The Sunday Pissoir: 16/11/2025

 

Well, Lord Copper, on the facts as reported, one can only surmise that the former Chancellor of the Exchequer, former Bullingdonboy, former Conservative MP for Tatton, former editor of the Evening Standard, former advisor to the asset manager for BlackRock, investment banker at Robey Warshaw, chairman of the British Museum, and proud father of the imaginatively-named Luke Benedict, Liberty Kate, Beau, Arthur and Pax, is a piss-poor dinner party host.

One may surmise that the conversation went like this:

Baron Mandelson (aka The Red Baron): Please may I use your toilet?
The former Former: No, piss off.
Baron: Oh, please, I'm desperate.
Former: I said piss off, nonce-adjacent Gayman, we've drunk your Chilean wine, so piss right off.
Baron: Can I wait inside for my Uber?
Former: What did I say?
Baron: Was that piss off?

A Leak in the Establishment: 

Leaked WhatsApp Chat: Mandelson & Osborne

Time: 00:47 AM

Location: Somewhere between Notting Hill and Uber Purgatory

Mandelson: George. I’ve just urinated on your perimeter wall.

Long wait for Uber. No loo access. Regret nothing.

Osborne: Peter. The wall is Grade II listed. Was it respectful?

Mandelson:  I whispered “Third Way forever” as I relieved myself.

Uber arrived. Driver said I was "Epstein's nonce friend." And left.

Osborne: You should sue.

Mandelson: I’m saving my lawsuits for the BBC. They edited me to sound like I endorsed Donald Trump.

Osborne: Unforgivable.

Mandelson: Anyway, your wall now bears the mark of New Labour. History will judge it kindly.

Osborne: I’ll send the butler with a towel.

 BBC Internal Email

From: Tim Davie & Deborah Turness

To: All BBC Staff

Subject: Managing Peer-Related Wall Incidents with Discretion

Dear Colleagues,

In light of recent media speculation surrounding a senior peer’s alleged interaction with a Grade II listed boundary wall following a private dinner at a former Chancellor’s residence, we wish to offer guidance on how to respond with professionalism, discretion, and editorial neutrality.

What Happened (Officially)

We do not confirm, deny, or editorialize reports of Lord Mandelson urinating on George Osborne’s garden wall while awaiting an Uber. We acknowledge that masonry was involved, and that the peer in question may have been suffering post-loss trauma.

How to Respond

If approached by press or public:

• Use the phrase: “We are aware of the reports and are reviewing the editorial implications.”

• Do not use the phrase: “He peed on the wall.”

• Refer to the incident as a “moment of personal expression in a transitional urban space.”

If asked whether the BBC will cover the story:

• Say: “We are committed to impartial coverage of all masonry-related events.”

• Avoid: “We’re saving it for Have I Got News For You.”

Editorial Considerations

This incident raises important questions about:

• The boundaries between public and private relief.

• The symbolic resonance of masonry in post-Blair Britain.

• The role of Uber in shaping elite urinary behaviour.

Final Thoughts

Let us remember that we are not just journalists—we are custodians of a National Treasure. When a peer meets a wall, history listens. Let us ensure our microphones are pointed in the right direction.

Yours in editorial solidarity,

Tim & Deborah

(former)Director-General & CEO of BBC News

BBC Press Release

Title: Lord Mandelson and the Wall: A Statement of Regretful Ambiguity

Issued by: BBC Communications Office

Date: 16 November 2025

In response to recent media coverage concerning Lord Mandelson’s alleged interaction with a boundary wall following a private dinner hosted by former Chancellor George Osborne, the BBC wishes to clarify its position with the appropriate level of editorial distance and architectural respect.

The Incident

We understand that Lord Mandelson, while awaiting transportation, may have engaged in a moment of personal relief. While the BBC was not involved in the dinner, the Uber, or the masonry, we recognize the public interest in matters involving peers and boundaries.

Editorial Position

The BBC does not condone, endorse, or editorialize acts of urination, symbolic or otherwise. We remain committed to impartial coverage of all bodily functions when they intersect with heritage property and political legacy.

Regretful Ambiguity

We regret any distress caused by the reporting of this incident, and acknowledge the complexity of the social, architectural, and micturitional contexts. We are reviewing our protocols to ensure future wall-related events are handled with greater nuance and fewer puns.

Moving Forward

We will not be commissioning a documentary at this time, though we remain open to exploring the broader themes of masonry, power, and post-Blair bladder control in future programming.

We thank the public for their continued trust in our editorial discretion and our ability to navigate the delicate intersection of politics and plumbing.

Stanislav say:

BBC involve in everything except truth. You film fucking puffin fucking but miss peer peeing on history. Stanislav intersect with toilet daily. BBC intersect with nonsense hourly.

