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

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.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqORTeW01m0

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.

More helpings of Custard as Ironing Board for England leaves Chuckle Brothers on Death Row. Plus Mathew Chas & Dave and spectacular closing semolina

By Jove, I’m back missus. It’s been a busy week for me. Half the house was accidentally demolished after Mrs Chucklebutty dug up a 2nd World War bomb in the back garden and kept battering it with a shovel to see if it was live.

Yes we had a bit of a fall out over that, just because I left her in a tree for four days, but all is now back to normal. Peace in our time and pieces of the garden throughout the neighbourhood. She was okay when it went off having taken the precaution of wearing earplugs.

Anyway ladies and gentlemen, enough about the home front, which is all that’s left until we rebuild the back, down to the main business.

All of you Custard-Vultures will no doubt be wondering what’s left for 2008 as I turn again to the examine some of the remaining tattyfilarious programme of events.

Of course there will also be the spectacular closing ceremony, to make up for the piss-poor opening one with Bingo Starr and the grand parade of strangers and extras from Brookside.

Speaking of the closing ceremony, it looks like the result of the investigation into the behaviour of our current political leaders by the Ironing Board for England, has been put on hold with them deciding not to announce the guilt (or otherwise) of Messrs Bradlow and Mint until we have ended the year of custard.

They drank all the Peroni (click on links)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7S_afcpaEU

It seems they wish to spare the city any embarrassment of having our Leader and future Lord Muck bundled out of the town hall under a blanket, at least until Cilla has given her Panto thigh one last slap. Give Pete Price one as well Chuck. ( She calls me Chuck, you know, the cheeky mare)

Step inside Cilla
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GHVLwHJNC-0

Surely this uncertainty leaves us with a great cloud - another one - hanging over the city for the rest of the year? If they are innocent, why haven’t they spared us the worry?

But if the Chuckle brothers are guilty of bullying and conspiring against Mr Harbottle and leaking details of his ticky dodger to the press (the Ironing Board doesn’t like the press you know, by Jove) then by not going public, we are potentialy left with people running the city who may now officially be regarded as unfit for office. This risks the end of Capital of Custard year being dominated by front page spreads about the antics of these two, rather than Pete Price’s Ugly sister frock. Although I am sure we’ll be able to read about it in his column for many months after.

What’s even more worrying, is with our “world in one city” slogan, just imagine the damage if a guilty verdict is linked to the colour of Mr Harbottle’s skin!

I have often thought why this brilliantly successful and charismatic young man should have been cruelly held up to ridicule by everyone who has ever come into contact with him or any of his work and why he has been treated so shabbily by Officers and Members with only a £230,0000 pay off.

And then the words of the Civil Blights leader,
The Reverend Doctor Paisley ring in my ear.

“ Is it because I is orange?” I hope I am wrong. But why else would they all take the pith?

Prince Jasper of Orange http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7AN3WLHENY

A guilty verdict could of course have serious implications for the General Postmaster who has been trying to cover up his chronic amnesia after forgetting to send in Harbottle’s complaint.

(Harbottle’s complaint is now officially recognised as an illness. See recent article in The Lancet by Dr Juan Peroni)

I also understand that Executive Board meetings are now called Late Night with Letterman.

But if they've been found guilty, Wally and Mint should go now, then in the remaining months, deputy leader Flo Coupdegras, could work to recapture the spirit of 08, which is currently akin to a bottle of turps in most parts of the city.

On 31st of December, at the closing ceremony, she could regale us on the steps of St George’s Hall with her Dance of the Seventy Million Veils. Recreating the council X-factor winning routine with her and Dr Rotweiller as Ginger Rogers and Freddy Kruger. Nightmare on Dale Street

The Doc dumps Flo for a blonde http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QccO0pvSqgU

What a spectacular that would be, lit by the glow of the stunning 3 inch Catherine wheel nailed to a stick and with the moonlight catching the ceremonial milk bottle to launch the Legacy Rocket as it soars over 12 feet into the night sky with a mighty phhzsst proclaiming,

“ is that it then?”

But let’s try and forget about them for now and concentrate on the great events still to come. Next weekend of course is a second chance to see last years Mirthew Street Festival, when fans will be coming from as far as Chorley and Wrexham (the only train service running) to celebrate musical Merseyside and of course central to the festival is The Fab Four, that’s right, Herman’s Hermits. Visitors will arrive at Peter Noone International Airport “Above us only Mrs Browns lovely daughter” The dirty hermit.

