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.

http://profchucklebuttychronic.blogspot.com/

Tatty Bye Everybody Tatty Bye!

and Hello Chronic Calls.

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.

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.

BBC (Boiled British Custard) Newsnight Review of 2008, Simon Throttle, Diddy The Moocher and The Last Orders

Newsnight Review Panel

By Jove Missus, I have just watched Friday’s Newsnight Review live from our very own Capital of Custard, and presented by the always delicious, Kirsty Paxman.

He really does look lovely in a frock, totally convincing. You’d never believe it was him. But I have to tell you, I was not happy with the content. The content of the programme I mean, not the frock, well it depends on how far he has gone I suppose…. (edit this bit, note from Mrs C, it’s not Paxman, it’s the woman from the Antiques Show, who was married to David “Barking Hunt” Dickinson, she thinks, unless it’s Gavin Dressler)

You decide!

So anyway, as usual the city was let down by the BBCs choice of interviews with the man in the street, some of whom, even I could tell, were obviously women! In fact some were not in the street at all, they were on a boat! You just can’t trust the BBC anymore. Where do they find these people to interview? One woman said that for her, the highlight of the year was now being able to shop at the new Debenhams! Well I suppose they do have a very good wool counter.

There have been many memorable events that I would have been happy to list for Kirsty, if I could recall them. Where’s me programme? Ah, by Jove yes, there was the erm, Klimt Eastwood Exhibition, Dusty Creamfields, or The Chas and Dave Festival, the squirty spider thing with those French buggers who wouldn’t get up in the morning, the magical mystery Paul Daniels' Anfield Concert, The return of Tall Chips, we had the chance to Design a Lovely Bench for Oldham and the various charity executive marathon runners in the 240k, 340k 500k. They raised a huge amount for their personal charities.

By Jove what athletes they were, being able to run carrying all that weight.

No not you Nadia, good heavens no, it’s pointless you running anywhere again. Well not unless it’s running up a slate at Sayers. Now that’s what I call a Credit Munch! But God bless you madam for doing all you can to keep them in business, even if you are still a toxic bundle.

There is still so much more to come in Custard year before the cancelled closing ceremony which has been labelled The Custav Skint Exhibition, and there will be a big pantomime finale as we bid farewell to the Chuckle Brothers. That’s being organised by the Standards Board so there should be enough money left for the stamp. Yes we will all miss Wally and Dickie Mint, and now their agent may even retire with them. That hasn’t been confirmed as yet, but Mr Harbottle tells me an email has been sent.

But anyway Missus, the Newsnight Review on Grotty Cash spent far too much time on other things. Most of the first half was spent discussing the new cinema version of Birkenhead Revisited and if the actor playing Softbastian was as good he was on the telly. That was all lost on me, I get all these serials confused - Jewel In The Crowd, Massage to India, Up the Elephant and Round the Castle - I suppose it's because Charles “my boomerang wont come back" Dance was in all of them.

I prefer the more genteel sagas I think, like Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Coathanger Abbey and of course Anfield Park. Of course the author, Ethel Austen, was from Liverpool you know, by Jove yes! She did other action stuff for the telly as well. The Persuasions, remember that? Lord Brett Sinclair and Tony Curtains? Marvellous.

They spoke to that Simon Throttle who used to be conductor at the Phil. He annoyed me with that Harry Enfield Scouser wig. A word of advice, just because you are playing in an Oompah band in Berlin now, don’t be coming back here trying to be funny at Liverpool's expense. For one thing, it doesn’t work without the moustache and for your information Mr Throttle, the saying is "Calm Down-Calm Down" not "Ohh Sibelius-Sibelius" Sounded more like Dick Emery.

Anyway what are you doing in Berlin? They’re the buggers who dropped that bomb in my back garden. Ask them about reparations for me will you?

I suppose I should go easy on him, after all he did pay me a huge personal compliment with his musical choice, Wagner’s Buttyjammerung. What a lovely gesture. It certainly made me embarrassed about the gesture I made when he walked on. Really though, he should have picked another ring piece as I think it is still too early for The Twighlight of The Blogs. Although it won’t be too long before Libdemmerung. It is a shame they didn’t use the opportunity to get a dig in at Professor Rednose of Brookside and his ridiculous appointment as Chair of the World Aquarium and Bughouse, by performing Wagner’s The Flying Grossman. The Review panel didn’t know what to make of Throttle night either. Mind you Missus, I felt the same way about the review panel.

