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

By Jove Missus. I’m not a number – I’m a free man! As Patrick McGoogle, used to say in The Pensioner.

Yes, I am home again. I’ve been away “at sea” for a few weeks, aboard the HMP Walton, and what a rough passage I had! All those men locked up together by Jove! But enough of that, I’ll save it for the autobiography. I must ask Pete Price who wrote his for him. Mind you there was one cell crammed with 17 women, all named Sue Denham for some reason. I had to put up with them wolf-whistling at me in the shower block, then laughing and calling me a Diddyman, well the water was freezing cold.

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

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

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

Mr Clack is suing us by the way.

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

“The Ironing Boards for England Delivers the verdict”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whooooooo-ha ha ha hah hah haha ha ha hah ha ha haahhhhh
Whoooooooooooooooooooooo. (etc)

Laughing Policeman http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hI1nPd7hezM

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

But hang on, there are people on the patch, they think it’s all over – it is now.

Yes Hurst makes it four, the hero of the hour, no longer on the bench, but up before it. Well ladies and gentlemen, it’s been talked about so often since that glorious day, that controversial third leaflet, did it actually go through the letterbox and if it had been disallowed, would it have affected the final result?

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

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

The first time the Jules Rimet trophy had been filled with Oxtail Soup

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

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

http://www.liverpooldailypost.co.uk/liverpool-news/regional-news/2008/11/14/lib-dem-councillor-denies-attempting-to-smear-rival-64375-22254724/

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looks familiar - is that taken in Croxteth?

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

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

Titty bye Everybody…..

I mean; Tatty Bye Everybody Tatty bye

Be nice to each other.

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

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sy1GGMAzvno

DIDDY THE KID GIVES RED-EYED JOE SOME ADVICE ABOUT KLONDIKE PHIL, DOC MCILHOLIDAY AND UNDERTAKER STILTON

(In a departure from my usual whimsy and tattyfilariousness, due to recent events, we appear to have reached a critical point following the inevitable national humiliation brought upon us by the assembled collective of the silly consul, whereby total national discomknockeration has now undone all of my previous hard work in rebuilding the reputation of this great cashcow.....er city! As a result, I fear no jocular comment from me, in addition to those surrounding the plight of “Sheriff” Wally Bradlow and Muck Storey OBE (Oh Bollocks, End-game) could stretch the chuckle muscle any further without serious risk of clack injury. I therefore offer some sober analysis and advice in the popular and current idiom)

By Jehosophat Ma’am, it’s me, Diddy The Kid!

I been readin’ the Dirty Washingtown Post, and that there Stinky Ink Bartlett, says there’s over 60 million dollars a missin’ from the community chest, and by all accounts (or those they’ll let anyone see) the Sheriff was last seen a headin’ for the Mexican border.

Looks like Doc McIllholiday needs to git some law ‘n order back into Grotty Cash Gulch.

Seems things was goin’ just fine ‘n dandy till them critters from the Audy Murphy Commission came in, and like the critters they are, they started a crittercisin’.

Says you aint nothing but a one horse town! That’s what I call fightin’ talk! Who cares about havin’ only one horse, when you got a Cabinet full a mules!

Now I know that the town Undertaker, the richest stiff fixer in the West, Hilton J Stilton, says “Hows a come if we got three horses for shootin’ and three horses for all the new saloons, we end up with just one fer the town? Huh, huh, huh? It jus’ don’t seem fair!” Well listen up and I’ll tell ya boy! Cos Bowleg Bradley and that crazy School Teacher aint even got the guts to ask a jackrabbit where it hid all the carrots.

Your Bank Manager, Klondike Phil, thinks you gotta keep the bank empty so it don’t get robbed and then when the Sheriff tries to look in the vault, Klondike jus’ kicks dirt in his face an says “There, ya see what ya done we aint got nothing cos a you!!”

Then the Sheriff runs over to the school house a blubberin’ and a wimperin’, and the best he and the School Teacher can do is start a scheming and conniving like two old spinsters hankerin’ for attention. Yep, spinsters aint got no balls either!

And now you all got yerselves into a whole heap a shinola for actin’ like a riverboat load of Merseysippi gamblers. Just fillin’ your saddlebags fast and as often as you can!

Now, Mr Undertaker, you listenin’, Stilton? If you aint one of the Jackrabbits, you sure been sittin with ‘em long enough to know huntin’ season shoulda started a long time ago!

So let me warn ya pardner, you better trim any sign of a fluffy tale an pull your hat down over those ears, cos right now you’re looking like Rabbit Stew from where I’m sittin’ (In a lovely penthouse apartment in Manchester actually missus, you bought it for me too! Ha ha, By Jove! Right, back into character….)