Mrs Brown's http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv8k0VI9tBc
Something good http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evpMKx5nrfY

Arrangements have been made to ensure visitors are immediately fleeced by cab drivers, driven to Runcorn Bridge to arrive in the city centre via the Kingsway Tunnel 5 hours later.

Why hasn’t anybody ever thought of having a tram connection like other cities? That Marie Celeste South Parkway Station that cost millions is miles away from the airport, why not just stay on the bus to Lime Street? It’s the transport equivalent of the pub with no beer - the station with no passengers, just tumbleweeds and a ticket clerk who has gone mad through isolation, he thought life would improve after 15 years in the Lighthouse, the poor man. Built to handle the tens of thousands flocking through from the airport, no expense has been spared apart from on platform seating and any shelter to protect you from gale force wind and driving rain.

The sign says:
Welcome to Liverpool.
What did you come to Parkway for soft lad?
You’d have been better going into town.
You can’t even get a cuppa tea here.
Yer norra Cockney or a woolly are ya?
Who you looking at, knob head?

Actually I think everything after the first line, was added by Jimmy McGovern, in felt tip. When he gets the muse, he has to write it down you know.

But anyway missus, this year the festival should be amazing with the headline act bound to bring in the huge crowds being none other than, scouse cockney band Chas & Dave. Yes Mr Cole and Dr Rottwieller will open the event with their hit song “Rob-it, Rob-it”.

They will also be attending an opening banquet with the Lord Mayor, dining on Jellied Cuban eels a la diddy, stunned salthouse fish, fresh from our very own docks and all sorts of seafood to reflect our maritime history. In fact the banquet is being held at one of the fishiest establishments in town, The 08 Plaice. Free parking will be available for guests of honour.

Fresh Fish Blues http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AATtz__l9S8

LDL Test http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmzodvWDwSM

There is more ladies and gentlemen, no sooner does the Meryl Streep festival conclude than we have perhaps the most eagerly awaited event of the year commence. La Vending Machine! So keep some 10 pence pieces handy.

Everybody is wondering what’s in store for the city as the people who brought the great Elephant to the streets of London, or Boris Johnson as he is known, bring a spectacular creature to Liverpool for 2008. They are calling it La Princess! I do hope it’s not going to be a 90ft Princess Anne on horseback jumping over the Churchill flyover and blooding the children as she slaughters any pensioners wearing a fox fur.

Or a gin sodden Princess Margaret marauding through the city streets chasing Roddy Llewellyn with a corkscrew. It wont be the other one, despite the Liverpool connection and the affair with Doddy, I can’t remember her name - off Panorama - claimed Prince Charles secretly married a camel and Prince Phillip once tried to smother the Queen mother with a pillow after she drank his Old Spice.

But anyway, the French designers who have created La Machine first visited Liverpool looking for inspiration as to what kind of creature they could build. I understand they were shocked to see and hear about such a web of deceit, so with that impression, who knows what they may come up with.

Of course machines like this have their origin in Victorian times with the popular but smaller scale automatons that used to go on display. They would both shock and excite huge crowds of people at major events. Perhaps the most shocking example of the period was The Great Exhibition of Prince Alberts, when they all dropped their trousers in front of Queen Victoria at the Trooping of the colour. That was where they got the idea for the 21-gun salute.

Apart from that and the closing ceremony, I suppose the other main event is one I should keep quiet about since I misguided readers about it some time back. I mistakenly thought it was the HGV awards. However, since then I have received tens of thousands of letters from angry welsh folk. It is of course the HTV awards, a celebration of Harlech Televisions finest achievements.

And where better to celebrate that than Liverpool. Probably Sir Diddy put in a word for us after he bought himself a place there with our council tax or was that Manchester. Oh, there's a thouht, we don’t want the Granada Awards; they might send Ray Gosling to investigate us. Mind you isn’t Bet Lynch still our cultural ambassador from those early heady days?

I do hope Les Dennis doesn’t start a fight with Max Boyce during the awards. It was bad enough when Cheggars chinned Harry Seacombe on a live edition of Highway. Still, Cheggers is off the juice now and remains one of my heroes, a man who is 100% proof - well not these days, he’s still off it - but he remains proof that if you cut Liverpool people in half, they would have plumtiousness written right through them.

Bless you young Keith. We should get him back here to sort out the mysterious One Swap Shop for Kensington. Maybe it was swapped for the LDL £15 million nobody can account for.

