Liverpool Bus-shelter blog spot, amongst others, will all hang their heads in shame given that almost all of their accusations and stories have been comprehensively proved to be accurate.

So disgracefully accurate have their personal attacks and exclusives been in recent months, that Dickie has now decided that they will certainly get no stories from him. And for my part ladies and gentlemen, I shall certainly not be making any further jocular comments on this disgraceful site. This city is not at home to Mr Truth!

These people have had the audacity to drag through the mud the good names of honest individuals such as Dickie and fellow Executive Bumbler, Steve Herpes, with the most foul accusations, such as lraking personal information to the press and then organising a cover up of the actual course of events, raiding the budget for the Meryll Streep festival for a pet project and then setting up a fall guy to get nailed for the resulting international headline fiasco.
They even accused Mr Herpes of breaking the law around the Representation of the People Act, by posting vindictive, cowardly, and anonymous leaflets being through letterboxes, whilst wearing a riduculous disguise. Even the leader was accused of demanding free tickets to a Las Vegas show at the expense of the council taxpayer for him and his missus. Outrageous smears!

Just because these appalling and wicked allegations have all been proven to be correct, this does not excuse such underhand tactics as telling the truth. These so-called bloggers have had every opportunity to present their concerns openly through the proper channels, where a team of experts are on hand to professionally cover them up or completely ignore them. This would have been the proper course of action for the city and avoided any embarrassment. If only they could follow the fine example of our "Voice of Murkeyside" the Oldham Echo, and have just kept quiet about it all.

What a terrible way to treat people who, after all are only trying to look after themselves, is that a crime now? It is not enough to just put this down to -in the words of the bard- 'the stringy marrows of outrageous fortune'
My harp really goes out to the likes of Dickie, Wally and Mr Herpes. Why do they do they put up with it? They only want to serve the interests of the people of this fine city, in selfish public service, why suffer the indignities and personal attacks heaped upon them? Constantly being made to look like incompetent idiots.

I really don’t know but I can assure you, forget what the cynics say, it is nothing to do with ego, power or self importance or even receiving their full time salaries along with the additional expenses of over £9,000 per year as a councillor plus another £13,000 as an Executive Bumbler or another £6,000 if a mate and pretending to be a deputy Executive Bumbler or that if you happen to be leader, an additional £9,000 plus £20,000 on top of your normal salary.
It is not even all the free tickets for sports events and shows for themselves and their families and friends or all of the trips abroad, such as visits to Shanghai, our twin city to see if they know where we are, or trips to New York for a week to see how they managed with the public smoking ban, or a week in Cannes on a yacht to promote Grotty Cash. No, no, no! Good heavens you’d be exhausted after all that, and then to come back home to criticism or people constantly moaning. No. They do it because they care. They do it for us. Well they must do. It’s us that are paying for them.

Well I hope now that this will bring to an end the recent sad state of affairs and that we can get on with running this city properly and creating the kind of wealth and opportunity needed for Dr Rottlweiller and Liverpool Direct to completely bleed us dry.
I sincerely hope that our Leader, Wally Bradlow, can now get on with running the city into the ground that has been the foundation for our rebirth.
Yes I know there is still a little matter facing him in relation to that Mr Harbottle (again) and the meetings that he never had with Mr Lee Fallguy, and the texts he never sent, the emails he never sent, the comments he never made and the Peroni he didn't drink. Oh, and the denial he made and then the denial of having never made a denial….or something like that. And of course as we now know, courtesy of the report by Mr Gullible, from the Standards Board, Dickie Mint was only there at the meeting that never happened, that he'd never attended, that never took place -oh sorry that one - just doing some part time work as a waiter and sessional support worker for stressed council employees that had been publicly scapegoated in a stitched up report to deflect any criticism from him. But once that is all sorted - and I am confident that Wally will also be cleared of any right doing - we can get on with establishing the legacy for 2009 under his perspirational and passion fruit leadership. I hear the national press can't wait for the finale and intend to give us some in depth coverage and publicity.

