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.

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.

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.

Millions lost in The Vortex, Mr Potato Head, LDL and the Return of Ol' Blue Eye

By Jove Missus my subject today isn’t exactly about Custard 2008 but it goes a long way towards explaining why Grotty Cash has no money to pay for it or anything else for that matter.

Put your Anoraks on now.

So Did you see the drama-documentary on Saturday?


I was just back from my gentlemen’s club and frankly I had been mixing the grape and the grain with rather a powerful moulinex so I missed the very beginning but it was all about LDL. and how they have ripped off Grotty Cash?

It was on at Saturday teatime.

“They Stole the Earth” it was called and nobody knew where it had all gone. Was it anything to do with The Doctor?

Millions and millions had disappeared, feared lost forever including an additional 15 million that nobody new had been taken in the first place or what for. Then a message came through the computers with that all too familiar grating and menacing voice-

EX-PEN-DITURE –

EX-PEN-DITUUUUURRRRE!!!

It was those evil machines, Liverpool Dalekts Limited !
But how had the Dalekts survived this long? Many thought they had been locked in a call queue. Or that the Shallow Proclamation with it's full 37 recommendations would have curtailed their power and their ability to harvest the life and budgets from humanity. All Human Resources had been wiped out in fact almost everything they could get their plungers on, even dead turkeys, in their lust for wealth and power.

Those under their power had nowhere to turn to for help. Although the new Colonic Federation had promised to halt their evil ways, they did nothing to counter the evil menace and even allowed them to extend their grip on power for another five years.

There was of course one particular figure, an evil mastermind who had not been
spoken of for some time until suddenly, from the shadows, we first heard a chilling
voice. No it can’t be…can it? ...And then we saw a glowing blue eye with a Pound sign
in it as slowly the evil one emerged from the darkness.

Yes he’s was back! Dr. DAVROS MacIllPenny creator of The Dalekts

Claiming that he had rebuilt an entirely new empire using cell-phones from his own body. Dressed in a rather fetching black leather outfit, I wonder where he gets them? There can’t be that many gentlemen’s outfitters in the Medusa Cascade, (is that one of the new chain shops in Liverpool One?) I can’t imagine the Dialeks taking off their plungers and fitting a K-Tel Stitch-o-matic sewing machine on instead. Anyway he looked as menacing as ever and strangely in need of a shower. Mind you judging by his complexion he could do with some moisturising gel in there with him.

Of course he claims to be the creator of the Dalekts but as we know he would never have developed them had he not been brought here by the aggressive, short, stumpy, potato-headed figure of General Sir Diddyx of the Tenth Sentpackin Battle Fleet.

General Diddyx Henshaw

Diddyx of course was himself brought here by The Master or The Storeyteller, as he is sometimes known.

The Master is armed with a particularly dangerous device a Moronic Screw-it-up-driver. This has the power to shrink objects, particularly budgets. And allow him to disappear. But it was no match for General Diddyx who quickly showed him after landing on Grotty Cash that he was The Master now!

Actually, there was a another documentary all about the Master, about this time last year. Yes, it showed him like a maniac, callously and dangerously pushing some very old man arouund in a wheelchair, whilst singing at the top of his voice, “ I can’t decide whether you should live or die”. I suspect this was when they were looking at closing Leytone Dene and Boaler Street. Didn’t stop them though. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSdE9x5bvjU

That was a close run thing, they would never have been able to shut them had it had it not been for the Atmos System releasing a noxious gas which resulted in a big ball of fat running to their aid allowing them to cling on to power.

Anyway if you missed it, part two is next week. As well as Dr DavilHinney, there is going to be something about Regeneration.

Mind you, I suspect that like the rest of the Glib Dums, who allowed Davros to plunder and bleed Grotty Cash dry, in the first place, it may all be something to do with living in a parallel world, where at the end anything Noble dies. I mean surely this kind of madness couldn’t happen in the real world!

But then again in spite of everything we knew, some idiot signed up for another 5 years without anyone knowing the full content of, or if any of the recommendations of the Shallow Proclamation KPMG /06 had been implemented.

Never mind, the fight back will be lead by Fireman Jack Courtcase from Scorchwood. He will report back on Davros’s empire. So maybe can we expect something in the post?

Contractually, I suppose, he will be forced to go through LDL to get the report typed up on one of their PCs and sent out through their network connections.

If they really want to sort out LDL, the answer is simple.

Reverse the polarity!

Tatty Bye Everybody, tatty bye!

Coming soon to Capital of Custard - the Chuckle Bros, Jason and the Argonauts and Clint!!!!

By Jove Missus, it’s finally coming together. Hurrah!

After many months of bitter wrangling, sordid accusations and blame culture, with one fiasco and collapse after another, as well as some of the most appalling behaviour and abusive language I have ever witnessed, Mrs Chucklebutty’s flat pack bedroom suite is now almost complete.

Just the dressing table to go.

But never again! I can tell you….

"What? What???"

"I’m doing it now, woman!!"

"I am."