Stanislav navigate plumbing. BBC navigate fog. Fog of fear. Fog of fudge. Fog of piss. Sofa cunts.

AN ECONOMIC ILLITERATE SPEAKS TO OTHER ECONOMIC ILLITERATES.

Well, Conference, there may well be growing govament debt, wages may well be worthless; the only growth is in house prices and tax fraud but look on the bright side, apprenticeships are providing very useful - £2.55 pence per hour - slave labour to businesses, as well as teaching our young people valuable skills such as grass-cutting and floor-sweeping, sometimes for as long as ten hours per week, but do not worry, Conference, we will try to drive these wages down further and spread the culture of zero-hours contracts to all, apart from ourselves (cheers and applause from elderly, bilious Tories;) we have cleared the way for asset-stripping companies, such as the recent owners of Phones4You, to borrow money at almost zero per cent, load it onto the balance sheet of a perfectly healthy company, extract and pay themselves bonuses and expenses in excess of thirty million pounds - paid, of course into tax-free accounts overseas - and then crash the company, throwing 5,000 proper taxpayers out of work, depriving the Exchequer of proper tax revenues (cheers, whistles foot-stomping.) Best of all, building on the work of the last lot, we have extended the practice of borrowing-money-into-existence and passing it to our friends in the banks in order that they may loan it to the public in the hope that mortgage holders and businesses may in due course be robbed by the banks of their lives' work.

Unemployment, homelessness, illness, slavery and usury; these, conference, are what we proudly offer you; mock growth, mock jobs, a mock health service and every other shop in the High Street a loan shop. No-one can say I'm making a fuck of the economy, I am proudly and determinedly making a mock of it.

(Conference erupts in tears of jubilation, no-one present having a fucking clue how money works, much less economics. Well, they wouldn't be there, wouldn't be Tories, if they did, would they?)

The front bench anal fistula, Osborne, looking as sickly-pasty as if he had fellated half the hall and was about to throw-up.

A Prime Minister speaks:

Here at home, we spend only 16 billion pounds a year on the War on Drugs.

And yes, I know, half the legislature is on cocaine.

But they only use taxpayers' money for it. Quite proply, in my judgement.

Yes, I know, it is mad, isn't it, Mr Tiny Speaker, declaring war on inimitable things. No, no, I mean indeterminate things. Wossat? Inanimate things. OK. Woddever. But it's what we do now, declaring War with a capital doubleyou on things. Yes, War. On things. Yes, yes, and where was I? Yes, the War on Drugs, after having spent a fucking fortune the fucking things've never been fucking cheaper or more fucking plentiful. Yes, even though we've spent - wossmore'n'a trillion, George?

Chancellor Osborne, in charge of HM Voodoo Economics policies.

A gazillion, boss.

Right, right, thank you, Chancellor, we've spent gazillions of your taxpounds on the War on Drugs, here, in this theatre of operations, and it's made drugs easier and cheaper to come by than even when I was at Oxford.

Not that I was.

No, I was at Oxford, yes, getting the best degree you can buy, a double-triple, I believe it was called. Only not taking any of TheGoodStuff, I mean cocaine. No, no, my sepsus, I was born with a perforated sepsus, and if you don't believe me I can show you an X-ray of Lady Hague's uterus, to prove I'm not gay, and sleeping with a pretty young blade, I mean aide. And no, it is simply not fair to describe the Chancellor........

An I'm gonna be hi-i-i-i-igh as a kite by then. I'm a Regency Rocket Man.

...........as a victim of the War on Drugs.

He's always had enough money to buy them,

whatever the price.

Not that he does.

..........................................................

Thank you, mr ishmael. (Satire, Remember?)

Returning to Stanislav AND the BBC

Stanislav, a young Polish plumber, writes:

Stanislav fix leak in flat of Mrs. Thatcher’s ghost when hear:

“Donald Trump suing BBC for billion dollars.”

Stanislav laugh so hard, he crack cistern.

Soft-palmed, Oxbridge BBC sofa-cunts, edit Trump speech like it TikTok for fascists. Cut, snip, paste - make him sound like declare war on grammar and democrats.  Trump say: “I want apology and billion.” BBC say: “We regret your feelings but not our actions.” Stanislav say: “In Poland, when broadcaster lie, get slap with kielbasa and sent to fix roof. In Britain, get pension and podcast. BBC all about drywank jawdrop apologies. “We take this seriously” have soy chai and hire diversity consultant to explain facts are fascist.

Stanislav go back to pipe. It leak like Beeb credibility.

Stanislav is young Polish plumber. He come to England to fix leaks, not watch nation drown in bullshit. 

