THE CHUCKLE BROTHERS, HARBOTTLE, FORDE MUSTHANG AND THE MUNICIPALITY OF MIRTH

By Jove, Missus!

I have remained silent on this matter for too long, but only because of a gumboil aggravated by an underground yodelling accident.

They can’t touch you for it!

But Sir Diddy is back to tell you that this would never have happened when I was Chuckle Executive, by Jove no, the £250k would have gone into my account!

Poor Wee Hamish, the hapless fire bobby, clearly led astray by the master storeyteller, Dicky Mint, still doing his hair like a dogs bottom with sweaty haemorrhoids (as Lady Astor used to say about Queen Mary)

He still has that same blotto hound-dog look crossed with some kind of terrier…first time I met him I thought he was a little Shitzu.

Wee Hamish wasn’t a bad little lad, when I was there, he used to run into my office all excited to tell me about a burny building he'd seen and how the fire engine made squirty water but that he always got the fire hose mixed up with the petrol pump and got shouted at.

He used to help me play a little game I invented to hide all the money away safe in case there was ever a fire!

He’d always forget where we put it, ha ha.

Don’t tell Uncle Dickie, I used to say or Dr Mac The Marmaliser will be cross and lock you in the cold shower with the scary lady.

He’d runaway as fast as his little legs would carry him as soon as I mentioned Dr. Mac.

They all still do!

Yes, I am pleased to say there is still a rich vein of yellow custard running through the jam butty mine.

Made me rich, Ha ha, by Jove!

On the subject of custard, again let me put the record straight about a hurtful rumour.

Doc the Marmaliser has never had any shenanigans with Blondes, all a misunderstanding, it wasn’t Blonde ladies, it was Yellow Birds.

The stuff running through the spines of the whole administration.

Anyway ladies and gentlemen, I can tell you now, the Tattynefarious Two, Hamish and Mint, will never fall on their tickling sticks.

Oh no!

They want to meet Ringo first and get their Thomas the Tank Engine DVDs autographed.

Don’t know if you’re aware, but Ringo’s appearance is another one of Harbottles mix ups, he was actually trying to get Bingo from the Banana Splits…Tra la lar, tra la la la lar…….Ha ha you’re all singing it now.

But ladies and gentlemen, their greatest fear is if Hottlebottle starts to sing.

And I don’t mean Prokofiev’s For the Love of Three Orange-shades.

But I’m sure if he started, it would be the Last Tango for quite a few.

For now, I have heard him offering only one simple ballad:

“Now aahs flyin off teh Sunny Speeeain,

eh Viva Espagnia.

Another quarter million dahn the drain

eh Viva Espagnia.

Ahrs not fookin comin back again

teh this shaite compania

Thah’d be dangerous eff tha ‘ad a brain,

Now pay oop, pour favour”

Good for you Harbottle!

You have helped make sure that the Cultural Legacy for 2008 is firmly the one left by Sir Diddy and the Knights of Cashalot.

And once again the Chuckle Brothers will be placed in the stocks on the village green and maybe this time be banished from the Municipality of Mirth.

What a lovely Christmas present this is for me.

Two complete puddings in a dish best served cold!

By the way boys,if you are thinking of doing a Thelma and Louise, don't think you can do your getaway in another Forde Musthang, that's why you've ended up in a wheelie bin.

Hate to see your skidmarks right now.

See you all on St Georges plateau in January, I’ll be disguised as one of the St Johns Ambulance, going through the wallets of the unconscious abseiling volunteers…just trying to identify them!

Tatty Bye Everybody Tatty bye

Happy 2009

MATHEW STREET INQUIRY: 'THE CUSTARD COMPANY, JASPER HOTTLEBOTTLE, MR FORDLY CAPRI, WALLY BRADLOW AND COLLOP COVERMOST'.... BY PROFESSOR STANLEY UNWIN

Prof. Yaffle Chucklebutty said...

By Jove Missus, Have I got you a scoop?
Here it is, found on the back seat of the only surviving Trolley bus in Liverpool and sent to me direct from the Municipal Building pigeon shelter lost and floundering dept.
The comments by the legal expert Sir Stanley Unwin QC prior to the publication of the Mathew Street enquiry.
At last, a clear explanation!

