The Sunday Ishmael: 24/08/2025: Put out More Flags

 

I couldn't fly the flag of St George here - even out in the countryside, it would be frowned upon, to put it mildly. Oh, there's no shortage of flag flying - the Orkney flag

is displayed by the Viking/Norwegian types and the Saltire

is flown by the Weegie ex-pats. There's even the occasional sighting of the Union Jack, because Orkney isn't rabidly pro-Independence. If Scotland seceded, Orkney would be Independent of Scotland in order to throw in their lot with Norway, which is fairly indifferent about re-embracing their lost children. A bit like West Africa, which hasn't rushed to extend a repatriation offer to the formerly enslaved citizens of the United Slaves.

But not the flag of St George - who was an unlikely patron saint of England, being a Greek chap who served in the Roman army, but not to let fact get in the way of a good story. No, never that flag in Scotland.  Not so in Weoley Castle, Birmingham, I am delighted to say. The Weoley Warriors are "A group of proud English men with a common goal to show Birmingham and the rest of the country of how proud we are of our history, freedoms and achievements.

Giving hope to local communities that all isn’t lost and they are not alone.

We will be using all funds for flags, poles and cable ties.

We are happy to take road requests on donation, please use the contact function below.

We have been overwhelmed with all of the donations given and road requests. Please bear with us as all volunteers work full time, we will endeavour to fulfil all requests.

We are also contributing materials to other like minded individuals.

Thanks you for your support, god bless."

Rally round the flag, boys. Not just Weoley Castle - also in posho Barnt Green. And it isn't just in Birmingham that the English flag is being raised on lampposts. It is happening in Worcester, Bradford, Greater Manchester, Newcastle and Norwich. In York, Flag Force UK is raising funds to raise flags. Their website states: 

"Ultimately around the world people fly their flag with pride and no one bats an eye. We have the same right to do so while using the attention it gets to spur on positive action. Let's reclaim our flags and symbols and use them as a force to do good."

If you detect a certain defensive tone, it is because the fashionable bien-pensants are upset about this movement to reclaim pride in England, apostrophising it as racist, inflammatory and contrary to the official rubric that diversity is England's strength. I'm sure the flagsters are right. And about time, too. 

Apparently, the first flags went up in Weoley Castle, which is a nice enough residential suburban area to the south of Birmingham. I used to live near there. It has the ruins of its own castle, named "Wēo-lēah" (from the Old English) meaning "temple clearing". Before the Christian era there may have been a heathen temple there. The flags went up in protest that a 12 year old girl in Bilton School in nearby Rugby was prevented from participating in the school's "culture celebration day", for which pupils were asked to wear cultural dress rather than school uniform. The little girl wore a union jack-themed dress and was stopped from making a speech about being British.

Any culture except that one. Any national dress except that one. Any flag except that one.

To be honest, I always thought that flying flags was a bit naff. I thought that patriotism was alright for foreigners who don't know any better. That we don't need to do that, we British, because we know, deep down, that we are inherently superior to everyone else, and that the polite thing to do is not to rub it in.

I'm a convert now. Because it seems that the campaign of the sophisticated, terminally embarrassed, middle class metropolitan liberal-elite stone-mad wankers to destroy national pride, identity and history has been a huge success. That whole separate development rather than integration tosh, that cultural diversity crap, that failure to call out female genital mutilation as child abuse "because it's their culture", that serving of halal meat in school dinners in order to respect different religious beliefs (bollocks - you do know how animals are slaughtered in order to produce halal meat? If not, please go elsewhere to acquaint yourself - I can't bear the pictures) - yes, all that woke stuff has permeated the national psyche to the point where the middle class are ashamed to be British.

Thank god for the working class. 

Here's stanislav, writing about Birmingham back in 2010. 

Today, stanislav takes temperature in Birmingham, used to be workshop of Empire and manufacture every fucking thing, from tiny little needle to big fuck-off Howitzer and Spitfire and lorry and van and car,  now  whole fucking place  just poxy shopping centre is, Selfridges ugly building and Merry Hell Centre in Duddl-eye .