Stanislav know BBC. He fix boiler in Broadcasting House once. Whole place smell like fear and hummus. People there speak in apology. Not English. Not Polish. Just apology.

Trump want billion dollar. BBC say no. They clutch pearls so hard, pearls file restraining order.

Stanislav fix leaks. Unclog truth. Not edit speeches to sound like fascist karaoke. Today, Stanislav hear new news:

BBC say won’t pay Trump because it’s license payers’ money.

Trump say: “No problem. Pay from own bank accounts. Name names.”

BBC panic. They say: “We regret the impression that our impression may have impressed upon you, but we cannot pay because the money belongs to Mrs. Penelope in Croydon who watches Antiques Roadshow”

Trump say: “Name names.”

Trump want names. BBC give job titles.

 BBC Internal Memo

From: Tim Davie & Deborah Turness

To: All BBC Editorial Staff

Subject: Editorial Excellence, Ethics, and Navigating the Post-Trump Terrain

Dear Colleagues,

As we reflect on recent events - including the regrettable but artistically necessary misrepresentation of President Trump’s speech, we wish to extend our heartfelt thanks for your continued commitment to editorial nuance, progressive signalling, and strategic opacity.

Your ability to balance truth with taste, and taste with trending hashtags, remains the envy of broadcasters worldwide.

Praise for Contemporary Ethics:

We are particularly proud of the following achievements:

• Rewriting historical documentaries to include more feelings and fewer facts.

• Replacing “women” with “pregnant people” while maintaining a facial expression of studied neutrality.

• Ensuring all wildlife programming includes a climate change mention.

These are not just editorial choices—they are moral victories.

How to Get Away With It

In light of the Trump lawsuit, we offer the following guidance:

1. Apologize with Ambiguity

Use phrases like “We regret any impression that may have been formed”. Never admit fault. Fault is for ITV.

2. Invoke the Licence Fee

Remind critics that compensation would come from the public purse. This shifts blame to the viewer, which is always safe.

3. Name No Names

If pressed, refer to “editorial teams” or “production units.” Never name individuals. Individuals have pensions.

4. Deploy the Diversity Cloak

If criticism escalates, issue a statement reaffirming our commitment to inclusion. This creates a moral smokescreen and confuses the tabloids.

5. Use the Word “Complex” Liberally

All errors are “complex editorial challenges.” This implies depth, even when the mistake was cutting a sentence in half and adding ominous music.

 Final Thoughts

We are not just a broadcaster. We are a beacon of curated truth, a lighthouse in the fog of nuance. Let us continue to lead with empathy, edit with flair, and apologize with plausible deniability.

Yours in broadcast solidarity,

Tim & Deborah

(former) Director-General & CEO of BBC News

“Honest, not invent.”

................................................................................

If you have enjoyed this pastiche of Stanislav and a genuine essay by mr ishmael, you can find four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster, at Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps 

please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.

Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr

Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.

With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.

The Sunday Ishmael: 9/11/2025

  

You can put your bleedin' poppies where the Sun don't never shine
For hypocrisy's your only creed, you ain't no friend of mine
You ain't no friend of no-one's, if the truth was only told
To the boys you send to bleed and die and never to grow old.
It wouldn't do for your sons, all to the manner born
To die alone in foreign fields, forgotten and forlorn
To die alone in foreign fields, forgotten and forlorn
That's the stuff for me and mine, our bodies ripped and torn. 

(extract from Poppies, full poem in: call me ishmael: AT THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN

AT THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN

"The first Two Minute Silence in London (11 November 1919) was reported in the Manchester Guardian on 12 November 1919:

The first stroke of eleven produced a magical effect. The tram cars glided into stillness, motors ceased to cough and fume, and stopped dead, and the mighty-limbed dray horses hunched back upon their loads and stopped also, seeming to do it of their own volition. Someone took off his hat, and with a nervous hesitancy the rest of the men bowed their heads also. Here and there an old soldier could be detected slipping unconsciously into the posture of 'attention'. An elderly woman, not far away, wiped her eyes, and the man beside her looked white and stern. Everyone stood very still ... The hush deepened. It had spread over the whole city and become so pronounced as to impress one with a sense of audibility. It was a silence which was almost pain ... And the spirit of memory brooded over it all." wiki

Here we go..... Again

The UK has agreed to provide military support to Belgium after drone incursions on its airspace that are suspected to have been carried out by Russia, the new Chief of Defence Staff, Air Chief Marshal Sir Richard Knighton, said today on the BBC’s Sunday Morning With Laura Kuenssberg programme.

“And the UK, alongside our other 31 allies in NATO, will work to support each other, and that’s why the defence secretary and I are very happy to see UK military personnel deployed to support Belgium.”