PROFESSOR STANLEY UNWIN WRITES:

Enquiry into Cancellation of The Meryl Streep Festivule.

As legalode visoree for Lilliput Silly Console, The Chief Excrutiate, Mr Colollop Hiltio and The Loader of the Silly Console, cllr Worried Badly, have asp me to examine the findings of the repole composted by the indefensible enquirymode into the lasp minute cancellation of the Mirthview Streep festavole.
Pre- publo.
In advance of the floo repole being deleted for public constipation and due to the risk that it may, on publo release, cause further laughtermost in the national printopress, I have been asked to cast a boadley eyeball and summarise the phonal repole from a legal perpload.
Since the awarb of Callipole of Custard for throb trouser and eight, the Custard Company farciclaps has caused tabload news coverage to now return to the old stereoscousey of all calmy-down, calmy-down, gis a jobello and all knocky off with the holdey out the cappy hand.
The repole documes a tatley missmanagemode around crapalot of custard 2008.
It is of great conserve that the general picture of daily debaclo has manifolding in the city and that beclose of this, the image of Loolapole may have been set back a decode.
Deep, deep folly.
The Mathew Strobe festeral began life as a celebro of the fib four moppy tops.
John Lemmole, Pole McSlidey, (favourmost by Bradlow) George Witherspoon and Rumpo Stark.
Inertialy known as “The Butties Festeral”.
It used to provide much cheery on the city streebs every year with no treebhole, oh no, apart from the odd sickload in the handlebag of a fold age pensioner at the bus stop.
Usually by an inebrioled man all dressy up the walrus. Deep joy many years!
In fact the Matthew Strobe festeral as it became later known, was so purpello that people flockermost from all round the world, include far flung examploads such as, Japone, United Stairs of Jamiraqui, Jockland, Germinate and Frince to name but throde.
Come the award of Cap-in-hand Culture 2008 much rushy board the gravy boat for the Ferry Cross the Mersey (a sling made flabemost by Jolly Marsdone)
All shout with cocknole accsperent, “Gis a job.”
But not the job to give the scouseyload, oh no!
All the big cashy jobs given to people who never once set a footy print in Lollopool.
Not even paddle by the beachpoo at New Brightlight.
Even the persil spellification stateyclear that being a muddle clapp southerner was an essential crimeria fool getting the job.
Liverpole culture was overnight transfumed to the jellied eels perspective with pearly cones all along the roads as the big diggerup of all the frogs and toads caused a great deal unendo congestomole and total kiosks.
It was the big drig after hole that many peoplo held resprollable for the near closey sale of Lowersole’s and a lisp of promits for Raphole Hardwood.
Jasper Hottlebottle, Expletive Director of the Culture Clammity, so the report states, said with all trumpety fanfare and spittle canope as he speakload.
“The Matthew Streep Farcical would better be handed over to the offal sirs of the Incompetent Company. We’ll ruin it from now on.”
So they handy the festival over with all hastily speed to the cashbuckets of the clammity companole, blissfullow unaware that all poury down the drain and pissly up the wole.
After much swiggy chardonnale and trampermole round and round the daily banquoles for extinguished gusts, severmole floke suddenly rollexed that the only plans drown up to actually organise the event were all scribbly down on a misplomed fag packet.
Deep folly and much wailey cry eye when they rollexed the faggy packet had been accidentally crumple up and throwed down a big hole in the road somewol near Whitechapphole.
Thip explones why Rex Makeloads, the cities flamour solitersole, is constantly writhing in his workly column about fallolloping down a big hole outside his offices. The repole states.