Moving on now to a happier announcement- No not the Knightshirt for Professor Rednose – I am talking about the new head of Custard for the city, to take us into the 2009 legacy!

I wondered how I could best convey my joy at this appointment and thought what better than to pick a phrase or one from her very own Dictionary of Superlatives.

The brilliantly brilliant appointment of the brilliantly successful and brilliant organiser for the brilliant custard opening ceremony that got this brilliant year off to such a brilliant start, with the brilliant night at the brilliant St Georges Hall with the shite Ringo Star and his shite song……..hang on a minute……oh no that’s right.

Yes none other than the former left foot to Jasper Harbottle, Ms Clara MeCogloose has been named as our new Custard Queen. Actually MeCogloose is not her proper name, it is just a silly nickname given to her due to the crazy half-baked schemes that cost a fortune before being abandoned and attempts made to cover up the waste of your cash. Events like dredging Sefton Park Lake for an aborted Sonia Concert, The Sound of.......ooohh - Livvepule " and freezing the Mersey for an evening with Patricia Routledge on Ice (until they found out she was from Birkenhead and then thought fouquet) Yes Clara's proper name is actually McCogloose, so it is time this juvenile silliness was stopped and we gave the woman some support. Bring Jasper Harbottle back, that should do it.

But who knows, with most of the freeloading canapé and chardonnay guzzlers clearing off now that the gravy train has crashed, and there is nothing left for them to siphon off, she may even be able to make a go of it. I really hope so.

Take my advice, if anybody tries to throw a spanner in the works, grab it and use it to tighten that cog! You have to have some sympathy for her. Just think of having to sit and listen to Professor Phool Rednose and keep a straight face, pretending to be interested in his rambling cliche ridden claptrap and agreeing with how he is without doubt the saviour of 2008 and Culture Supremo for Grotty Frodsham. it must be hard to listen to him, knowing that he did nothing for five years he is now taking and being given all the credit. I think he must have bribed them all with signed photos of Harry Cross and Ralph.

Well alright, I will give him some credit, he did capture the imagination of the city with the design a bench competition, what a shame all the entries were all left on display on bonfire night.

Well Clara, the boot is on your left foot now. You should apply all your force and energy into putting that boot as hard as you can into the Custard Supremo's scouse wedding tackle. Good luck missus!

And finally, three cheers for Cilla and our own Les Dennis for ending the year with what is generally agreed to be a genuinely brilliantly brilliant show at the empire. (thanks for that line Clara)

Should I decide not to run for elected mayor (although it depends if Foghorn Leggarty ever comes out from hiding to kick-start my campaign) I've decided to forget about supporting Herbert. There is only one person suitable in my book to run the city.

I am now switching my allegiance to the warm and lovable Les Dennis, a true son of the city and a talented and versatile performer. Yes Les would get my vote as Mayor and what a splendid ambassador he would be for Liverpool a man who is held in great affection, or so our survey said. But unlike the current lot, I am sure that Les is a man who when asked a difficult question that he could not answer would not resort to lies or just say the first stupid thing to come into his head, but that he would have the honesty and integrity to say "I dooon’t really knooooow!" And that would be a major step forward for the city we love.

Hmmmmm, nice! Better Les than the whoopsie on the carpet we are going to get.

Come on Foghorn, what better opportunity could you ask for to promote the campaign for an Elected Mayor?

Tatty Bye Everybody Tatty Bye !

Be Nice to each other

Monday, 1 December 2008

The Fire fighters Games! Game set and match at number one court. The 3 Miserable pleaders. Reggie McGough Digs deep and Flo feels wind of change!

By Jove Missus! Justice at last. Finally the vicious brute Steve Cursed, who was caught red handed trying to shove our respected ex Mayor, Lady Dorian Jones through a letterbox in Belle Vale has been brought to justice.

It had become known as the Cinderella trial, due to the only clue to his identity being the baseball cap with his name in it, left behind as he ran from the Royal Balls-up back to the fat pumpkin pulled by rats - Wally Bradlow.