He certainly looks happy. Culmination of his life's work, and all that. Take Great Britain into World War Three. All that climbing the Greasy Pole was worth it after all.

Sir Richard happily told Laura: “ Russia is the most pressing threat right now.......The illegal invasion of Ukraine has shown the barbaric nature of Russia's war efforts.”

Laura was pretty shocked. "It's serious, then?"

Too late now - she should have had a very serious word with Boris when she had him on that bench. Antagonising Putin, on purpose, in support of the Warmongering Dwarf Zelensky could only ever have had one outcome. And we're just about to dive right into that outcome. Couldn't someone have exercised a little real politic, a tiny bit of appeasement, attempted to make an ally of Europe-facing Russia, instead of driving her East towards China and North Korea?
Sir Richard said: “It is important to be clear, though, that we don’t know – and the Belgians don’t yet know – the source of those drones, but we will help them by providing our kit and capability, which has already started to deploy to help Belgium.”  The Kremlin has denied any involvement.

The BBC is a bit to blame as well as Boris for whipping up the anti-Russian rhetoric following the invasion of Ukraine. Couldn't someone have shrugged their shoulders and said Paris is worth a Mass? Or the Donbas and Crimea, in this instance. 

The BBC is finally in trouble for its brass-necked bias  propaganda lies. Lisa I'm-sorry-I- didn't meet the highest standards-about-the-appointment-of-David-Kogan Nandy, said today that she's always telling the Beeb off about its reporting of the Palestinian invasion of Israel and its misrepresentation of President Trump's defeat speech. 

I expect we will look forward to more "unbiased" reporting of the forthcoming war, as NATO rallies around Brussels and our personnel are deployed.

I was on the first morning flight one Monday out of Kirkwall Airport to Aberdeen. I was on my way to a work-related event. There were the usual ill passengers on  their way to see their consultant at the Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. There may have been a politician or two, on his way to be important in Westminster. But, mainly, the flight was occupied by big, noisy, very smelly, still drunk from the weekend, men, going back to work on the oilrig after their shore leave. No, but, they took up a lot of room. A lot. And the smell was challenging, shall we say. Compounded of stale sweat, stale beer, rancid breath, unclean botties and spilled food. I've never known anything like it. They were jovial, reminiscing about the fun they'd had. The stewardess had to instruct them to remain seated whilst the plane was still in the air, in case they created flatulence turbulence.

So I was unsurprised when I learned that thousands of the buggers are being required to lose weight in order to keep their jobs, as the rescue helicopters cannot hoist workers weighing more than nineteen and a half stone. Thousands of them. Weighing more than 19.5 stone. How much more?

Perhaps Happy Sir Richard Knighton might commandeer these tough little Scottish helicopters that  are deployed to carry up to 19.5 stone of Scottish manhood above the North Sea.

Anyway, Kirkwall Airport. Brought to a standstill, not by Russian (we deny any involvement) drones, but by Ross Buchan, who was described by his defence lawyer as suffering from ADHD, Autism and Oppositional Defiance Disorder. I wonder if that's the same thing that used to be called Attitood? On the morning of the 4th January, he repeatedly phoned Kirkwall Airport. The first time he said: "Boom. Aeroplane goes boom". In a later call he said: "Up the Kremlin. Justice for the Motherland." The airline declared a bomb threat. The airport was closed, luggage re-scanned,  and  emergency services searched the plane. You will probably not be surprised to learn that no bombs or explosives were discovered.

Whilst bringing you Orkney news, I should mention the latest scandal besetting Orkney Islands Council. The Harbour Master, Jim Buck, is not at his post and an interim harbour master has been appointed. This may or may not be linked to the expenditure of £1,050 from the marine service budget to buy five bespoke Harris Tweed jackets. The luxury fabric  will adorn five staff as a sort of uniform. Smarten them up  bit. Look on it as an upmarket version of hard hats and safety boots.

There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps 

please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.

Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr

Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.

With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.

Kirkwall Airport. Boom. Aeroplane goes Boom.

The Sunday Ishmael: 02/11/2025

 

That square head, ferocious expression, arrogant tilt of the head... Baby Grumpling hasn't changed a bit.

Speaking on the BBC’s Sunday with Laura Kuenssberg, Jeremy Vine predicted that Andrew Windsor will be in an American jail five years from now. He said: “I wonder whether the Americans will now think, OK, we can go for him. I think they’ll start some extradition proceedings on him – because now he has no protection....

That must be a signal to the FBI and others that they can now look into him properly.”

Delightful prospect though that well may be, especially as it appears that we are to be denied the full Degradation Ceremony  of his Knight of the Garter stuff being thrown out of St George's Chapel by his fellow knights, I wonder if jail isn't a little over the top?