As the clockety tock by, Mr Fordly Capri with wringy hands and a sweatload on the highbrow make constantly phone and sendy the electromic mails to Collolop Covermost and Jasno Hollowbottle, but all say as wimb that they never set an eyeball and heard not a liverbird.
Many suspode that they jisp ignolled him.
Consequally all holes break loose when Wally Bradlow, the Loader, sitting all comfy with a bare leg and flip follopers enjoying a short holiday, nearly fallolloped out of the decky chair when he read the Echlo splashy news headlice.
“Meryl Streep Festivole Candelled! Fiascole!”
All red face and quite the twisty mouth with a shakey fist, Bradlow was all shoully down the Drummond Phone.
“Bring me the head of Alfredo Garrowbarrow” he screechy with a high pitch girly scroam.
“I demean an explanation immediately..first thing in the moaning…or next week the earlymost!” he cried to Colllolop Highnoon.
The worms fearst was confirmymost.
With no Hole and Softy plan in place and vasp crowds to risk fallollop into the diggerholes or snag of cardy on the fencil posts, The companole of consolants, Cashitter recommend cancellation on the basin that all the visitors and tworisps to the festervole could tripple up all arm over tithebarn, and fall down the hollies.
It was da scissorsisters waiting to happen.
Oh Frock! They all criedly-eyed. Who can we blame this on?
So the Festibule was cally off at the last minuet a total Boccherrini.
Liverspole makes national news and even Jeremole Paxo smirky face with a perm and tashy lip talk pretended to interview Terry and Barry and said “ On Newsnole Tonole Calm-down, calm-down….as Livepule’s Internaspernole musole fistula is called alf” and newspapers around the world translate “Cultureload My Arse!” in every linguode.
The whole country unites as all but one and laughy out loud til dampy in the eyeline and trickle spot the trouserleg too.
But most steamy gusset and dampole the leg were in Birminghole and Newcapple.
They laughed til they cried!
But then they cried again without the laughyeyes for themselves and what they could have done with the awarb.
What a watered opporternity.
Woollen Bradlow cancelled all the reception dinners for that day and gather the custard complainy at The Little Big Horn pub.
(Custards Last Spam) Bradlow was spitter with roage to suggest Jasno Holloborrow must be related to Catherine the Great as equally infamoule for habling one big cock-up after another.
There were gusps and chockles in epral propulsion but Mrs Bradlow was very creebs with Woolen and later make him wash all the mouth out with sarp and womer after she plume him home by the earlobe. Deep folly!
On Argos Bank Hapliday weekend, as confused tourists gatheried up all puzzle faced at what they thrim was some kind of Yoke, oh no, they stared in thris beloaf and goggle ode at a lone hairy tramp vest, who strummed a play on a cardboard guitar in queens squall.
(Tribload act, bless him)
So this enqueeryprobe proverbs a pubload report in the hope that any ratsqueeks to jump or ship themselves overbole so they can carol the can, will leave not only the assembled remoaning thick skins of the custard company, but the loader and anyone else whose trouser pounds matter, totally exfoliated.
Appendix 1 Lessoles lermed
Report conclumes by hailing the savoury of the Culture Crapalo with the frappointment of Anthea Redmond, not only the creeper of TVs Grungehole, Brookesode and Hairy Blokes, but one time give us a twirl wife of the Bruise Foreskin.
“Knives to see him to see him knives” (Recommole biographicole details are cheemed prior to publo. ed)
Finaloe the repole stains that we should now clone this unfornicate chapto and points out the exciting programme of attractions for 2008…er Ringo…
Vote Ludicrous Dimmertwat in May!
stanley.unwin@crapalotofcustard2008.guff

