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.
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