 Brummy not as bad is, obviously, as Jock, ginger, mutant, cross-dressing, wife-beating, child molesting  bastard out from mind on tonic wine, cheap smack and temazepam, lying in fucking gutter in vomitstained shellsuit and tattoo on forehead saying JUCK and never day's decent work has done or even can read and fucking write, only  to scribble "please fuck my arse, the noo"  down on public toilet wall, "for fifty pee, discount for parties, arranged can be, d'ye ken. Nae English."

Is not Glasgow or anything - but fucking shithole is anyway,  Birmingham, these days, and good for fuck all,  now, just like all of not very Great Britain, after brilliance of fuckpig billionaire  cheeky bastard shopkeeper of M and fucking S and B and fucking Q - or leaders of business as they like to be called - grubby fucking shopkeeperbastards peddling tat and junk made in Chink sweatshop and rubbish is and wanting to dictate government policy, since when is fucking shopkeeping bastard political scientist,  all can do is pay minimum wage and flog off loads of rubbish, is worse than fucking Taliban these bastards, them  and thieving bastard banking cunt are all so fucking clever we don't even make  fucking cars any more, only fucking rubbish wooden ones  -  Morgan, they make a handful of cars and employ a handful of people, the UK car industry   - and only good for fucking Diarrhoea Balti, Birmingham is, down Ladypool Road,  pissed up bloke and Chlamydia totty in bare leg and high heel can eat as much rotten Halal goat meat as possible for  three quid at Formica table and never mind poor beast throat had cut in backyard and bled to death, screaming in shit and blood, for Allah,  the merciful   and bring in own bottle of Newcastle Brown can  from paki supermarket next door,  with rotten old tomatoes and fruit sitting in  shitty old crate on pavement with dogpiss and exhaust fumes, like real metropolitan sophisticate,  for washing-down purposes and enjoy eye-watering bout of le posterieur flambee next fucking morning as  burning hot,  high pressure torrent of liquidise goat and naan bread come shooting out from arse in every fucking direction and arsehole stings just  like was swarm of fucking wasp living up Jacksie and can't even hardly stand-up straight from toilet and stink would strip varnish off from front door of hi-rise council flat and called multiculturalism,  this fucking nonsense rubbish is,  was dead ginger bastard Robin Cook who said Oh Ah, Fuck me, used to be could ask British person what was favourite dinner and roast fucking beef with pudding of Yorkshire would be answer, but now, aha, ahum, answer would be chicken tikka fucking masala and that goes to show how very far we have come as a nation under New Labour, going down Ladypool Road pissed up and scoffing condemned, unfit for human consumption  meat and arse-destroying spices, according to Cook, is equivalent of two-year tour of Indian sub-continent,  stupid ginger Jock bastard, as though eating shit curry same thing is as studying Paki history and writing and music, is not very much,  is true,  of history, because Paki country has only been here fifty fucking years or so and might not last another six fucking months and could disappear  and us too if Talimen cop hold of nuclear PakiBomb and have to get terminated with extreme and I mean fucking extreme prejudice, what with militantbastard and terroristbastard and  mullahbastard and insurgentbastard and bent governmentbastard  and Bhutto dynastybastard,  worse than house of fucking Windsor is and Prince of fucking Wales, not to mention applepie-eating, crewcut, granny-raping CIA murdering psychobastard gonzo and  embittered belligerent lesbian lunatic  Hillary Trousers flying all over the fucking place shouting at people as though it was the whole world what pissed on her wedding vows and not just Spunky Bill, the murdering, thieving, bullying, coke-snorting, whoremongering arsehole and soon to have heart failure, with any luck is. Fucking place could go up in garlic mushroom cloud any day.  