Well, if the cap fits.

The Fairly Odd Mother aka Jackastorey, Wee Wally Bradlow himself and another man known only as Fat Colin with the burst buttons, appeared in court as shady character witnesses for Mr Cursed. In fact it was probably this that finally damned him.

In a bizarre twist to the case, Lady Noreen even appeared as a witness for the defence and tried to back up Cursed’s claim that he was in fact trying to pull her out of the letterbox, rather than shove her through, when he was suddenly jumped on from behind by three Lap dancers or Lion tamers, he couldn't’ be sure.

It has now emerged that the happy picture that recently appeared in The Oldham Chronic, of Wally Bradlow and Lady Doyenne's husband, Sir Tricky Jones - smiling in mutual admiration and supposedly marking his 130 years as a Chandler, was a smoke screen, hiding the fact that Sir Clever was in reality being held hostage in

order to force Lady Windowlene to take the stand as a character witness.

How Bradlow can you stoop, I ask myself?

But was Cursed alone in organising the plot to discredit the opposition by leaving a twice ex Mayor of Grotty Cash on the hall carpet of the local voter? ( it's usually a small turnout) Claiming they used her as a draft excluder. That is the question now being asked.

It seems that Mr Cursed used the same pink Andrex paper for the phoney leaflet - that was tucked into Her Ladyships vest - as they use for all their Election leaflets. Most recently it was used in the campaign to stop people parking their cars on an inebriated Richard Clamp in the Church Ward.

So did Cursed break into the Glib Dum HQ on Meltdown Road, and run the pink leaflets off himself? It has been suggested that he may have had a teacher with him to help with the spelling, a fat bloke to hold the door shut and an additional fireman to make the tea.

Although police forensics were unable to find a sample of Councillor Cursed’s hair in the Baseball cap or on his head for that matter, his arrival in court wearing half a pair of sunglasses and the other half appearing as exhibit 'A' began to cast doubt on his innocence even before he started to lie through his teeth.

When the prosecution pointed out that even his lying teeth were false, the deputy Mayor, Councillor Jackastorey, tried to climb out of the courtroom window. Fortunately, Wally Bradlow, pulled him back to safety but then got into a fight with Fat Colin, as they both tried to climb out instead.

The witnesses for the defence

So following the guilty verdict, will they now have a whip round between them to pay the £500 fine and the £700 costs or will they get the Custard Company to pay claiming it was a Court room drama event. Will Cursed be sacked and kicked out of the party, and if that happens, is there a risk that he could implicate others? Was he the lone postman or was there another dum man on the grassy knoll?

To her credit, Lady Davina, as ever, maintained a dignified silence until she left the courtroom and then set about them with her handbag, calling them a bunch of f***ing clowns.

What a disgrace that she should have been dragged into this after her years of service to the party and Grotty cash. Lying to and conning an elderly lady.

Anyway, I look forward to the Oldham Echo headlines,

.“Leading Lib Dem Councillor donates £1200 to fight against crime in Liverpool”

But enough of that low life and lets get back to high custard.

Great news that Professor Rednose of Brookyoaks, could be up for a new years honour. Yes if all goes well, we will have to call him Sir Phyllis next year. Which can be very unpleasant so I hear.

I do hope he gets that hair cut before he goes to the palace. We don’t want the Queen to get nits. She has enough already what with Charles and Harry. I left William out because he is going bald like his father whereas Harry has a good strong head of hair- well baldness is hereditary.

Rednose of course is still tasked with organising the closing Karaoke Ceremony for Capital Of Custard. I am not sure how the night will go but it could be perfect for Wally and Jackastorey, as it is being assisted by a company called Walk the Plank.