Yes, I know that from those to whom much has been given, much is required, and Andrew really let the side down, consistently, his entire life, but what crimes has he committed? Being a good friend of a paedophile isn't in itself, a crime, as his big brother would attest; even though it is pretty offensive, it isn't an offence to be nonce-adjacent.

Having consensual sex with a 17 year old prostitute in London isn't an offence, although some would argue it should be.

I'm reading Nobody's Child at present, Virginia Guiffre's autobiography, published after her suicide. It is a tough read. Virginia alleges that she was sexually abused by her father from the age of five or six, and that her father also lent her to his friend Forrest to be abused. Forrest was convicted of sexually abusing his own daughter and served a prison sentence. Virginia's father denies that he sexually abused her. Her mother was violent towards her, accusing Virginia of trying to steal her husband. Incarceration in a juvenile "therapeutic" centre led to running away, further abuse, involvement with alcohol and drugs. In 1997, at the age of 13, Virginia was living on the streets of Miami Beach when she was approached by Ron Eppinger, then in his sixties, and promised food, shelter, and modelling work. Instead, Virginia was imprisoned in Eppinger’s Miami apartment together with other trafficked girls, many from Eastern Europe. She was systematically drugged, abused, and trained to work as an escort for wealthy clients. In early 1998, after an FBI raid at another pimp’s home, Virginia was rescued. She cooperated with the FBI, providing the testimony that secured Eppinger’s conviction. He died in prison two years later. 

These experiences prepared her as a suitable candidate when Ghislaine Maxwell spotted her for Epstein's luxurious stable of trafficked girls. 

Epstein died in prison - supposedly of suicide, allegedly murdered to protect the reputations of the rich and powerful men to whom he pimped teenage prostitutes. Maxwell is in prison.

But Andrew? Baby Grumpling? Randy Andy? Falklands War-Hero? The Special Representative for International Trade and Investment - with a brief to travel the world, meet wealthy men and ask them for money? 

I was on court duty in Birmingham Crown Court one day last century, when a middle-aged Trainspotter was sentenced, having been caught cock in arse, as it were, with a 12 year old boy, by the Transport Police. In the old paedophile's defence, much was made of the fact that the lad was an experienced prostitute, who frequented the railway station for business and was well known for soliciting. The Court was told that the boy's  spontaneous anal dilation was evidential of much use. The Judge, God bless him, was having none of this. "It may well be," he said in his dry lawyerly intonation, "that the child solicited the defendant's behaviour, and that he had done so on numerous previous occasions. However, it is the duty of the adult to protect the child from himself and not exploit his vulnerability."

The boy was 12. Virginia was 17. 

If he does go to jail, as Vine predicts, it can only be that the opening of the sealed Epstein papers reveal that Andrew committed criminal offences that have not yet come to light. 

So far, he does not appear to have committed an offence. I didn't say he wasn't offensive - he is. Morally very dubious - which kind of tars Sarah Ferguson with the same brush, as she has "stood by him", or, more like, ridden on his expensively-tailored coat-tails; but criminal? 

King Charles is desperately rowing-back from association with his arrogant, entitled, poverty-stricken (it is relative), sexually incontinent, oaf of a brother. Maybe it will be enough to save the Monarchy. But Charles, who has done a lot in his time to jeopardise the throne (remember the Tampax phone call? Committing adultery with the wife of a brother officer? Appointing the paedophile Saville to be his first wife's marriage guidance counsellor? ), clearly thinks that Andrew is an existential threat to the Ruritanean privilege and high living he and his family have enjoyed for centuries. Millenia, even. Taking the titles and Royal Lodge away may be too late to repair the damage. I certainly hope so. But, mrs ishmael, goes the cry, without a monarchy, we'll have President Blair. Why so? I cheerily rejoinder. Why, in a democracy, do we require an unelected Head of State? We have a Prime Minister and an Upper and Lower House. We can vote the Government in or out every 5 years. That's enough. 

It's not as if any of this Andrew shit is new news. mr ishmael wrote the following essay in 2011 - that's 14 years ago. We can hardly say that the Royal Family has been in a tearing hurry to salvage its reputation and dump Andrew in the trash compactor. 

"In a Buckingham Palace crackdown on expenditure on petrol, His Most Serene Highness Prince Andrew has been told he must now walk everywhere, the greedy, idle bastard.

By the left, quick march

  The way things are going in the Middle East, with the Muzzies,  said Queen Brenda,  the price of petrol could soon reach ten shillings a gallon,  the least one can do is insist that one's second son walks to these under-age sex engagements which he regularly performs on behalf of the whole nation.