"No, I am not on the 'f-ing blog.'"

"I am just checking the website to see why we still have all these screws. "

"Good!"

"Go to the bingo, I’ll have it finished by the time……"

She’s gone….I can still hear her swearing in the street - oh ha ha!

She caught her head a whack on the hanging basket again! Serves her right.

Bloody self assembly. That’s one for trades description. I thought it was like one of those pop-up tents but we tipped it all out and nothing happened. Months I waited!

Why anyone wants to do this when you could get a perfectly good bedroom set from somewhere like Quiggins.

Alright, so these days the founder has come out on Youtube as BNP rather than MFI but you still need somewhere to hang your vests.

Good to know that in Capital of Custard year that the founder of Liverpool’s Iconic Emporium for the young Bohemian, where you could buy your joss sticks and Che Guava posters, is flying the flag.

I’m just not sure if it’s the right flag or one made popular in the 1930’s.

I wonder though how many of their customers would have survived the concentration camps set up by those from whom Mr Quiggins promoted party friends originally found their political inspiration?

Yes, you could get tattoos done at Quiggins as well I believe, but I don’t think they were compulsory or that they murdered the customers afterwards.

I can remember the good old days of Aunt Twacky’s Bazaar and of course 69A but now Quiggins makes me think of Zyklon B.

Ahh, the BNP they tell us they were never like that and have changed.

I think it’s called Hitlercause denial.

Maybe their old friend Dr David Irving could write a book about it now he’s out of prison.

What a shame.

Something once fondly celebrated is now tarnished and poisoned.

A funny old election wasn’t it?

And in the same week, Mrs Chucklebutty reveals to me that the much loved actor and war hero, James Stewart, was secretly a big player in the commie witch-hunts and a lot of other right wing political nastiness.

Oh, I can’t risk having any more heroes.

I am going to dismantle my shrines to Anita Harris and Jimmy Clitheroe before something comes out about them as well.

Speaking of the Clitheroe Kid, and back to normal business, Sheriff Bradlow has appointed a new Deputy, Cluckleberry Flo!

The crazy dancin’ gal that took over the Boot Ranch from Calamity Kemp for a while and turned it into the paradise it is today.

Yeeeha!

Seems she came at a cost though, the town just wasn’t big enough for two schoolteachers and she saw to it that one lame mule was more or less put out to pasture and destined to be an old grey mayor.

Another change on the reservation was the chopping down of the big thick ugly Totem pole on Elder Ridge.

Nobody seems to have noticed that it’s gone but a lot of folks are saying it still casts a dark shadow.

But ladies and gentlemen I am pleased to see that Capital of Custard events are really picking up now.

Roly Joe Riley has done an excellent piece promoting the sex god that is Philharmonic Conductor Vasilly Pertbottom.
I understand that his next performance will be the soundtrack from the film “The Full Monty” with him stripping naked at the end whilst the choir sing “You can keep your baton.”

Much better than Faure’s Requiem or Bachs Ass in B Minor, as Joe joked.

Now something I am looking forward to is the Klimt Exhibition.

I love all those Spaghetti Westerns and Dirty Harry.

I always used to say to Mrs Chucklebutty, “come on punk, make my tea.”

Mind you, she’d laugh and then belt me with a Fistfull of Scallops followed by A Few Scallops More, when I said “how about a sandwich then”?

Oh hang on, no it’s not Klimt Eastwood at all.

What a disappointment.

It’s some fellow who paints bread I think, something here about a Vienna.

William Morris will be there, the chap who used to do Animal Magic and Hammy Hamster and some Scottish chap in a mackintosh who’s brought some of his furniture.

I can’t see this bringing in the crowds!

Am I going mad or something?

It says here that one of Klimts most famous works will be on display, a reconstruction of Beethoven’s Fridge!!

A master piece of 20th century art that combines painting sculpture architecture….well now I know it’s nonsense Beethoven was dead by the early 1800s.

It says here, a prime example of the concept pioneered by Richard Wagner of the total work of art “GESAMTKUNSTWERK”

Hmm!

Now I am pretty sure that was the motto over the entrance to the old dole office in Leece Street. Well maybe that was an Arts and Crafts building.

Actually it was more likely a scouser with a felt tip pen.

Ladies and gentlemen, I almost forgot, there is also of course the comedy festival with clowns and comedians taking centre stage between now and 2010 at least.

Unless one or two comedians drop out in which case it may be renamed the Tears of Relief Festival.

But let’s give the Lib Dems a break for now.

Hopefully, the biggest laugh will come in a couple of months with Comedian Lee Hurst in 'Postman Prat meets Fireman Scam' appearing at The Royal Crown Court.

The Chuckle Brothers themselves should anytime soon be together again for one last time in Jason and The Lager Nits.

The conspiracy to rid us of the Legendary Orange Fleece.

Don’t forget Jamie Oliver will be here as well for the start of the Tall Chips race.

Seems things are really looking up again.

Oh no sorry, that’s the budget deficit for the Custard Company.

Tatty Bye Everybody, Tatty Bye