I have to say Missus, that Newsnight review is not as good without a comic turn from Tom Paulin. He always had us in stitches, writhing on his chair and wringing his hands and sobbing over the way Trevor Nunn’s latest production at the National had given… Aunt Aggie a submissive role in her relationship with Desperate Dan, losing much of the pathos from the original writing and the intrusive and unnecessary modernity in the replacement of the Cow-pie - a very central masculine metaphor for the desire to consume the mothers womb - with a crate of Stella. Well something like that.

Anyway, on the panel we had Frankie goes to Hollyoaks, front man, Jolly Johnstone and Liverpool actor and star of Vision-on Tony Hart, who seemed to be struggling with three accents and a prop hat. The woman who was on the original Custard awards panel was also on but I can’t remember her name - she looks like Mariella Frostbite. Last of all, some film director who didn’t like the Eric’s and Ernie show at the Everyman saying he hated the songs but then recommended the show, which seemed a bit pointless since it’s a musical! Must have been worried about his fee. But really! Who can’t resist singing along with Bring Me Sunshine? They all seemed to have difficulty with the action for Eric’s and Ernie being set around two old men sitting in deckchairs but nevertheless, said it was still nice to be out.

Frankie said he couldn’t stand the first half of Throttles gig at the Philharmonic and had only gone hoping to see the man pop up with the big organ and then see a film. They all got fed up at the end they said when Throttle kept coming back on stage, milking it, as they were trying to get their coats on and get to the pub for last orders.

Speaking of pubs, Missus, the panel was less than positive about modern Architecture, when they went to see the new Le Cainsboozer Exhibition in the crypt.

Well let me tell you, that The Booze Brothers has been one of the most successful theatrical productions Liverpool has ever seen, even more than Educating Peter. And Michael Caines was in that too! They should do the Booze Brothers for Christmas,

Sir Diddy could return as the Mini-Moocher.

I do love the theatre, settling into your seat as the house lights go down, so long as that Joe Riley doesn’t keep me awake with his snoring. I am very much looking forward to the forthcoming production of King Lear, and very excited about the fact that it will star one of our finest actors in the title role as Larry King, yes missus, none other than the marvellous Pete Postgate. He of course was the man who played Mr Pogle in collaboration with Ivor Wood in the 1960s “Pogles Wood”. I think Judi Dentures was Mrs Pogle and Richard Harris was Plant. (a bit too fond of the Billberry Wine I recall) I hear a rumour that Dame Judi may be re-united with him for the play in the role of daughter, Des D’Oconnor.

Yes we are still awash with events to come and still whitewashing the rest.

For me now I think the wonderful Mr Pete Wylie from The band Yer Wha? has recently made the greatest contribution to 2008 which is probably far more representative of the views of Liverpool people and captures the culture and spirit of the city. I am talking of course about his engaging new song, “The Day that Margaret Thatcher dies”

Now some people have used the words cruel and distasteful, well they are absolutely right. She was! Let’s hope it gets to number one for Christmas. Mind you missus, if there is an afterlife, just imagine the look on Denis’ face when he sees her heading towards him….through the flames.

So Custard lovers, don’t ever let anybody tell you that Grotty cash won’t remain a Capital for Custard long after 2008. There is a popular phrase that has been used many times to describe this year. People have usually associated it with Mr Ricky Tomlinson, but I can now confirm that following my own academic research, studying and translating ancient Greek texts that the phrase was actually coined by the lady who modelled for great artist Michaelangelo, whilst working on the Venus De Milo -

“ Sculpture? My arms!”

Tatty Bye Everybody Tatty Bye

(Be Nice to each other)

Sink or Swim with Pay-offs and Pastry as we get up to our necks in Custard

By Jove Missus, how very un-tattifilarious I am!

Yes, like the rest of the Custard company staff, I have been told that I am no longer required to provide my illustrious guide after December 31st.

I have tried to explain that this is a guide to Liverpool and that although the by-line is Capital of Custard 2008, that there may be a legacy role for me in 2009.

The only role for you, they said, is a sausage roll.

