GARDENING, WITH MONTY DON.
If you're like me, the sort of person who combines farming and helping people and modestly curing drug addicts with saving the planet and somehow managing to do it all on TeeVee or in lavish, glossy books with sometimes literally thousands of pictures of myself, showing me in my carefully battered, old, woollen and corduroy clothes, caring about what I do, then like me, you, too, will have a staff of gardeners, provided by the BBC, who devise all the plans, do all the work, make sure all the crops are perfect, leaving me to do the really important, caring pieces to camera. It is a great life, being winsome, environmentally responsible and standing in the flower beds surrounded by lights, cameramen and sound recordists and producers and script and make-up people. My very good friend, Mr Ishmael, isn't like me at all, has no staff and no production team, not even an agent, his walled Mayday garden, therefore, is rather a disappointment; Mr Ishmael, though, unlike me, is not barking mad, suffering, as I do from juvenilus depressionitis imaginare........ or as they say down the allotment, acting like a cunt.
OUTWITH THE WALL
PRESS REVIEW, WHAT THE 'PAPERS SAY.
Hurry up and do what the bankers tell you.
That's what they all say.
WITH JEREMY CLARKSON AND HIS STEAM -DRIVEN SIMILE GENERATING ENGINE.
You might think this was the back of a new Mercedes, of which, thanks to you, I own several million pounds' worth, maybe a new E Class.
BUT YOU'D BE WRONG.
It's not an E Class, or an S Class, or an SLK. It's not really a car at all, more like a disposable rickshaw, the kind of thing those clever people in Stuttgart design for people who worry about the price of petrol. And. Since you lot pay for all mine. I couldn't give a flying fuck. Not even if it was over six quid a gallon. Which. A voice in my ear is saying. It is. It is. In fact. The most expensive petrol. In the world. And up at the top of Scotland. The best part of England. It is dearer. Than anywhere else. In the world.
And so, car lovers, these glorified lawn mowers are,in fact, THE CARS OF THE FUTURE.
This one is the top of what they call the range. Boasting a whole one litre of power and with a top speed of ninety miles an hour this is the SMART Passion cabriolet automatic.
With a five speed automatic box you can just shove it in forward and wend your merry way to Killicrankie or the Gorbals or somewhere else in Scotland. Or, if like me, you are a real man, you can change gears for yourself via the paddles on the steering wheel. It has satnav, aircon, bluetooth and a neat, powered fully retractable roof; comprehensive instruments give you all the information. In the world. It is not so much a tiny four seater as a very large two seater, with very comfortable seats, massive headroom and lots of space in the back for your blogdog, Buster, if you have one. It is, in fact, everything you would expect from Mercedes. Except that it's not a car. Or not a real one. What they have done is demystify the whole car experience. This is just a vehicle, no attempt at phallic symbolism for the mentally unstable who believe in a gentleman's right to run people over. Like yours truly. No attempt here to replicate a gentleman's club, no leather, no fake walnut, just cheap, brilliantly designed, lightweight components and revolutionary engineering. It's also fun. And returns seventy to the gallon. And that's what I call Top Gear. Next week in Cheap Cunts in a Cheap Car, my guests will be Ron Wood and Bill Wyman or some other nonces for you to cheer at; we'll be throwing a Maserati, a Ferrari and a Bugatti off a high building and the studio audience will be clapping like backward seals. Which is. What they are.
Buy my books, advertised freely in the 'paper, yours for full price, until they are remaindered ( next week)
THE OBSERVER'S LOBBY SLAG
ON THE PRIME MINISTER
WHO HE HATES, OR IS THAT WHOM.
Well, readers, I have had, as you know, a special sort of life, gossiping and scribbling and lying and drinking and doing smugs, I mean drugs, with important people and never doing a proper day's work in my fat greedy gabshite life. Thanks to my exclusive access to the Wankers' Club, I can exclusively reveal what the prime minister is thinking. It is a very crucial moment for the nation as it awaits my next book of very heavyweight gossip and tittle tattle, and as this exrract reveals, the prime minister is at last taking me seriously.
From; Buy my Books by Andrew Gobsley, all rights reserved.
I'm still here, with my young family, what's left of it, getting on with doing the right thing for the country. You know, as I travelled around the country meeting strange ordinary bigoted old people, I couldn't help but think that it was my duty to carry on here, forever, and I think that's what they wanted, too, which is why so many of them voted for me. A vote for Mr Cameron, you know, is, actually, a vote for me, so not only do I have all the votes cast for me but also all the votes cast for Mr Cameron, which makes me prime minister. Rather than not having won an election, I have, in fact, won two elections. Mr Cameron's and my own. Three, if you count Mr Clegg's, so that's as many as Tony got. And I won them all at once.
You know, I have a very real job to do for people and they wouldn't want me to stop doing it. Tax credits, minimum wage, wars, plagues, burning all the money, giving the gold away to Mr Red Braces, surveillance, intrusion, police killings, wars, torture, tax credits, minimum wage, unemployment, homelessness, wars, these things don't happen by accident and so I am prepared to work with Mr Cameron, with me as prime minister, of course, until we get the job done. A government of National Ruin, that's the thing. If we bury our political differences and all concentrate, Mr Clegg, too, we should be able to raze the country to the ground. And lets face it, that's what we're all good at.
And, Look, you know, as we celebrate VD Day, with our German allies - Frau An-gula Meerkat - and may I say things would have been very different in the war if I had been prime minister, this is proof of what we can achieve working together, with me in charge of everything because only I know how everything works . And how to break it. Vote Tory for a Labour Government.