As usual, the guest list is a surprise, which means that they are still checking the availability of the winner or 103rd runner up from the Grotty Cash Eggs factor talent-less competition. There will be the usual rocket in a milk bottle firework and, we hope, the long awaited 08 poem from Reggie McGough. (pictured below)

I was particularly impressed by Reggie’s most recent poem that celebrated our much-loved local Solicitor and first citizen of Liverpool, Sir Rex Hesperus, and his frustration over the disruption caused by The Big Dig. Here is Reggie's poem.

The Big Dig

By Reggie McGough

Who said the streets was paved with gold?
I think it’s time that we were told

And if that’s why we’ve all put up
With half the city being dug up?

They drilled into our very soul
And everywhere you look – a hole

And when they finish, crowds of men
Come and dig it up again

To lay new cable or new pipes
that adds to all the drivers’ gripes

In Whitechapel, a man called Rex
fell down one hole and ripped his kecks

Rex took his case to court and found
outside his office, no legal ground

I’m sorry Rex, the Judge did say
They’ve taken all your grounds away

He left the court beyond console
And fell into another hole

Unwilling to accept defeat
In the case of Rex ex parte Street.

So he’ll go to court another day
If only he can pave the way.


Now of course the other news at the moment, is that they are advertising for a compere for the 08 closing semolina night. And what have they done? Excluded the obvious choice through ageism, that's what! No, no not me, I’m keeping well away from the Pier Head from now on. Nobody told me they had built a bloody canal! Head first I went. Fortunately my fall was broken by a load of Netto shopping trolleys and a mattress.
Anyway I will be too busy planning my campaign for the Wavertree by-election.

But I do think that restricting the compere search to somebody between the ages of 30 and 60 is an outrage. One of our greatest treasures has been excluded, in fact apart from his lecture night on The Council Comedy Greats, Custard year has made little use of one of my personal heroes, our beloved and perhaps greatest star. I am talking of course about Mr Ken Dodd. The Squire of Pebble Dash, as he is known.

It is a real place you know!

Do you know, people often tell me that I am the spitting image of him? Usually people with a lisp who spit all over me while they are talking. That must be where the expression comes from. I suppose once you wipe the spit off, I do have a passing resemblance. (When he was younger of course)

Left: Doddy Right: Me

The real problem is that Doddy never does less than nine hours and the Custard Company was skint before Klimt. This is why all we will end up with is the Singalonginyermacs at the Pier Head. There's only enough money to keep the leccy meter going for half an hour, so Doddy is sadly out of the question.

Well if you decide to go, you had best wrap up warm. There is an icy wind blowing through the chambers of power in Grotty Cash right now, with growing discontent in the ranks.

I saw the leader in waiting, Flo Clucles, the other day and I warned her to watch out.

I said, Winter draws on Flo!

Yes, she said, and I’m still freezing.

And that gag was my audition to compere Karaoke Night.

What’s Les Dennis doing these days? I hope it’s not panto with the impostor.

Tatty Bye Everybody Tatty Bye!

Be nice to each other.


Marking over 10,000 discerning reader hits or possibly 3 readers with repetitive strain injury from hitting the wrong key or they are tapping out an SOS.

Friday, 14 November 2008

Ask not for whom the Jingle Bells toll, Custard comes to the boil for Bradlow & Dickie Mint - Hurst makes it a hat trick. They think it's all over....

By Jove Missus. I’m not a number – I’m a free man! As Patrick McGoogle, used to say in The Pensioner.
Yes, I am home again. I’ve been away “at sea” for a few weeks, aboard the HMP Walton, and what a rough passage I had! All those men locked up together by Jove! But enough of that, I’ll save it for the autobiography. I must ask Pete Price who wrote his for him. Mind you there was one cell crammed with 17 women, all named Sue Denham for some reason. I had to put up with them wolf-whistling at me in the shower block, then laughing and calling me a Diddyman, well the water was freezing cold.