And anyway Pakistani founder  bloke, Jinnah the Paki,  only set up muslim  country in first place because he and fellow head-chopping, women-stoning hysterical beardy  maniacs and worshippers of Allah the wise and merciful, peace and blessing be upon his name can't get on with neighbouring Sikh and Hindus all down together there,  shitting in the Ganges and holy bathing all at the same time, with cow and buffalo wandering in and out from house and  shitting sacred shit on carpet  and  some bastards  so  poor are that unfuckingtouchable is. Unfuckingtouchable, worse than piece of shit. Who wants to  multicultural, all men are pluralist brothers be,  with bastards like this, fucking savages, punch in fucking mouth should get and never mind pushing-in to queue down at Post Office.  The very idea.  First thing should happen when Hindu or Sikh or Muslim bastard come in country, even if is Krishnan Guru O'Murphy, off C4 news with Jon Sox, or famous gobby cricketing bastard playboy, Imran Khan,  is give good swift punch in nose, not bit of slap, good proper thump, broken cartilage and hot blood choking in throat and seeing stars and told, we don't do that untouchable shit in this country, is fucking rubbish.  And we don't slaughter goats in the back yard, neither. And No, you can't burn your dead uncle's body on the municipal fucking bowling green, fuck off and I don't give a flying fuck what it says in the European Human Rights Act;  is that fucking clear?  And while is here, is no more mosque or fucking temple to go up, is plenty allfuckingready. Is fucking England here and not fucking Asia.  Understand?  Is fucking England, have come to fucking England and is Christian culture and architecture and not homeland of Ali Baba and Forty Fucking Thieves with minarets and flying fucking carpet and bullock shitting in the middle of the A45 and nobody can shoo the bastard away.  Fucking England is  - or Wales or Scotland, best part is of England -  no point is trying to make home from fucking home, better off is to stay at home and use Mosque already there. Or Temple. Can build Mosque, OK,  but has to be in line with local planning and look like decent proper Norman C-of-E church, with spire. And fucking clock. And graveyard.  And gay mullah living in loving partnership before God with young rentboy. Okay, fuck off, now,  and Hare Krishna.  Is in England now and best to behave is like decent English bloke and not elephant-riding Mahafuckingrajah, with slaves and concubines. And all this Mrs  shit, her all wrapped up in head to fucking toe binbag  and walking four paces behind you down a Wolverhampton street  with her eyes cast down in the gutter, like  repentant fucking sinner from Middle fucking Ages,  you can forget all that bollocks, Ahmed, me old son;  same with your daughters, you and your half-shaven fag sons try any of that honour killing nonsense and you'll get a good fucking kicking, you heathen fucking cocksucking bovverboys.   And if only some bastard had said this all along, in best proper polite English terms of course and maybe no effing and fucking blinding, or not so much, then proper understanding and mutual respect would have been develop. Instead, bent,  jumped-up councillors and stupid,  gobby MPs have hung everybody out to dry in  deranged and chaotic equal opportunities climate, too timid, too cunning, maybe,  certainly too hungry for votes to tell our newcomers the score.