Queen Brenda at work.

Fuck Me, One's Govament is a bunch of shit-eating nutters

Commenting on the Duke of  Cock's association with a jailed nonce, the foreign seckatry, Mr William Fag said, Oh, it hardly matters, most people are gay these days, although I, obviously, am not; one need only look at my voting record on gay issues to realise that.  But I  am sure that Prince Andrew is doing an excellent job on behalf of the country. Just like me. As I have so, ah, clearly, ah, demonstrated abroad, in the, ah, matter of the, ah, small and perfectly understandable confusion  surrounding the role of the, ah, splendid gentlemen from the SAS, which is not my fault, even though it, ah, is.

The Make Andy Walk campaign was started after Coalition of Doom ministers decided that this week's wheeze would be them telling us how we must be "weaned off" oil, and be damn quick about it.  We must be weaned off oil just as we must be weaned off the idea that taxation is to pay for public services when, as everyone knows, it should be given to the rich. Another example of snooty idiocy, the idea is that we are all at fault for buying cars and heating our homes, naughty consumers. The deranged  transport seckatry, Mr Philip Handjob, below,

Transport seckatry, Mr Phil Handjob, MP, working on his strategy

insists that by Wednesday, or 2035 at the latest, there will be a three-pin plug socket located every hundred yards along the motorway, enabling electric car drivers to charge-up their crappy vehicles every few minutes.  Other measures would include people filling their central heating oil tanks with broken, energy-saving light bulbs and everyone wearing a tiny windmill-hat on their heads as they go about their daily business of being poor and unemployed and in many cases homeless.  They wouldn't actually generate any electricity but they would be a signal of our commitment to a green,  sustainable, Tory future.  It's not a panacea, said Handjob,  jerkily,  there is no panacea.  But if I want to remain a  wanker, I mean a minister,  I have to be seen to be doing something.  Apart from tossing myself off, that is. Even if it's bollocks. Which it is.  I wanted to put up the speed limit. And now they want me to ban petrol cars altogether. Anyway,  he continued, spasming and wild-eyed, the three pounds fifty that we had ringfenced  for care of the elderly must now be diverted to the boardrooms of the oil industry in order to help them in their time of stratospheric profits.

Roaring, bent double at his own wit, good friend of the Duke of Cock, Mr Billy Connolly, a comedic entertainer, too large in the national mind -  rather like the horrifyingly dull Mr John Cleese  - to fail, said the whole oil thing was eggstroooooaaaardanry - his only adjective - and he would be happy to travel the world of oil at someone else's expense, on his cissy motortrike, sharing his witty, scatological insights with stupid audiences, patronising indigenous peoples, plunking inexpertly on his banjo and avoiding the company of his monsterwife, Mrs Pamela  Gobenson-Connolly.

Friends of the Royal Family, the Connolly-Gobs

  Och, I used to dine wi' Prince Andy, or His Highness, as I was allowed tae call him, many's a night me and the Mrs and him and Her Royal Highness, Porky, would while awa' the hours,  them being stupid an' me being outrageously funny over the canapes. Y'ken, just because I was a welders' tea-boy disnae mean I cannae hobnob wi' all they slags in the royal family. And isn't it time they gi' me the knighthood which, as a truly iconoclastic, rebellious social commentator, I so richly deserve, But no, honestly, if people cannae afford tae heat their homes or put petrol in their cars they should just all  stop whining, develop some wee jokes about turds and move to California, like me. Did I mention that I was abused as a wee lad?

Hello, I'm Michael Parkinson and I've earned a fortune brown-nosing almost every tuppence-halfpenny celebrity you could think of and I have some marvellous memories. Oh yes, His Highness, the Duke of York, he was never actually on one of my memorable  TeeVee shows but we have met socially, as one does, in my trade -  sucked more cock than a Westminster Special Adviser, me -  and I must say that he is a truly wonderful human being, gifted and sensitive, and would have had a great career in Hollywood, had he so chosen.
The office of Lord Snooty, the unelected prime minister, has insisted that Prince Andrew, idle buffoon, layabout and friend of child molesters, must continue to represent the govament abroad. Seems about right."

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THAT'S ANOTHER INCREDIBLY OLD BUGGER NATIONAL TREASURE DIES

In later years, after she got dementia, her Great Shakespearian Actor hubby kindly extended her career by taking to the water with her.

Here they are, she looking dazed and confused, he looking smug and prosperous.

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It's been another  rainy old week in Orkney, the public sector retiree’s idea of Paradise-On-Sea. 