WAKEY, WAKEY! IT'S THE EMPIRE, FATTY JOE RILEY, THE ECHO OF LACKEYS, RANDY NEWMAN AND KING COTTON BUDS...

By Jove and gadzooks Missus…..

(The Professor enters stage left wearing a striped blazer, a flowing evening gown and football boots. He is carrying an upturned Homburg hat full of popcorn)

I’m just back from the theatre, ahh yes, the wonderful world of make believe.

All the world’s a stage, I know missus, but my favourite bit is our very own Empire.

To think the great Laurel & Hardy once trod that stage, now they are running the council.

“ Well, here’s another fine dock full of stunned fish you’ve gotten me into”

By Jove yes missus, where would we be without the theatre?…enjoying ourselves.

Every time I rise at the end of a production, I am reminded of those wonderful lines from The Tempest, “Our revels now are ended” so I always take a bag of malteasers as well for the bus home.

King Cotton!

That’s where I’ve been….take an extra bit to stick in your ears.

Ha ha by Jove, It’s me own fault, being near Christmas, I thought it was going to be a panto, like Snow White or something…well I did have Sleepy sitting two rows behind me and quite a few in front.

Turned out that Sleepy, was none other than Roly Joe Riley. Apparently he had been up since dawn watching a demonstration by the culture company on hitting fish on the head with small mallets or was it somebody hitting the culture company over the head with small mullets….? Anyway, they must have mistaken Joe for a little bloater and he got several whacks as soon as he walked in….hence he ends up in the Empire….wait for it missus….as a Kipper!
By Jove the school of fish comedy paid off. As a boy I was lucky to get in…it was a gills only school you know.

King Cotton, I really should have checked beforehand…I saw the stuff about big bands and thought it was a show about the great bandleader Billy Cotton.

If only it had been…somebody running on stage every 10 minutes shouting: “Wakey WaaaaaayKey” was just what the audience needed.

All credit to Jimmy McGovern. If you need a quiet kip in the centre of town…it’s cheaper than the Adelphi.

Now why hasn’t anybody written “The Adelphi - The Musical” Hey?

Martine MeClutchgone would make a wonderful Ida Downey..wasn’t that her name?

Oh no Eileen, yes Eileen…Imagine the set…the Adelphi dining room packed with famous celebrities and Ringo, all waiting impatiently for their dinner…Brian shouting “Just cooook will ya” and as they begin the meal they all start singing “ Come on Eileen” accompanied by Dexy’s Midnight Runs later that night.

There you are Jimmy…write that!

My advice to Jim, is never write sci-fi as it often includes references to the 5th dimension so you need to get past the 2 dimensional first.

Is it true that Howard Goodhall changed his name to Howard Sodall-Todowithit so he was taken off the credits?

Only joking Jim, it was a very enjoyable evening apart from that bloody Salvation Army band playing outside.

Ashton Under Lyne… Ashton leaving under a blanket, so I hear!

The most inspired part of the show for me was how the action transferred to a bar, lulling the audience into thinking it was the interval but it was in fact the showdown between the self appointed representative of the oppressed and enslaved, against the sleeping scribes who document history through the echo of capitalist and cultural lackeys.

“Fat, fat fatty” he cried to the sleeping dog patrolling the civil war, who in response fired a Brookside, causing him to lash out with the words: “Baldy, fat fatty… I’ll get you sacked and write a play about the injustice of it, and guess who will play you?…..Sinbad!…..with his head shaved!!! Cos he’s fat as well!”

Yes missus, it was the classic Jimmy Mac, we all love, back to the glory days of those wonderful poetic lines from his early career.

Who can ever forget lines like, “Arrr ay Sheila….” and “Petrochem just don’t want me, Annabelle. We have to live with the scum now.”

And “Ar ay, Terry, where’s ahh Barry? Norron the bog is he?” or “Druuuuuuuuuuuuugs, Billy” and my all time favourite storyline: “ Free Jesse Jackson”

Oh no, it was George Jackson, a hapless fireman who was completely out of his depth and lost in a warren of intrigue and incompetence, ends up getting sent to the slammer….....ha ha, as if!???!! Well all I can say about my night at the theatre missus is this, and it’s in the form of a little poem, just like you get in the Echo:

“That old King Cotton

Is best forgotten

Music’s nice

But the script is rotten

An epic story of Lancashire mills

Who all faced a famine and couldn’t pay bills.

As the fight against slavery is depicted on stage

It causes the author to get in a rage

The snoring of critics gets him fumin’

Then comes a letter sung by Randy Newman.

It says Old Hack Joe is a total disgrace

By the invisible man

With Frank Bough’s face.

Joe is suspended

Put out of reach

So much for culture

And the right of free speech”

By the way missus and all you avid Bloggerers, if you support free speech, then lend us your mobile phone.

Ha ha by Jove.

(His musings now ended, the Professor drops exhausted into a large leather armchair as a cat screeches and darts from under his ample posterior. He nods off relaxed in front of a roaring fire, forgetting it is all central heating. As alarm bells ring everywhere, a handsome young fireman tries to wake from his nightmare as the curtain begins to fall…….probably around May 2008)

Tatty Bye everybody, Tatty bye!

"IT'S AS EASY FOR A RICH DIDDYMAN TO ENTER THE KINGDOM OF HEALTH, AS IT IS FOR A CABAL TO PASS THROUGH THE EYE OF AN EVIL..."

