Bird Guano 

The column which believes that reshuffling a sack of rattlesnakes makes little difference to your chances of being bitten.

MYSELF: Did you see that big Chinook military helicopter flying over yesterday like a wounded dragonfly?
READER: Yes! It was very loud and very low. I heard it was Farage flying back from Trump’s rally in Tulsa.
MYSELF: Just a rumour I’m afraid. They haven’t let him out yet as he’s still under investigation. Apparently he was given special permission by President Tramp to enter the USA on the grounds of ‘national security’, which the immigration authorities are puzzled by, and not very happy with.
READER: So, who was it then? The SAS? Armed police reinforcements? Prince Andrew?
MYSELF: It was Amazon, delivering a pair of trainers.


1. The sun was in my eyes. 
2. My shoes pinched. 
3. The kids were playing up. 
4. I was motoring 60 miles in order to see if it was safe to drive with my failing eyesight. 
5. The dog ate my homework.


Boris here, phwoar. If you thought my biscuit deal with the Aussies was totes amazeballs, check this out! As everyone knows, Eskimos have over 300 ways of describing snow. They can’t get enough of it and frankly, neither can I. Here in Great Britain we have only two kinds of snow, the right kind and the wrong kind. My exciting new trade agreement with Alaska will mean that, following our brilliant no-deal Brexit strategy, all the wrong kind of snow, which let’s face it has been accumulating in the UK for decades, blocking our railway lines and severely reducing our economic efficiency, will be available for export to the Frozen North in exchange for much-needed seal blubber and whale meat. I have received news that Newcastle upon Tyne which is situated, I believe, on the UK’s north-east coast, just a short, blindfolded drive from Barnard Castle, has also expressed an interest in the import of coal; an inflammable mineral which, I am reliably informed by the science boffins, can provide a valuable contribution to the struggle for our sustainable energy future. This is yet another blow to the nay-sayers of the loony left who would have us return to the dark days of the 1970s, and one more terrific Boris-Boost for the country, once we put all this nonsense behind us and get back to normal after I have defeated the dragon of Covid-19 with my golden trowel of truth.


Although this column rarely strays into political comment (I leave that to my colleagues at Lobbytroll), the news that our government has engaged the upstanding agency MullenLowe to roll out a planned ‘shock & awe’ blitz campaign to persuade the British public that a no-deal Brexit is not going to be the colossal national tragedy it so obviously is, is hilarious and horrifying in equal measure. The idea is to ‘nudge’ everyone to get ready for no-deal’s ‘consequences and opportunities’. This will be followed by some barging and punching during September and November. December will see the strategy change. When they will begin hitting you hard and below the belt with advice about ‘loss avoidance’ and ‘new opportunities’. Why not? It’s worked up to now. They know that no one ever lost money underestimating the intelligence of the general population. “They can’t miss”, as one fish said to the other after they realised they were trapped in a barrel…

By Alf Alpha, voice of the people 

They don’t know they’re born, kids today. Tinned spaghetti, water on tap, holiday camps, CDs, electronic ping pong and walking about with their trousers falling down? They’ve got it all on a plate. In my day you were lucky to have any trousers to keep up! After the war, trousers were in short supply, as they had mostly been made into parachutes for the brave lads of the RAF. We had to wear rolls of lino held up with reinforced barbed wire, which as you can imagine were not the most comfortable garments for dancing down the Palais of a Friday night! That was when we had Fridays of course. During the Blitz most of them were changed to Thursdays to confuse the Luftwaffe, who didn’t approve of dancing. Ask anyone from my generation and they’ll tell you the same thing, or something completely different. Like that marvellous war veteran with the beret on who was interviewed on the telly last week at that big protest about something or other, I forget what it was. One minute he was all lovely and agreeing with everything, next thing he’s mouthin’ off about the immigrants! A military beret is like a double-edged sword, you can say what you like when you’re wearing it but then it’s someone else’s turn and you have to shut up. They don’t know they’re born. When I was a lad if I didn’t shut up, I’d be packed off to the circus like Nelly the Elephant, but with no trunk.

Sausage Life!

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