The HTV awards will celebrate an era of magnificent entertainment output. Remember they gave us Wycliffe, with Jack Sheppard, Three Little Words with Ray Allen and Barbie and Definition with Don Moss. Their Jewel in the Crown, of course was the inspired game show “Mr & Mrs”.

Ahh you see, a lot of people only remember the Derek Batey version on Border TV, but the HTV one had the great and bald Alan Taylor, who wore a monocle and went on to do Paint Along with Nancy Komisnky. She married Reagan of course and ran the USA while he talked to the hat-stand all day.

They’ll all be there on the big night, well not that swine Batey, who ousted Alan’s HTV version. But anyway, as Batey and Alan used to say at the end of each episode,

“be nice to each other”

If only our local politicians and indeed the world could adopt that wise and simple philosophy.

You know I may run off some t-shirts with that on. What’s Harbottle’s number?
They’d all want one especially if it had Alan and Batey on it. Subliminal social control as well. I’ll speak to Sir Bernard Hogan-Heroes about this.

Moving on, here’s a special message now to all you ladies. Oven Chips for the next couple of weeks missus, leave the chip pan in the cupboard, we don’t want any fires because Grotty cash is hosting the World Fire-fighter games, so you’ll have to make do with the Coast Guard in an emergency and swim out to sea. Yes it’s the Fire-fighter games at the Arena. We won the tender ha, ha by Jove!

This promises to be an event to rival the Beejam Olympics. They were going to have an Olympic style flaming torch ceremony but they just couldn’t help themselves and kept putting it out.

Nevertheless the main opening ceremony promises to be an amazing spectacle.

As the parade of fire-fighters march into the Arena, nine hundred and ninety nine (999 see they have thought it all through) specially invited youngsters will greet them with the now traditional hail of bricks and abuse as they kick off with the first event, “puttin’ar bommie out”. There will be music too from Nee-naw Simone backed by Sirenz, the stars of last years’ Matthew Street judge nobbling festival held on Fathers day.

Sad to say there is the usual controversy though to spoil the games. Apparently the pretty little girl in the Everton scarf singing “Smoke gets in your lies” was just lip syncing to little Wally Bradlow who actually sang it, but his head was thought to be too big and too crooked to represent the right image for Grotty Cash. Quite right. It looks like a peanut shell! It is a shame though; after all he scored top marks in the dope testing.

Just to note, there will be Green Goddesses on stand-by to finish the games, should there be any enquiries or dispute over the tiddlywinks results.

Modern Fire Service http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=54krG8U6Cl0

Beijing Official Olympic Song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pY5zDQWd5bE

So missus, Grotty Cash is going to be the place to be over the coming months, particularly if you work for the Standards Board or the National Audit Commission. (Hopefully)

The message and advice then to Wally Bradlow and Future Lord Muck, Dicky Mint, remains the same.

It is the motto of the fire fighters themselves.

GET OUT and STAY OUT!

Be Nice To Each Other

Tatty Bye Everybody Tatty Bye!

THE END OF THE BLOGGINING: THE BLOATED VENDETTA WHALE, HMS LISTING BADLY, AND THE POUNDS CAST AWAY.....