Well I suppose they have to find something to do with the 2 million provided by Sayers sponsorship in kind. I bet it wasn’t half a million-sausage rolls that they gave to Mr Hasitall. Mind you, they could have tricked him with that; he couldn’t have eaten them with the gagging clause! Why do they never ask my advice first?

What a cheek though, trying to make me redundant, after all I have done to promote this year!

Anyway dear readers, I offer my apologies to you both for my recent absence. I have been locked in negotiations with Mr Stilton and Bradlow to negotiate a proper pay-off. £30 quid and a 2-minute DVD of the highlights was their last offer. “Hasitall has cleaned us out,” they said.

They claim they are skint and there is nothing left for the closing ceremony.

Well I found three bob down the sofa in Stilton’s office when they nipped outside for a Peroni to discuss my future. So I’m having that, by Jove yes!

Now “Honorary” Professor Rednose is said to have pulled the plug on the closing semolina event, although he may still be able to knock together a Sinbad and Jimmy Corkscrew Karaoke session outside Yates’s. He is of course closely connected to the stars of numerous cancelled shows, as well as being Patron of the Frodsham wind ensemble, so I hear. Yes there appeared to be a definite whiff of them during his recent speech.

I’ve told them to just leave the closing ceremony to me and the Sir Diddy’s men, we can cabal something together. I have a spectacular event all ready to go. Very simple and very cheap.

I will place a large inflatable Lambanana in all of the major city buildings, The Town Hall, St Georges Hall, The Municipal Buildings and both Cathedrals. Then we shall fill the buildings with custard. As the devices are inflated the custard will ooze from the windows and fill the streets of Liverpool for the people to engage in a custard festival, like the one they do with tomatoes in Preston or wherever it is, (somewhere foreign).

The metropolitan cathedral will be the finale - no offence to the C 0f E, as this is dictated by the architecture, not the Pope, even if he does love a bit on his rhubarb - custard will burst like a volcano from the wig-wam funnel roof in a great yellow cascade, running down Brownlow Hill to form a giant lake in the town centre. Souvenir spoons will be available from the car boot of my good friend Mr Harbottle, so everybody can dig-in.

Yes I will invite Mr Harbottle back and with a bit of luck he can hand over the envelope to Wally and Dickie Mint with the outcome of the standards board investigation.

The Lambananas will then burst through each roof and rise above the city. Now, here is the clever bit, at the stroke of midnight, the they will explode releasing clouds of nitrous oxide onto the crowds below (laughing gas to you missus, I have tons of it given to me by Tarbuck) and as it begins to take effect, a photographer from the Oldham Chronic will take a picture of all the smiling and laughing faces, heralding the event a huge success.

As they all become unconscious, the 08 ambassadors secret mission will be put into action as they lift every wallet, purse and any jewellery - that isn’t out of the catalogue - from the sleeping crowd. This will be used to plug the deficit! An inspired plan, I am sure you will agree.

I am just waiting for Sir Rex Hesperus to cast a legal eye over it, just in case the gas is too strong and injuries result. It wouldn’t be so bad if everybody carried a Clack Donor Card but we don’t want to end up with severe clack injury and thousands in hospital on a ventittilator.

Speaking of inspired plans, missus, I have been clearing out my drawers recently and discovered a copy of an early suggestion for a 2008 event, posted directly to the Custard company from Hollywood no less!

Inspired by the Capital of Custard award Mel Brookside the well known director of Blazing Squabbles, came up with yet another vehicle for The Producers especially for 2008, but it has just gathered dust in the 08 place
Reading it again this week, I am not sure somebody didn’t lift a few ideas from it without giving him credit. Here is part of it.

Synopsis “The Produseless”
Nervous accountant Leo Blowsitall enters the office of Max Biallystorey to go through the accounts after another financial disaster costing the Municipal Theatre millions. Leo suddenly realises that you could actually make more money out of a sure fire flop than you could from a success and earn yourself huge pay-offs. So the stage is set to create a Capital of Culture fiasco. http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=3ERAV57bqaU

The first thing they need is the worst event programme ever produced.
In a downtrodden Sydney apartment, they find Rubin Archsnits, with her cabaret extravaganza “ Springtime For Stilton” a musical play about the life and times of

Der Cuerhverhauptman Adull Hilton. The script is a complete stinker and they buy it off of her for £340k.