You boys been on a big fat winnin’ streak so long you got gold fever!! Didn’t you learn anything from me? You gotta know when it’s time to fill your boots and move on! You got your stash safe, you don’t milk a cow til it’s dry or it gits sore. And when that happens, you need an udder plan (Boom boom! By Jove!)

You boys jus didn’t know when t’ quit did ya? You been spending money like there’s no tomorrow, mainly on yourselves, gamblin' on not getting found out!

One more spin of the wheel, one more spin, hit me, hit me!

Yup! well it looks like this could be high noon.

So this is my advice and it's hard fer me to give it cos this is some of my old posse I’m talkin’ about!

First you got a get rid of the Twelve Fingered Bank Manager, Klondike Phil. Why that varmint can’t even count!

His idea of looking after your money is to hand it all out to any old Pink medicine man that asks for it and pay off all the no good the hustlers who ride into town, (like…....me, Yeeeeeehaaaaaaaaa! By Jove yes!)

He allowed a private railroad to be built runnin’ from the Town Hall to Vulture Place carrying all your money to Doc McIllholiday and his gang, even though everybody knows that the Doc’s gang are a bunch of graspin shower singin’ tricksters hoodwinkin’ every nickel outa ya!

And then when you ask Klondike where it’s all gone, he starts a preachin’ and actin like he aint never seen a dime of it, and has the gall to remind you that he can step in and take over the town to put it right! (That’s my boy!)

Well, let me tell you straight, there’s a mighty high chance that the Sheriff is gonna get ambushed by his own deputies. And if I were you Sheriff, I would stay away from the Saloon Bar run by that flirty dancin’ girl Chin-chiller Flo, cos believe me the Klu Cas Klan aint to be messed with.

And if we’re talkin’ about bein’ hungry for power, then Fat Belly Dick, the Marbrow Man has got one mighty appetite. You heard the sayin’ "so hungry I could eat a horse?" Well if Fat Belly Dick rides in you’ll be a no horse town!

And don’t forget Calamity Kemp, the man who put the Cowboy into Boote! He’s the guy that let the Boote Ranch Estate turn into a Ghost Town, you gotta make sure that the hauntin’ don’t never stop! Pretty sure the folks he left behind have reserved a special plot for him, if he ever gets the brass neck to show up again.

Now what about the guy who already has the Stetson and ranch coat, Clein? Hmmm I kinda like the name, German for Diddy, ya know? But the guy is another maverick like Calamity Kemp, liable to shoot before he knows what he’s aimin’ at.

An you can forget Tumbleweed or Antrobush whatever his name is, I never liked him, why that no good rattlesnake once said that I tried to blackmail and threaten the school teacher! Me? As gentle a heart and a soul as you could hope ta meet. No….. “A SOUL” I said!

Well, whatever those losers do to try and avoid a lynching, come springtime for Stilton, there may be, just maybe, another gang ready to ride in and take over.

Red Eye Joe and his gang are on the outskirts of town.

Now if Red Eye aint gonna be turned into Cotton Eye, by the Evil Corral, then he is gonna need to come in shootin from the hip and run the crooks and deadwood outa town. Cos if he don’t, he is gonna be another patsy like the sheriff.

If you wanna take this town and keep it, you gotta see off my old boys once and for all and that aint gonna be easy! Cos remember, I trained them and they still come to daddy diddy for advice!

Are you a match for Doc? Cos if you aint and you don’t sort out his gang, you may as well get measured for your casket right now. (See if the Undertaker has his tape out behind your back)

First they is gonna wine and dine ya, offer to polish your shoes, tell ya how pleased they are to have a new sheriff, let you into a few little secrets til you is hooked and so reliant on them you’ll need them to tell ya what day it is and which end to wipe! Yup! That’s my boys!

So Joe, we’ll know soon I guess, if you are up to a showdown or if we will be able to make you lie down and just tickle your belly like an old hound dog.

It’ll be up to you and your gang, you probably won’t be able to do it alone, and may need to call in the federal marshals and the Pinkerton Agency to open up everything, and I mean everything if you want to win back the trust of the towns folk.

For a while, that’s gonna hurt, real bad and there may be a lotta shootin and blood runnin’ down the steps of city hall. But as a great man said recently, (Mr George W. Thrush): “ Fool me once shame on you, fool me ya fool, ya fooled me again and then…...don’t laugh at me cos I’m a....….Mr Grimsdale!!!!)

In other words if you leave a mongoose to look after the hen house, don’t be surprised if you find no eggs for breakfast, your ass gets plucked and you end up covered in chicken shit!

Tatty Bye Pardners, tatty bye!

By Jove, I must remember to take me spurs off in the bath!