Anyway, Jinnah and Co said fuck all this superstitious shit, is only one god and Allah is his name and peace and blessings be on it and anybody disagree get  Fatwahed and beheaded on TV and we can't be doing with all these long beards and fucking turbans and mad sexual intercourse all day long,  all twisted-up like made of rubber was in Hindu book of Kama Sutra, filthy fucking bastard nignogs, we off out of it are, in new place and call it Pakistan, is long way of saying Paki.  And from there  we invade Birmingham. But if Paki bloke cannot get on with Sikh and Hindu what fucking chance is with Godless, heathen bastard Aston Villa-worshipping Brummie nutcase? Is not integrate, anyway, no matter what City fathers say, no matter what Baron Hatterjee of Sparkbrook says, horrible spit-spraying old faggot,  is just ghetto of Labour-voting shopkeeper and cash 'n'carry wallah. Or disgusting banana  republic, as High Court Judge, Mr Justice Knobrot QC, said, a few years back. 

Is hardly no bastard in work anymore here in Brum apart from probation oficer and outreach worker and fucking imbeciles in Selly Oak Job Centre or Restart. Anybody hear this cunt of a man, manager of Selly Oak Pisshole Job Centre on madeupnewsandfilth's Radio Four Programme?  Radio Four does worthy and concerned  programme, all  shit fucking rubbish  with no advert or jingle like decent station and daytime or early evening is like wander into world of phony, thoughtful, sanctimonious  caring, is fucking endless Woman Hour with wretched old fucking boot, Jenny Murray and  Pee Em with Eddie Smug and WATO with Martha Kearney and MoneyBox and some tight-fisted, mean as fucking dirt busybody  old fucking bastard from Hemel fucking Hempstead or Tunbridge fucking Well  phone-in, whining and  screeching, Can get extra farthing per month on pension, please? miserable, grumbling skinflint old  codgers and fucking tied-up and tortured should be in own home by Hoodies, Hello...Hello..can you hear me ...I want to give money to poisonous fucking bastard grandchildren to help them through Uni - Uni is what used to be called college of fucking cooking and hairdressing and watching telly studies and is run on cheap by local council with wanker lecturers who can't write a fucking sentence in decent fucking  English and need themselves Educayshun, Educayshun, Educayshun - and fund their fucking Gap year, obnoxious, smirking little consumerist pricks, and what best way is to pay no fucking tax? Oh, fuck me, thanks for your call, Margaret,  there, in Saffron fucking Walden and I am joined in the studio by an accountant, another accountant and another accountant, none of which fuckwits saw the credit crunch coming until it had wiped out all their clients' monies  but they'll be able to advise you, because they are the experts.......Anyway was programme on about Selly Oak Job Centre and was interviewing clients - ie deadbeat bums on fucking dole,  most of West Birmingham - and everybody says is all shit, no courses, no advice, no funds, get treated fucking worse than  whore at hockey match, come in the door and get fucking ignored by staff and eventually told is that  nothing fucking doing is and that all the jobs on the board are all made fucking up, honest and not invent, all made up, no point applying is because what happens is Ree-surcher from Job Centre telephones employer and says Any Job Going ? And employer says No, fuck off, be down there meself, soon, in fucking Job Centre. But might be jobs, one day?  Well, might be. Can put you down for twenty, then? Do what the fuck you want. Okay, then, forty. And soon all the boards and computer screen is fill-up with jobs which aren't, but might be. And government lying bastard minister for benefits can say, Oi, citizens, look,  here is million or two of jobs unfilled, better get off down Job Centre of Shit and get one, even if is all imaginary, imaginary job is better than no job, innit, and better watch out or will imaginary benefits be collecting.  Interviewer says to Job Centre Manager, Wossallthisshit, then, made-up jobs?  No, is straight up, meet all criteria of Department of Work and No-Pension, which is main thing, otherwise I get the sack and is coming in here myself and applying for jobs which figment  of statistical imagination are, and not really there at all. No, no,  no, is plenty of courses, paint and decorate and cv writing, to name but all of them...But Mr Smith says your staff told him no course was and to fuck off and get course from private firm...No, no, no, I do assure you he is wrong.....Is not fucking wrong, is fucking outside, Mr Smith,  go and fucking ask him, has sorted out course for himself which you useless fucking bastards should have sorted out.  Have spoke to dozens of fucking people and all the courses which they should be able to get for retraining for new fucking jobs in the new fucking economy of the fucking future and which Gordon fucking Brown and Ed fucking Balls are always going on about, and that useless  walking disease, Lord Nothing-Wrong-With-My-Arse Was -Just -Routine- Emergency-Arsectomy Requiring-Few-Day-In-Royal-Hospital-For-Officer-And-Poof, well, your staff have never fucking heard of them.  No, no, no,  I assure you and your smugbastard RadioFour listeners that this will be just a question of minor adjustments as the new programmes are rolled out across the country. And can't fucking obviously, comment on individual case, So there. Bollocks. Restart, down SellyOak Job Centre of Shit is, like every other fucking thing, whatever we say it is.

Birmingham economy is fucked,  manufacturing is destroyed  by people who lied and stole and killed and cheated and blackmailed and now can only mouth jargon and fucking slogan about imaginary new economy, imaginary jobs and imaginary prosperity, thieves and jackals, good for fuck all and up against wall should go. Steven Byers gave Longbridge and its traditions away to thieving bastards, beyond the law or morality's reach, its workforce now at the mercy of government initiatives at Selly Oak Job Centre of Shit is. And if any justice was Byers and Hoon and the rest would be in custody remanded at Winson Green and no fucking bail, pending trial for deception and theft and good kicking having off thin blue line of lazy fat screws. Only trouble is madeupnewsandfilth quickly hoovered-up mess of ExpensesCrime and MortgageCrime and WarCrime and JunketCrime and EarthCrime and most especially, in Scotland, best part of England, of massive NonceCrime. 