The Squire Of Daddies Cash said...
By Jove, I'm back.
Yes, the Big Digger missus!
Right into your pockets!
Here again, like the proverbial bad penny, ha, ha, no such thing as a bad penny, send them to me missus, by jove.
Never mind under the floor boards, my new house will be built on Williamson's Tunnels. Plenty of room there to store the grotty cash!
Now this thing is still going on about me being the Squire of Medi-cash, but todays sermon members of the Parrish of St Tony, is on a subject very close to my height...Children!
Yes my missionary work with the CSA.
Cash Supplied Abundantly!
Now at first I wasn't sure if I should take up a position as a missionary, so i consulted Doc the Marmaliser.
I said what would you think of a missionary position? He said go for it Diddy, but not in the shower, the water can go up your nose.
So I thought long and hard.... did I have the skills and the ability, the passion, the commitment..then I thought about the 900 quid a day.
So you see it was a personal calling for me.
£900 a day, that's more than the cost of a councillors computer..nearly.
But it's not the money missus it's other higher rewards...bigger heels for me shoes..no higher than that.
I know what your thinking, it's as easy for a rich diddyman to enter the kingdom of health as it is for a cabal to pass through the eye of an evil.
Now, "Give me a child to the age of 7..." the Jesuits used to say, actually one of the silent orders said it first, but nobody heard them.
Give me a child to the age of 7 and I'll clear off and you'll never see a penny.
That was my brief to overhaul the CSA (Cash Still Accummulating) and track down these absent fathers.
Unfair to the diddy dads some may say?
Come off it, they're all loaded, staying at Buckingham Palace dressing up as batman? One of them owns a crane, I've seen him danngling off it dressed as Spiderman.
Why Superheroes missus? Why Batman, Superman, Spiderman?
If they want Justice, why not dress as Ombudsman?
If they stopped dressing as Milkman there might be a few less skint kids missus.
And it is heart breaking.....to think of all that missing money...
I did me research by jove, yes!
In this day and age, children barefoot on cobbled streets huddled in doorways in our own city!
A scandal... not even a pair of scandals!
If you don't believe me you can see the pictures for yourself in the Library.
"Liverpool" by Gon Days. Short for Gonville I think.
Published only last year. So my research is up to date. An outrage!
Believe me, ladies and gentlemen I was determined that these children should get the help they need.
Just imagine the difference it would make if these families had enough money to phone LDL for help.
By Jove,...they'd make a fortune! Another one!
Keep them on hold...if they're in a phone box at least they are out of the rain...some words of comfort while they are on hold..."all our advisers are busy looking for other jobs....your cash is important to us...we are currently in a queue at the bank."
So anyway half a million later when I found me quil, I wrote my report on the back of a spare vest.
I'd already sent some briefs earlier.
Sack half the staff, they are all rubbish, for the rest, purchase 200 pocket calculators (only £3500 each from one of my contacts in LDL, plus service charge and AA battery not supplied) and a phonebook.
Then instigate the classic sting operation to track down the Dads!
"Hello is that Mr Cockie-leekie? Your son Wee Hamish has won the Lottery and wants you to come home. Soon as he sets foot back in the house, turn him upside down by the ankles and shake! Please make cheque payable to Sir Diddy."
Now some people said my report was a load of rubbish and achieved nothing.
Nonsense I say, look at my bank balance now missus!
Actually before I go on, I wish to withdraw something I put in earlier...behave yourself, madam, not even with somebody else's tickling stick!
No, not hindsight for the missing dads either, I am referring to a comment about Doc the Marmaliser and misdoings in the shower.
Now this appalling Blog business has been very unfair, labelling him the dirty dog and the Rottweiller...sniffing around Golden receivers.
So I would like to make it clear right now that he was cleared of any wrong doings whatsoever by a stewards enquiry at Crufts.
Ahhh I wonder if he misses me. Those days sharing the council chamber pot, him lifting me on and off and then wiping my pc for me.
What a gap I must have left.
Is it possible that they could find somebody who could fill my shoes missus?
They did show me the top 3 choices - Ronnie Corbett, Jeanette Krankie and Jimmy Clitheroe...all too busy.
I did hear that Little Richard was interested, but he was too busy trying to find out just who
this Tracey Parrish was.
Well I can answer that...
It was none other than that media menace Judy Finnigan!
Yes, not the first time she's tried to expose the diddies to the public!
Well all I can say is that whoever was chosen as my successor, I hope he does a good job for the city.
He'll never have as many hits as me, I just hope he doesn't try and do cover versions.
Arthur Askey would be my choice, yes big hearted Arthur...perhaps he was on the bee list?
Is it Arthur?
Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, I think I have said enough.
If after reading my wise words and comments, you still think I was wrong in some of my actions as Squire...be kind to my memory.
Remember, my work for the CSA was also in recognition of my own unhappy childhood.
Yes the Jesuits were right about the formative years. they can influence a man.
I was after all a war baby, born durng the blitz in the bed next to Stan Boardmans act.
Yes a war baby!
The midwife took one look and said whooooaar, what's that?
I was a diddy baby too, delivered by tweezers.
But at 3 months old I was kidnapped by Gerbils and held for ransom.
Nobody would pay the 37 shillings and sixpnce they demanded and i think that is why money became so important to me in later life.
The gerbils quickly grew to loathe me after I privatised their wheel but they were afraid to bring me back because owing to a misprint on a government telegram in 1939, Britain had been at war with the Gerbils for 7 years.
So they dumped me in a moses basket and floated me off down the Mersey...I still sleep in it to remind me.
By the time I was re-united with my diddy family, my charecter was formed.
So i can't help myself missus...actually I can and do ha ha by jove yes!
But that's the man that stands here before you...here...no here...down here missus!
Well this is my last contribution to these glorious pages.
I'm off to pursue another new career as a writer.
I am going to team up with professor Tom Slemen, the man of Liverpool mysteries and blood curdling tales of long ago.
Yes, madam it'll send chills up your flannel nighty, especially when you are out going to the off licence in your dressing gown pretending to be a Pete Price listener.
Me and Professor Slemen have uncovered new evidence about an old Liverpool horror story,about which i have a particular insight.
That of an evil little goblin figure who used to terrorise the good people of Liverpool, making their souls and wallets feel cold and empty, a hideous sight last seen leaping from the roof of the town hall to the municipal building and then onto the roof of all of the banks along Castle Street, leaving large filthy deposits as people cried helplessly.
Yes, you know who I mean, none other than the notorius Liverpool legend, Cuban Heeled Jack !So Tatty bye everybody Tatty bye!
3:14 AM