Just to make sure it will flop, they also need the worst director they can find, so they go backstage at the Chorley rep to meet Jessie Harbolero, who enters wearing a bright orange Flamenco dress. Harbolero, agrees to take the job on condition he can sell the T-shirts and ice cream during the interval and spend 3 days a week rehearsing in Spain.

They interview for a leading man to open the show and are delighted to find that one time tank engine commander Bongo Starr is available and desperate to plug his new album, “Liverpool Hate” He can’t sing, he can’t play anything, he can’t wait to get out of Liverpool; They have found their man!

As the opening night arrives and the curtain goes up, they watch as the assembled audience gasp in horror at what they see as the chorus line begins the opening number .

Springtime for Hilton and Liverpool
Winter for you, you poor sap

Financially we’re off the rails
We’re spending with no audit trails

Springtime for jobs if you’re southerners
You wont have to take the rap

Springtime for Hilton and Liverpooooooooool
Where failure’s rewarded by being awarded
Huge pay-offs for being so crap.

Springtime for Hilton and - Don’t be stoopid be a smarty come and join our lib-dum party

Winter for you, you poor - Forced out Jason, stitched up Forde, whoops here comes the Standards Board. Etc.

Delighted by their failure, they retreat to the bar to start working out how big a pay-off each can get. In the meantime the curtain opens for act two and some Lambananas parade onto the stage, followed by a giant spider.

The audience begin to smile and identify with them. Max and the custard company had of course initially taken no interest in the Lambananas and had even talked about writing out the spider due to costs.

The audience pour into the bar, they want to save the Lambananas, they love them, they want to keep the spider, ok most of the rest is crap but there have been some good bits, and in spite of the general incompetence, millions spent and wasted or unaccounted for and the huge deficit, that is the real legacy, this has actually been quite successful. Imagine what it could have been like with competent leaders?

Our heroes shrink in horror.

“We got the wrong programme to start with, the wrong director the wrong leading man…where did we go right?”

“No way out - No way out!”

Cut to our heroes in prison singing “ Prisoners of custard, we all got busted”
Curtain Falls.

Hmmm. Perhaps they were right not to use it. Too far fetched. As we know, they did all get their pay-offs. Well apart from the people who will just get redundancy notices, the ones on the front line of the Custard Company who did the real work, that saved us from total disaster. Oh no sorry, I forgot, it was all thanks to the Custard Supreme, Professor Rednose. I do apologise. My word, a slip like that could cause a scouse divorce - fingers crossed.

But ladies and gentlemen what of the legacy, what can we do to keep the momentum going in 2009?

Well one thing right on our doorstep is the potential for a major new tourist attraction, far better than Williamson’s Tunnels. It appears that there are miles and miles of unexplored apartments right in the heart of the city.

They haven’t been touched or opened up since the day they were constructed by eccentric developers who wanted offer gainful employment to thousands of Cockneys, Geordies, Mancunians and Poles. If we can just persuade the liquidators to open them up to the public I am sure many thousands would come to marvel at how and why they were built.

I used to have a penthouse you know. Unfortunately, the cleaner found it under the bed and showed it to the missus. I only kept it for the article on the Austin Healey gearbox and what to do if your big end keeps going.

Well whatever happens, if they don’t want me after December, I may take up the offer from Editor of the Oldham Echo Mr Alistair Zeta MacShag. He wants me to liven–up the obituaries column and give it a scouse flavour.

I have already suggested re-naming it the Brown-bread Section and Birthday Memoriam to be called, “Well at least I don’t have to buy a pressie”

But between you and me, I am in discussions with Sir Rex, Joe Roley, Laurence of Westphalia, Tom “who did that?” Dowling and Dave Printface, amongst others, to establish a rival evening newspaper that is truly loyal to the people of the city, written and printed in Liverpool, that will creates jobs in the city rather than redundancies for the sake of the Unholy Trinity's profits.

We already have the new title - The Liverpool Echo Cabal - which has a familiar ring to it. Anyway we are looking for a Head of Finance, a Cultural Editor and a Communications Director to complete the winning team.

We have also secured the publishing rights to the popular cartoon strip
“Our Wally” Although it may only be until the end of 2008, after which Andy Capps missus, Flo, may be the new cartoon feature.

How much to Oldham Catherine?


Tatty bye everybody, Tatty bye.