So yes Missus, I was released last week to a crowd of waiting reporters (Stinky Ink Bartlett and Larry Knees) Here I am at the news conference speaking to CNN (Crosby News Now)

Like all my appearances, it lasted nearly 12 hours but that included 9 songs. Anyway Missus, I will shortly be publishing my prison memoirs, not that I can remember much. It’s hard to think straight in there, maybe I have blocked my prison hell out of my mind or maybe it was all that crack cocaine, skunk, heroin and alcohol. Some nights I couldn’t find my face to drink the cocoa! But what a very progressive idea to have all that available. Certainly keeps the lads quiet.

I see my good lady did her best to keep up the blog in my absence. I must apologise for her course language. As you know ladies and gentlemen, I’m direct but never blue.

Mr Clack is suing us by the way.

But Mrs C. has redeemed herself with her very own artwork for Capital Of Custard. Here she is in a picture marking the alleged outcome of the investigation into our good friends Wally Bradlow and Dickie Mint, The Storyteller. The picture is titled:
“The Ironing Boards for England Delivers the verdict”

All right so she got a bit mixed up with the Standards Board and the Ironing Board, it often happens - probably why it's taken so long for any announcement - but since so many people will be creased with laughter, it still works.

Anyway, it’s art! It doesn’t have to mean anything.

Better than cutting a donkey in half and shoving it in a fish tank!

It seems it has been a bad week for some of our friends in low places, no wonder they were both looking so down in the mouth at the recent HTV awards. Poor Wally seems to have realised that the game is up and said, “This showbiz life is not for me” Quite right, not unless it’s free tickets for a Las Vegas show on the council tax.

“I am just a simple fireman,” he said. Well we knew that, although I thought you had to be quite bright to be a fire fighter these days. It is a shame though, a young lad like that with Dickie Mint as his role model, it was only ever going to end in tears.

Dickie has now of course gone completely barmy and goes to bed every night in his Lord Mayor pyjamas. He is regularly parading up and down Castle Street with a pair of scissors looking for ribbons to cut and every morning tormenting the local shops asking if he can officially open them.

He’s even made his own chain of office out of Dairy Lea Cheese Triangles. Do we really want this loon meeting all the important visitors who come to Liverpool on official engagements? It was bad enough when we had Clark Kent for mayor with his scary fixed grin frightening the horses.

Poor Wally! If only he had listened to me from the beginning, when I used to sit him on my knee and try to warn him about the naughty boys who would get him into trouble, but all he wanted was for me to sing horsey-horsey and bounce him up and down so instead he ended up being dragged into the gutter by a greasy-head master.
A modern day Hamlet Prince of Primark.

I’ll bet Jasper Harbottle, our former Director of the Custard Company, after seeing what he has done to Wally and Dickie, is probably now shedding a few tears over this, as he rolls about on his hacienda laughing hysterically.

Perhaps Harbottle will return for the closing Custard & Karaoke night with his very own version of the Laughing Policeman.

I know a jolly Fireman; he’s known on Mathew Street,
in charge of brewery piss-ups, a task he can’t complete.
With his friend the Storeyteller, they tried to bring me down
But now I’ve got the bastards I’m the happiest man in town

Whooooooo-ha ha ha hah hah haha ha ha hah ha ha haahhhhh

Laughing Policeman

So if all the predictions are right, will there be a power struggle in the Glib Dums, with an outbreak of Flu before Christmas or will it be; simply having a wonderful Christmas Clein? Heaven forbid, the return of the man with the tache and an eye for the cash Tricky Dickie. Does it herald the end altogether for the glib dums?

But hang on, there are people on the patch, they think it’s all over – it is now.
Yes Hurst makes it four, the hero of the hour, no longer on the bench, but up before it. Well ladies and gentlemen, it’s been talked about so often since that glorious day, that controversial third leaflet, did it actually go through the letterbox and if it had been disallowed, would it have affected the final result?

Should the referee have shown him the yellow card or given him a pink one hidden underneath?

In reality, bringing on Nobby Stewart in the final moments of injury time really decided the final result. Apparently, she was asked if she minded having a sub role and said it was okay so long as she could have the twelve inch one and some pies from Sayers as well.
The first time the Jules Rimet trophy had been filled with Oxtail Soup

But now it looks like our good friend Steve Herpes could be in real trouble. The weather has turned quite chilly and I’ve heard that he’s lost his hat somewhere.