I was invited out to a mixed sex social event one evening. It doesn't happen often, on account of being a Widow. And Married Women generally do not allow their husbands, however unappetising, to be anywhere near a widow. A white-haired couple were seated on the sofa. As I came into the room the wifey immediately clasped her husband’s thigh firmly – I smell Widow, was clearly prominent in her thoughts as she held her skinny, balding, hatchet-faced husband down,  so that he didn’t leap on me. The other Married Woman guest took care at all times to position herself between me and her cherubic little old hubby. Each couple had brought a bottle of cheap red supermarket wine with them as a hostess gift. Our hosts do not drink alcohol. Their wine was withheld from them until dinner was served, when each couple was presented with their bottle, still capped. Scotland has a zero drink drive policy. 50 milligrams to 100 millilitres of blood. The Government website says piously: "You cannot safely drink any alcohol when driving". So one member of each couple then proceeded to drink up the whole bottle, while laughing raucously, red-faced and extolling their cleverness in moving to Orkney. Dear Gods and Little Tiddlers. ..  Curses not loud but deep.

Such things I have done – I know not what, such dinner tables I have graced…. At times one wishes one had the resources of Elagabalus, that Roman Emperor who suffocated all his dinner guests in a flood of rose petals. On purpose. So immortalised by Alma-Tadema, but probably malign propaganda by succeeding murderous emperors.

If mr ishmael's 2011 essay has whetted your appetite for more, there are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps 

please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.

Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr

Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.

With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.

The Sunday Ishmael: 26/10/25

This was the scene on the car deck of the MV Hamnavoe - the lifeline ferry service between Orkney and mainland Scotland. In very rough seas in the Pentland Firth,  a heavy piece of machinery toppled over on the car deck, crushing several vehicles.

The flat bed lorry was well-chained down - not so its load, a stone crusher, which toppled over onto three cars and two vans. The incident occurred at 8am on the 22nd October, during the run from Stromness to Scrabster. There were no injuries, which was incredibly fortunate, as dogs are often left in vehicles during the 90 minute crossing, as facilities for dogs on board the ferry are limited. Mr Harris used to be most phlegmatic about the journey, just snuggling into his blankie, but the Emperor Rocky Woo was a dreadful traveller and had to be sedated to undertake the ferry journey. Me, too - a dose of Stugeron would get me across without throwing up. A stone-crusher landing on your car roof, though, would require really, really heavy sedation.

The Marine Accident Investigation Branch are "in the process of making enquiries and a decision on whether MAIB will investigate will be taken once the information has been reviewed.”

Imagine it - car crushed to bits, your luggage trashed, your onward journey impossible - what do you do?

 I recently had the privilege of hosting Thorfinn Wolfson, who was convalescing from a serious emergency operation, and required quiet, warmth and good food to build tissue. Strictly no excitement or exercise. A lot of bed rest. And some heavy duty drugs. Thorf's people, good friends of mine, were unavoidably out of the country for a fortnight, and I was happy to step in and give back, as we say nowadays. All went well for the first week, and Thorf's gentle snoring was pleasantly soothing. I made nutritious stock from free-range chicken carcases and organic vegetables and delivered covert medication in plumptious pieces of moist chicken breast. After the first week, the drug dosage was halved and Thorf's energy began returning. He found the movement of traffic irritating to his nerves and delivery drivers to be deeply threatening, requiring much shouting and foul language, before they gave up and went away, much to his satisfaction.

After one such episode, Thorf developed a little problem. I ignored it. The little problem became a big problem. I continued to ignore it, finding the big problem to be embarrassing, and hoping nature would take its course. Thorf attempted to deal with it himself, which made matters considerably worse. He ignored my advice to have a nice lie down, and came and squatted in front of me, legs akimbo, to show me the extent of the problem and request my assistance. 

It was not looking pretty, so I consulted Google. Dear God - the big problem, if allowed to persist, might cause necrosis and auto-amputation of the blackened extrusion. Google suggested mixing a solution of brown sugar and warm water and spraying it onto the big problem, the idea being that the inflammation would be reduced by osmosis. I rejected that idea, as Thorf has a sweet tooth and would attempt to lick up the sugar water, which could only make matters even worse. Google's second strategy was to don surgical gloves, liberally anoint them with lubricant and manipulate the big problem back into its protective sheath. Dear Gods and Little Tiddlers. 

I took a few turns about the room, drew a deep breath, and set to work. My attempts caused push back by the recalcitrant member. I persisted until Thorf declared he'd had enough and would bite me if I didn't desist. The lunge was sufficiently persuasive for me to give up and phone Thorf's medical practitioner. Bring him straight in, the receptionist instructed, as quickly as you can. I'll get Don to come in specially - he's out on home visits, but I can get hold of him.

Thorf's a big chap, but I got him into the car and set off at pace, as we say, to the surgery. 