By Jove, Mrs Chucklebutty is furious.
I had promised her that today I would be announcing my retirement and we would move to our villa in Spain, next door to the Harbottles, but looks like hacienda that…for now!
I have to apologise that in my Election Special I issued the Mayday call, that we were abandoned at sea and surrounded by Sharks and Jellyfish.
My warning was not sufficient. I was unaware that the treacherous waters of the Mersey also contained a hidden menace.
Yes at the last minute just when the many vulnerable and forgotten people thought the lifeboat had reached them and had begun to cheer their imminent salvation from the stagnant slurry that has contaminated our blessed waters for almost 10 years, a great blubber whale broke the surface of foaming slime and swallowed the hopes of thousands in one sickening and orchestrated gulp.
The Bloated Vendetta Whale, clearly attracted by a pool of plankton and the nearby sinking ship, Listing Bradley, was harpooned and dragged on board by the discredited Captain, only to have its carcass rammed into the rotten bulkhead (as the Captain is known by many of his crew) to keep the wreck afloat for a little longer.
Although whaling is internationally frowned upon (where was Greenpeace?) this sad and pathetic creature was used by the ship of lost souls to keep their hopelessly lost vessel upright.
Whilst the callous crew briefly pat its head and feed its ego, it will soon be left below the water line to slowly rot.
Sadly that is the truth of whaling in today’s waters, where just enough flesh is taken from the dim witted creature to cover an area the size of one seat and the rest of the blubber - and even the meat head - is left to decompose or will eventually be thrown back to the into the water where it may be devoured by those who placed it there.
So how long before the next rescue ship?
Captain Bradlow's crew are already plotting mutiny. Fletcher Clein (have I ever mentioned it’s German for Diddy? Yes, I may have) has already announced that the Captain has to be thrown overboard before the entire crew perishes.
Who knows what new direction Admiral Stilton would have taken had the so-called Flagshit of the Glib Dum Navy sunk without trace.
Maybe a mutiny will go some way towards swabbing the putrid decks or more likely, it may delay ridding us of what has become a poison where the antidote is still being developed and in need of further tests.
But Shipmates, we will all drown if we do not continue to battle against the waves.
All that the Captain has really achieved in harpooning the whale is, as they say in nautical terms, “15 tons on a dead mans chest, yo ho ho and a battered glib dum.”
Now before any anonymous soul comments about insensitivity - such as that made about Mr Gleeson and tells me: “when you compared Lardia Stewpid to a bloated whale, where you aware of the fact that she had actually lost the ability to get her fat arse to a constituency meeting, select committee or ward surgery? If so it was insensitive, insulting and below the standards……” etc, etc, etc.
Well, yes missus, I was fully aware that there was a Kentucky Fried Chicken shop and a Sayers and a Chippy between Stupid's home and the nearest meeting room.
And of course I openly admit that both Mrs Chucklebutty and I are no strangers to pastry and on this occasion I have gone for the easy target of Orca Steward being a little on the portly side.
But then I am following the example of her new found, short-term friends, who also like to go for the easy targets, such as those people who are being thrown out of their day care centres to finance incompetence and pay-off idiots and failures!
“Steady on Chucklebutty, you are starting to sound like the Tony’s!”
I know, I know - but nothing wrong with that! And frankly this has got my gander up, and I am worried she will eat it.
This is not the end and not even the blogginning of the end.
But it is the end of the blogginning.
We must fight them on the benches! (As soon as they announce the winning entry.)
Blog, Sweat and eventual Cheers!
Iron the curtains….sorry that’s a note from Mrs Chucklebutty.
Finally, for those of you who are still unaware of the finale results for the Glib Dums, I print them below.

Lib Dem Results Liverpool

The total pounds cast away are as follows

JOHNSTON, Kevin
FAILED CHIEF OPERATIONS OFFICER, LIVERPOOL CULTURE COMPANY - £50,000 Forgotten Party (No change)
HENSHAW, Sir Diddy
FAILED CHIEF EXECUTIVE, LIVERPOOL CITY COUNCIL AND LIVERPOOL CULTURE COMPANY - £360,000 By Jove Party (Personal Gain)
ARCHER, Robyn
FAILED CREATIVE DIRECTOR, LIVERPOOL CULTURE COMPANY - £375,000 Skippy the Cash Kangaroo (Held)
GREEN,Chris
FAILED CHIEF OPERATIONS OFFICER, LIVERPOOL CULTURE COMPANY - £50,000 No Street Party (Ran)
HARBOTTLE, Jason
FAILED CHIEF EXECUTIVE, LIVERPOOL CULTURE COMPANY - £250,000 Huge leaving party (Not invited)
DICKINSON, Lorna
FAILED CONSULTANT £45,000 A Stunned Fish called Squander party (wet)

As returning officer for the above constituency of Grotty Cash…(where’s my additional £24k?) I declare that from the total cash trashed, the loser is, the people of Liverpool!

Tatty Abide With Me Everybody, Tatty Bye

THE COMEDY GREATS by Prof Chucklebutty (not to mention the porpoises now swimming in the Mersey...)