He needs to be careful with that head of hair. I must admit he struck me as odd the last time I saw him, walking around with only half a pair of sunglasses on.

Perhaps it is something to do with colour blindness. But if these broken sunglasses mentioned in court provide conclusive evidence, he could face being Ray Banned for years.

Now according to what they say in the Oldham news sheets, allegedly he can’t tell the difference between Line Dancing and Lap dancing. Well according to my good friend Mr Clack, who is something of an expert on this subject, this is the simplest way to tell the difference;

If the lady has tassels on her shirt and you have a Stetson, it’s Line dancing.
If the lady has tassels on her nipples and you have a hard-on it’s Lap

Good heavens Clack! Now don't blame me for that rather crude and explicit explanation.

I know it's a long time since I had a Stetson, not since that weekend break in Viagra Falls.

Maybe Mr Herpes got them both confused with Fireman's Pole Dancing. Look, he's got a front row seat as well !

She looks familiar - is that taken in Croxteth?

Anyway, I'll have no more talk of such sleazy subjects. This is a family blog!

Lap dancing indeed. I don't know why some people are so obsessed with breasts.

Titty bye Everybody…..

I mean; Tatty Bye Everybody Tatty bye

Be nice to each other.

Oh I almost forgot, I came across the rather delightful little song from Allan Smethurst, The Singing Postman. "You can't keep living in the past boy" A lesson for Liverpool?

Tuesday, 21 October 2008

Bangkok Lady Boys, Cheap Sausage Rolls and Pay-offs, as Mrs Chucklebutty speaks out and takes on Dr Tim Leuni -Tune and Ringo Out-of-Tune.

That's me, at our Engagement, taken a few years ago now mind, but better than that picture he always puts up of me renewing our wedding vows.

Hello, Mrs Chucklebutty here, stepping into his breeches. So, I’ve finally got me hands on the keys to his shed. This is where he spends half the night writing this rubbish. Ooh it stinks in here. He’s asked me to do a few entries until he’s released from the nick. I’ve just read the last piece, after Mr Clack showed me how to turn this thing on. Had a quick look at his last searches to give us a clue what he wanted to write about and found something advertising The Bangkok Lady boys Show, no wonder it’s called Liverpool Confidential, wait ‘til I get me hands on him!

What are they on about here? Trying to make out he’s some kind of dissident. None payment of fines, that’s why he was arrested!
Telly licence, three counts of drunk and disorderly and fighting over some reduced vests in Ethel Austin’s. To cap it all, he was caught having a piddle in one of those council kiosks that nobody uses - well apart from him. Said he thought it was one of those super-loos. Well somebody is taking the p*** installing them on the street. Anyway, he got the Custard Company to put a spin on his arrest. The usual cover-up.

The truth is, they are going to pay him off, but as there’s no money left, since Hasitall grabbed the last £500,000, he’s decided to take the Sayers 08 Sponsorship Sausage Rolls. He had a big fight over that as well, said he wanted so many a week, not 960,000 all in one go or he’d never shift them - they’d go off.

Well it’s too late now; they delivered them today while he’s still banged up. Can’t get in the bleedin’ house for them! We are doing our best to get rid of them, Mr Clack had six for his tea and as soon as it got dark we threw about twenty thousand over the wall into Mrs Hewitt’s garden. She must have heard us when a few hit the window and she came out screaming for the police, so we ran in. She’s still shouting through our letterbox now.

Anyway, sod whatever he was going to write, it’s about time this Blog had the feminine touch. And you can take that smirk off your face Mr Clack.

Right so what’s been happening? Oh yes, there was the Echo exclusive, “Merseyside woman gives birth to 1.6million pound triplets” I’ll bet that made her eyes water. The Echo had a picture of them. Greedy looking little buggers. Not the most attractive babies I’ve seen, a slimy one, a dopey one and a fat little diddy one. Seems they were such fat little sods, it has taken nearly three years to weigh them up. Isn’t this the same woman who had a daughter a few years ago who tipped the scales at about 380,000 pounds? Who pays for this IMF fertiliser programme?