THE 'SQUIRE OF MEDI-CASH' IS NOW IN CHARGE OF THE WEALTH SERVICE....

By Jove! Here i am again, being accused of all sorts!
You ungrateful Bassets!
What have I done to deserve this missus?
How tickled I was to take up my new post as chairman of the Great North Western Railway Health Authority. Or whatever it's called.
To be honest,I only looked at the wages.
Mind the gap!
Ha-ha, Yes, the one between credibility and salary.
Well as you know, my tickling stick can fill any gap, They can't touch you for it!
Yes, health. Of course I've been drumming up business for the health service for years, most people are quickly sick at the sight of me.
As new chairman, I was able to pick my own chair, but I still had to put four cushions on it so they could see my head over the table.
And now, here I am working in health being accused of speeding up the process to get rid of a troublesome boil!
People are saying that I was scared of her standing up to me, what nonsense!
She stood up to me once and i looked her straight in the gusset and said, listen here Maggie, you'll never walk down Lime Street anymore if you carry on like this.
Mind you, you can't drive down either.
So as Chairman, i exercised my authority and hid her chair for the next meeting.
She was totally discomknockerated and quickly cleared off to take a new job in charge of the Veterinary surgery in Emmerdale.
I was in Emmerdale once you know missus, Ooo Arrrhh yes!
In the old days when Amos Brailey was birdwatching.
The script called for a little tit to come through the window of the Woolpack.... how dare you madam?
No, I was an extra who found a feather in his pint.
Anyway, where was I? oh yes..
Do you know ladies and gentlemen, it's free for the public to dial 999?
That can't be right?
Lets's face it, if you are really sick you wont mind paying a few bob to phone for an ambulance.
And now when you ring them, there's no recorded message or music to listen to! What kind of customer care is that?
A little Rossini will help you stop worrying about the scissors in your neck.
The Thieving Magpie has always been a favourite of mine.
That reminds me i must call the Doctor myself.
And this 999 service is all so gloomy.
Cheer the callers up with a few shaggy dog stories, in fact I'll give you his number.
Now we all want good health and i believe that there is only one part of the body that needs treating regularly, and that's the funny bone. yes the Humourus.
We all need to exercise the chuckle muscle at least 3 times a day.
First thing in the morning, I go into the bathroom, take all my clothes off in front of the mirror and look at the size of my moneybelt.
Ha Ha! By Jove! One sneeze and I could hit the jackpot.
Hold yer plums Diddy!!
And forget all this nonsense about obesity, it's nice to get hold of something, isn't it ladies and gentlemen?
I keep piling on the pounds and that exercises my chuckle muscle every time I go to the bank. Yes the Wealth Service is safe in my hands!!!
Tatty-bye everybody tatty-bye!!!
12:46 AM