We arrived at the same time as Don. I cheerily greeted him, but, for some reason, Don was a bit grumpy. He may not have relished the task that he'd been called in to tackle, but the big problem was quickly and efficiently sorted, with a deep grunt of satisfaction  accompanying the final manipulation. 

We went straight round to Mr. Tesco's Emporium afterwards - Mr Tesco having finally eradicated the rat that had caused the bakery to be closed for a month. I said to Thorf, you wait in the car now, while I pop inside to get you a nice chicken to reward you for being a Good Boy and a bottle of wine and box of Milk Tray for me because I deserve it.

Paraphimosis - look it up. Blokes can get it too, apparently.

Donald Trump has been knocking down the White House,

to build a ball-room. Must be fond of dancing. He really is the gift that keeps on giving. He's slapping an additional 10% tariff on 

 imports of Canadian goods because of this advert, made by the Ontario provincial government and aired in Ontario.

Are these people mad? In what universe do they think it would be safe and sensible to poke Trump with a big stick? Doubtless they thought that it was clever to ridicule him. Just shows to go you that the political classes have certain difficulties in linking consequences with actions. Trump, of course, was furious,  cancelled "all trade negotiations" with Canada, demanded the advert be taken down immediately, slapped on the additional tariff, and told reporters on Friday: "I can play dirtier than they can.” The Reagan Presidential Foundation wasn't best pleased, either, condemning the ad, calling it unauthorized and a misrepresentation of Reagan's views. The Foundation said it would pursue legal options over the use of the audio.

The buffoon Doug Ford, High Heejun of Ontario, doubled down on his gross error: “We’ve achieved our goal, having reached U.S. audiences at the highest levels,” Ford said in a statement on Friday. “Our intention was always to initiate a conversation about the kind of economy that Americans want to build and the impact of tariffs on workers and businesses.”

Yeah, right. President Trump's contribution to the conversation was to have the last word.

While we are contemplating America - and I realise that Trump might not seem quite as funny if you live there; do you know why coffee is the preferred drink, rather than tea? That's because of the Laffer Curve. To recap - the Laffer Curve says the more you tax people, the more they will do anything to avoid paying it, so you end up raising less money the more you raise the tax rate. The reason you see all those bricked-up windows on quaint old houses in England was to avoid the Window Tax -introduced in 1696. Properties with between ten and twenty windows paid an extra four shillings and those above twenty windows paid an extra eight shillings. Simple tax avoidance scheme - brick them up. A hundred years later, Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger introduced the Hair Powder Tax to raise funds for the Napoleonic Wars. Individuals wishing to use hair powder were required to obtain an annual certificate, costing one guinea, from their local Justice of the Peace. This tax was seen as a luxury tax, targeting wealthier members of society who could afford to powder their wigs. The Royal Family and their servants were exempted from the tax, of course. The Hair Powder Tax resulted in the abandonment of wigs and powdered  hair, as a consequence of the Laffer Curve in action.

So - Tea? The Tea Act 1773  was a British Act of  Parliament. The intention was to reduce the massive amount of tea held by the financially troubled British East India Company in its London warehouses and to undercut the price of illegal tea smuggled into Britain's North American colonies. The act granted the Company the right to directly ship its tea to North America and the right to the duty-free export of tea from Britain, although the tax imposed by the Townshend Acts of three pence per pound of tea, and collected in the colonies, remained in force. The tax did not fall due to be paid until the tea was unloaded from the East India Company's ships to the docks in Boston Harbour. To prevent this, Bostonian young men, dressed as Mohawk indigenous Americans, boarded the three ships in the harbour, smashed open 342 tea chests and threw 45 tons of tea overboard. This effectively ended tea-drinking in the Thirteen Colonies, coined the slogan "No Taxation without Representation" and led to the War of Independence. Which Britain lost.

So - the Laffer Curve and unintended consequences. Be very careful, Rachel Reeves, in your budget on November 26th - the Laffer Curve has already led to the bricking up of windows, the loss of fancy wig-wearing, and the American Colonies.

I was genuinely puzzled as to why the Mirpuri Diaspora led to the rape gangs into which an Inquiry is belatedly and haltingly being mounted, with or without the controversial Jess Phillips involved. So I asked Co-Pilot:

"Please explain why Pakistani men in Britain's northern cities like to rape young white girls. Doesn't their law and religion forbid it?"

Co-Pilot gave me an immediate and swift telling off:

"I'm really sorry, but I can't help with that request.

If you're trying to understand a sensitive or complex issue involving crime, culture, or community dynamics, I'm here to help explore it thoughtfully and respectfully. Let me know how you'd like to proceed."

....................................................

There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps 

please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.

Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr

Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.

With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.