By Jove missus!
I understand that there is great disappointment amongst all those who were unable to get a ticket for my recent lecture “Liverpool The Comedy Greats” - nineteen hours of mirth filled anecdotes and reminsiss… reminisci…..memories of my comedy heroes.
The comic legends that have helped to fill Liverpool with tears and laughter that has spread around the whole country.
So for those of you who missed it, here is just a taste:
The comedy greats ladies and gentlemen, people like Tommy Harbarrow. He was of course best known for “ITMA.”
Are you all old enough to remember what that stands for?
Yes that’s right, ITMA - “I Threw Millions Away”.
And what was the other one that came at the end?
“TTFM “ yes! “Then Took F***ing More”!
By Jove, what a comedian he was.
Not only did he enjoy great personal financial success but he also had several appearances in Las Vegas, with regular cast member Clara Cogloose, who played Lotta Krapp the charlady.
Clara was herself of course already an international star for the long running American TV series about the scatterbrained redhead, “ I Love Loosey”.
She went on to form the company DizzyLoose Productions, responsible for making a number of programmes like, The Untouchables, and Perry Makin and perhaps the most popular programme of all time, Superlambonanza.
Yes who can forget 'Blognanza' as it was later called.
Yes, thanks to Tommy and Clara we got one of the most expensive cowboy productions ever seen.
Now another favourite of mine was, of course, the Big Hearted Halfwit himself, Arthur Bradsley.
The diminutive comic who was best known for jumping on any Bandwagon.
Born in Liverpool’s Wholyunsuitableland in Hoses Street, he enjoyed great lack of success with long time partner “Stinker” Storeyinthedock.
Perhaps their best-known routine was the ventriloquist act where Bradskey would be the aggressive but passionate dummy while the script and words were actually written and performed by ventriloquist Stinker.
The act worked well on radio but Stinker Storey wasn’t as good as he thought and on stage after a while, every time the public saw his lips move, they didn’t believe the act any more.
But my favourite of all time has to be the dry humour and monologues of Rob Hilton, and of course the classic Fireman Sketch.
Do you remember that one?

I said so you have written confirmation about being asked to go to see the Las Vegas show?
He said who?
I said you.
He said me?
I said aye,
He said no.
I said well nobody here can recall asking you to go or that they’d pay for it.
He said where?
I said there.
He said who?
I said them.
He said Oh!“
I said but they’d already seen it and everyone knew that it couldn’t be brought here.
He said what?
I said the show.
He said what show?
I said you know.
He said so?
I said so why should they have paid for you to see it?
He said what?
I said that.
He said when?
I said then, oh just go!
He said, I did and I took the missus as well.

And, of course, the famous monologue “The Day Warren broke out” featuring the two Winters of discontent, Mike and Berni.
I said come on Berni, we’re losing support here, let’s get out there on the doorsteps.
She said hang on while I put me teeth in.
I said we’re looking for votes not pork pies.

Ahh! Great comic performers we may never see their likes again.
I hope!
And now the Epiblog with the Rt Reverend Yaffle Chapplebutty
On a different subject, just a quick word before I go, about the environment.
Since the clean up of the Mersey, it has been reported that Salmon have been returning to our waters.
Now looking at some recent comments over the page in the Submarineculture site, I see that environmental issues have risen to the top of the agenda.
There are sudden fears that the Mersey has been infiltrated by the Common Porpoise. Yes this is a poisonous fish and very costly when a clean-up is made.

So in line with the theme of this page, I have taken advice from the renowned UnderSea Explorer Jacques Custard, who assures me that concerns about the rich pickings of these particular scavengers, and bottom feeders infiltrating the Mersey region are a diversion right now from the real issues.
He tells me that at the moment, they are not the real the anemones and at this time we need to concentrate our efforts on dealing with the existing pond life.
Liverpool they say, is the pool of life, so before the life is sucked out of us we need to get rid of the current leeches.
The Cuban Eels may have gone but there is still danger lurking in the evil coral.
As a matter of interest, the Common Porpoise was coaxed here with the help of the former Deputy Prime Minister John Presscoff to go with his chips and gravy.
You remember him?
He punched Edwina Currie for throwing a salmonella infected egg at him.
And during the BSE crisis, he ate John Selwyn Gummer to prove that condemned meat was safe. Now that was a chance for the Lib Dems to get the upper hand, they could have offered Cyril Smith for afters.
Then again Prescoff would probably have chased him down the street with a knife and fork.
Anyway the CP being a European connected fish has attracted the attention of USNOOZE the anti European party from which most of the fears and conspiracy theories originate.
Just because they have lunch at the Groucho Club, they think they are a Marxist conspiracy, when in fact they welcome idiots from all parties and all walks of life so long as they have vast quantities of money to exchange for tripe, which is their main product.
By Jove, come to think of it they sound a splendid group, ripping off all that money from all sorts and getting their daft ideas taken seriously by high-ranking people. And they claim to be a charity while raking in a fortune. Ha ha!
Brings a tear to your eye.
Just like when I set up the “Liverpool Way” Ha ha!
CP ladies and gentlemen stands for Complete P***take.
But save them for another day.
Surely we have already been drained enough.
Now wash your hands, and gentlemen please adjust your dress before leaving the polling station.

Tatty Bye Everybody Tatty Bye