'HE'S BEEN A HARD-FACED KNIGHT AND HE'S BEEN WORKING WITH THE DOG..."

By Jove missus!
Can't a man slip quietly away into retirement without being hounded by this blog?
All i want to do is sit on me mushroom in the garden and every now and then get the rake out and go looking for cash. Is that a crime?
It's hard for us pensioners to make ends meet, so i am forced to take on the odd job here and there.
Panto is a long way off you know and there's a lot of local competition for the role of Sleazy right now.
Mind you missus there is a clear favourite for Dopey, and Doc fixed himself up as soon as he knew i was off.
But who on earth are they going to find to play Snow White?
Ha ha by jove, that'll be like trying to find a weasel in a pay-stack.
So, I have to keep going, no rest for the wicked and no listeners either if we get the licence. yes you may have heard about my radio bid...that's the wireless missus. Bring back Jimmy Young!! What's the recipe today Jim? Usually something a bit fishy.
Yes my venture into broadcasting with Dickhead FM has been resurrected again but this time for the Valleys of Wales. At least i won't have to play the bloody Beatles, those mop topped morons i had to keep praising in Liverpool.
Capital of Culture missus!
A bit more than "yeah, yeah yeah...", "Sgt Bradleys lonely hard up plans.", "Eleanor Rathbone" and "He's been a Hard Faced Knight and he was working with the Dog"
A load of rubbish!
I'll show you ungrateful turn-coats what real culture is, once I get my own 5 hour daily radio slot.
Diddy David?.... Blast and discomknockerations! I may have to change my name there's another one already!
Ahh I know, Diddy Dafyd, yes you see, I am still quick on me little feet missus.
Yes i will need to appeal to a Welsh audience, highlight my background in the jam butty mines, my diddy davey lamp on my head and face red with jam on my way home from the pit for a tin bath in front of the fire.
A simple welsh rarebit from Fortnum and Masons warming on the Aga.
First record will be to celebrate the Big Dig, "Road Rage" by Catatonia, actually that reminds me of look on the faces of the audience during my recent lecture tours "Forty Days And Forty Winks with The Squire of Grotty Cash"
People really are queueing up to see me speak.
I must demand a smaller lectern though, I get out of breath jumping up and down so they can see my head.
So missus back to Bighead FM, I am going to take the airwaves by storm, a little opera slot in the morning....no missus not Oprah!
Opera...Verdi,Puccini,Lasagne.
If I may be serious for a moment ladies and gentlemen, I have actually re-written Wagners Ring Cycle for modern day.
In my new version Das Merseygold, starts with the blonde merseymaids guarding the Lieverpool gold and then along comes a poisonous little dwarf who tricks them all stealing lot.
He renounces love and honour because he can still have lust and wealth.
That is followed by The Valkries, where the blonde maidens really start to get screwed for losing the gold, you know the main tune..used in the war film film Apackofcrisps Now!
Dumb diddy dumb dumb, dumb diddy dumb dumb...and by jove you were dumb!
Then there is Seigleader, the noble fool who brings about his own downfall trying to take onthe poison dwarf.
And of course it all ends in tears with the Twighlight of the Dogs in Bloggerdammerung, as we see the downfall of the gods through greed, avarice and betrayal.
You see i can be serious and satirical missus and once my updated version is produced, I fully expect once again to have people worshipping my Ring...by jove back to the smut and innuendo quick as a flash!
Now before I go, i must say something about the Sir Diddy Hogwash Partnership, my little investment company to set aside something for a rainy day.
If you want to be in my company and not many do, in fact so far it's just me and Lady Diddy, and she's not that keen, you can buy a share for a quid.
This company could be hugely influential, alter the course of business for the 21st century.....a soon I find out what it does, we can start influencing.
So come on down, the price is right missus, what's a pound to you?
You already handed me 340,000 of them for nothing, by jove and there's plenty more out there!
A quick hello by the way to one of my ex Diddyrectors whom I hear is making a local comeback, Cheeky Chuck Parker.
A fine young man who will go a long way, the further the better. You'll get no more out of me!
I hope he can make a contribution to capital of culture, he was always full of bright ideas, always looking to dip his nib and get something down.
I remember us thrashing around a few ideas about what we could do to make capital of culture a success.
Like me, he isn't a fan of the Beatles (Jo Brown and the Bruvvers)and obviously a re-union was off the cards but people were pushing to get Paul McCartney involved.
Charlie said that Mccartney was an idiot and had done of nothing merit since the Beatles.
Well what about Wings? somebody said and Charlie replied, "Yes that would be good, we could sell wings with commemwerwative bwacelets wiv the 08 wogo on"
Titters all round missus and the usual arguments followed as people walked out including Charlie saying they couldn't work amongst all the wanqours and compwete wack of wespect.
And that's what we need wespect...Respect especially for our elderly citizens...Up the pensioners!
So come on, show you still care, send me a quid and buy a little bit of Diddy.
After all i have done you for, support me now in my hour of greed.
And now now before Sailing by on Wicked FU here is the Grabbing Forecast...
Tatty bye everybody Tatty bye!