It must have hurt though. Our Sebastian was only 9 pounds when I had him and I screamed so loud all the windows shattered along Oxford Street. Mind you it didn’t help that soft lad handed me the nozzle off the Goblin Hoover, instead of the gas and air. Me tongue was trapped down the tube for over half an hour. The pillock! Then he switched it on reverse and covered the baby in dust and fag ends.

Of course that wouldn’t happen now, these days you can’t smoke during labour or even in the maternity ward. Bloody Nanny state. I’ll bet Cherry Booth was all right for a few woodbines when she had her last one.

I heard she’s on 60 a day. Can fit them all in at once. She’s a right one her, fancy havin’ it off in the next room to the Queen - the dirty gets - Arise Sir Tony eh? Ooh, it knocks me sick to think about it. Didn’t somebody say that Phillip was watching through the eyes of one of the portraits?

I’ve lost me thread now.

Sorry I just had to punch Mr Clack in the head. I told him to pack it in, he was getting
a bit frisky - pressing his skinny leg against me while I’m typing - thinks he’s in with a chance while soft lad is inside. Oh stop blubbering man! Hold your head back it’ll soon stop bleeding, it’s not pouring. Don’t drip it on the cat, if Ken tastes blood he’ll have yer, he’s feral.

What else? Well that Bingo Starr was in the papers again, moaning on his website telling fans to stop writing to him. The bleedin’ idiot.

Nobody is writing to ya love, it’s your P.A. sending them, she’s worried about you going back on the booze and pills if you find out nobody is interested.

She’s worried that she’d be out of a job. What a tosser. And I say that with love and peas. I used to like him as well, but now I hear he’s just like one of these Pop Primate Donners or an Opera Diver whatever you call them, has to be pampered and preened all the time.

I heard that while he was at the train station in South Liverpool, he had somebody rush up to trim his bush for him. Oooh, imagine, as Lennon would have said. A right little Octopus’s Garden that must be, I’ll bet it smells like it as well, shrivelled old tentacles and a blue meanie. I’m saying this with love and peace you know?

Mr Clack says to turn it in, and that I’m disgusting. He’s a fine one to talk, him, with his collection of rusty old chastity belts. I’ve seen him, prancing about to “Hey Nonny No” on the gramophone wearing one with that bodice and wig. He forgot to pull the curtains properly one night; half the street was out watching.

All the school kids were singing it outside his shop for weeks. Oh all right yes, I’ll delete this bit.

Liverpool Direct is up for another award for customer contricks. The CCA, cash and carry awards, I think. Create an industry of call centres everybody hates and set up a body with hundreds of members so all the Directors can come to the freebie dinners and give yourself loads of annual awards.

Have you seen how much that lot cost us? And that’s just what we know about. About five times the budget deficit! For that money, every house in Liverpool could have a council officer sitting next to you on the couch for three hours a day. They could sell all the buildings then, oh they already have. That’d be great for the pensioners; they could do a bit of tidying up and make the tea as well. There you go Mr Stilton, you can bin those robbers off, once and for all. Send Dr Mucky Penny to a crack house in Croxteth.

I tried to get into the Cathedral the other night to see that little Boffin, Dr Tim Leunie.

They always call them Boffins in the paper when they don’t like what they’re saying or inventing something that stops your veg drying up or your plums shrivelling, you know, like where they put your strawberries on a radiator or something to keep them fresh for longer. You know the bloke I mean, the one who said we should all leave Liverpool and get a job with Burger King in Hackney, if we wanted to live as well as those in the south.

Dr Tim Leunig

Anyway I got there a bit late and they wouldn’t open the doors for me so I started kicking hell out of them. I was shouting through the letterbox calling them all the effing b’s going and to open the friggin doors or I’ll put the windows through. I did in the end.