THE HELP THE AGED STANDARDS COMMITTEE, THE PIGEON SHELTER AND ALL THIS SILLY COO NONSENSE

By Jove, missus!
What a tattynefarious day, yes, when I was made Squire of Grotty Cash.

Who would have thought it, from those dark days in the Knowsley Jam-butty mines to be elevated to such lofty heights?

And that's not just my cuban heels.
What a beautiful day for putting a shovel in your underpants and saying how's that for a Big Dig?
Yes when the good burghers and some very silly burghers of Lollypool, put me in charge of Chuckle Chambers I didn't want to leave this wonderful city with tears for souveignirs but to leave you feeling full of mirth and your spirits lighter.
Well I was close missus I left full of murk and with your bank balance much lighter.
Of course I am now a Knight of the Realm.

And what a bloody awful night it was too.
Arise Sir Diddy, they said.

Yes please, I said.
So I increased my salary.
But I couldn't have done it without good friends. And closest of all was Doc the Marmaliser.
He helped me leave a great legacy, LDL. Lotsa Dirty Lucra.
Where's all the money gone? people ask.
Well mostly to charity - to help a dear old lady called Beatty.
A shame I fell out with Dickie Mint over silly things like the Trams and the Cloud but when he tried to offer me a bus pass to go, it was only off-peak!
An insult to a man of my standing (4' 10" in my heels) and I was not going to stand at the bus stop until 9.30 missus, not with the cold windy weather whistling round your knighthood.
I didn't want my investments shrinking.
So I threatened to report Dickie to the help the aged standards committee and they were shocked at what they found!
Dickie had been trying to topple me with his cohort, Mattymail Funniblog.
Dickie had to step down from his high office and finally look me in the eye.
A new experience for me!

But it was all worth it, I got my pension and my full bus pass.
So I think the whole issue about standards in public office that can be learned from my time in charge of the chuckle muscle of Merseyside comes down to one thing - Happiness!
We all need to be happy and it's good to see that despite all the bigwigs driving around in their posh cars, they stil think of the less fortunate, like the homeless and have, I believe, just invested some cash in Shelter.
So the Liver Birds still stand proud and so do the pigeons on the roof of the Town Hall.
And as i said to the pigeons on the day I left, lets stop all this silly coo nonsense.
I did what I did to stand up for Diddymen everywhere.
Tatty Bye everybody Tatty Bye!!!!