Bloody cheek, trying to keep me out of the debate, I am not having some little sod giving us a bad name. Ay, it’s my city too ya know, I shouted, gerrout here now yer little squirt! Then this Nun came out and said it was at the other Cathedral.
She wanted me name and address to pay for the damage to the window and door. I told her my name was Olivia Cromwell, but she got all shirty and tried to grab me, so I turned her wimple backwards, spun her round and did a runner down Hope Street.

I was too late to see our learned muffin by the time I got there. I probably didn’t miss much. Is he the same Dr Timothy Learrig who was around in the 60s, the one who said “Turn-On, Tune-In, Drop-Off” or is that the slogan for CitytalkFM?

Thing is, when you read what he said, he’s not too far off the mark. Even the Echo is pissing off to Oldham. I didn’t know that Oldham was in the south. And how come they are going south, if what I heard is right, that they are letting all the printer’s jobs go west?

Ay! I’ll tell you where I went the other night, the new Oldham Arena in the docks.

I couldn’t believe my luck. I got tickets to see Alma Coogan, you know “Dreamboat” oh she was one of my favourites. I loved her as Alma Partridge in The Partridge Family.

What a disappointment though, I had me bobby socks on and everything and she didn’t do any of her hits, just stood there and told smutty jokes all night.

I hope the gig in Birkenhead is better next week. They’ve got Frank Ifield on; he’s an MP now you know. I expect that’s why he’s not done many records for a while. Give me half an hour with him and I’d have him yodelling again.
Here's Frank demonstrating the perils of having the bath water too hot.

There are a few former stars that have become MPs. Glenda Jackson; she was wonderful as Mr Hudson in Upstairs Downstairs. The Home Secretary, Jacqui Smith, she's another one, wasn’t she Holly in Red Dwarf, after Norman Lamont left?
And of course the Tory leader David Camembert, he used to be Tuppy Glossop in Jeeves and Wooster or was he Barmy Fungi Phipps.

Oh it’s six o’clock, nearly visiting time. I don’t know if Mr Clack is coming to the prison, they had a bit of a fall out. Old Clacky being a locksmith and key cutter was explaining quietly to Yaff how flimsy the locks were in the prison and he could open them all in less than a minute with a couple of bent wires.
Old Professor Birdbrain of Alcatraz, was all geared up for the great escape. The next thing he knows, is there’s Clack changing all the locks for the Governor. He’d gone and got himself the contract.
It is depressing in there and he’s starting to look gaunt. Although that may be because of his 28st cellmate Muriel, who keeps pinching his dinner and sitting on Yaffle's head for a laugh while he eats it. Mureil made Yaf shave his legs and his back for him as well. I don’t know what that was about. Oh that reminds me, Bangkok Lady boys. I could have those tickets.

He’ll probably be out next week; he’s had Sir Rexy on the case. Rex has applied for a writ of Harry H. Corpus, well we think he has. There is a rumour going round that he has been offered a stint to take over the Custard Blog as guest writer for a week.
Now that could be a problem, he could let Jasper Harbottle on, apparently he thinks he’s great. Mind you that was in comparison to old Pricerite.

Speaking of which, I better go and do me hair, what’s left of it, I’ve got the lovely Peter Price coming round later for a Cherry B and Sherbet Lemon supper. I wonder if he still has that fur coat?

I’ve hardly mentioned Capital of Custard. Oh who cares, it’s nearly all finished now apart from the karaoke in January. Then again, they say it’s not over until the bag lady sings, so maybe Redmond will give us a number on the closing night. He could do that Fred Astaire one, “Let’s call the whole thing off” But they are still pretending that they haven’t.

How does it go? You say a cock-up and I say a cock-up, you say a pay-off and I say a pay-off.
The Legacy Waltz.

Right now what? Do you press send or what? Mr Clack, you’ll have to do this bit.
Yes I’ve deleted the stuff about your Chastity Belt fetish….alright, hobby, collection - whatever.