George Cadbury great Edwardian philanthrowotsit was, here in Birmingham and made ethical business, sort of, was better, anyway, than nasty fucking leprechaun,  Willy O'Walsh,  does at BA and now is sold off to GlobaCorp, just for fucking money. as though money was real, like people and soon Cadbury chocolate outsource will be in New fucking Delhi, with cow and buffalo wandering around production line.  End of road for Workshop of Empire and just instead cheap corner shop will be and sharp-faced, ferrety Brummy  a citizen of depressed EuroRegion become. Like Albanian.

And testament will stand, Birmingham,  to growing our economy of goodforfuckall service industry, of worthless lying bastard financial adviser, of light regulatory touch. And culture will be of screaming  fag hairfuckingdresser  and Cruelty TV  and celebrity slapper with big plastic tits;  toolsetter and capstan operator, like  miner and steelworker and shipbuilder,  out on street with outlaw junky angel and prostitute will be, in Ruin.

So,  Asian vote will stay largely with SnotParty and so will probation officer, teacher, gay and bisexual community relations officers. And nurse and social worker. Blue collar bloke, still wiping off Byers' shit from face, will not vote Snot but will not vote Sam and Dave, either and  unlikely is to vote ShitEaters4HomeSeckatry. (Note off editor for overseas readers. In run-up, as we say, to last UK election, LibDem shadow Home Seck discovered by tabloids was to be dirty bastard copraphiliac, in house of commons was saying You watch me, voters, when I am Home Seck, which, actually speaking will be never, I tough am going to get with prostitution and stuff like that,  But and is big fucking but, huge fucking but, same bloke, Mark Eaton, MP, was doing unmentionable shit with rentboy, unfuckingmentionable, in fact, in United State of Obama, would have Hizonner Judge Hymie Goldblum yelling Yes, you can't,  you miserable sonofafuckingbitch and probably go in Old Sparky and get fried-up with eyes popping out and dangling down cheek and veins bursting and cock shooting sparks out from end, like Mount Vesuvius and crowd of Anafuckingbaptist witnesses in Sunday suit singing We Shall Overcome But You Sure as Hell Won't, Motherfucker,   if caught is doing this shit. 

Was German sort of perversion.  Everybody know that Herman the German is filthy fucking bastard and poking about in shit is every morning with Mrs and Jah,  Liebschen-ing is, dis poo is sehr gut, Liebschen,  is firm and gut colour and smell fresh and happy und look, Lieschen,   mein own poo is wunderbar, is neine  blood and full of seeds is so mein bowel is gut und cleansed, scrape clean with seeds from gut German wholemeal bread. Could probably, Liebschen,  pull rectum inside-out and eat dinner off. Come Liebschen, let's sit down together, holding hands  on our side-by-side Herr und Frau toilet bowls and do our liddle, healthy poos together, Jah? Heil Hitler.

Is famous for being romantic like that, German bloke. Only not with Jew. Or gipsy. Or poof. Well, Eaton bloke was (allegedly- see Wikipedia - ed.) worse than this, was worse than Herman the German. After day in Snot parliament, passing laws,  would go in rentboy flat, take off MP suit and lie under glass coffee table and rentboy poo would do on tabletop only tabletop not there was and, well, is fucking decent family blog here and not go no further but Fuck me, Jesus, what sort of people can be who would   have shit-eating freak in front of front fucking bench ? Here is our shadow Home Seckatry. And in his spare time, he eats shit, yes, that's right he eats shit, not his own mind, no, that would be disgusting,  he pays other people to shit on him and eats it. Is fucking  having fucking laugh, innit, with voter. ShitEaters might win in Solihull, which is very posh part of Birmingham and so full of poof and freak is but out of work car and chocolate egg maker will not vote for ShitEaters.)

Is some racial tension, growing unemployment and Austerity Years of National Recovery from the Bankers' Depredations are coming for all. Never mind, always is internet porn and daytime telly and burglary to fall back on. Probably political map  of Brum will remain mainly SnotGreen  with a few splash of Sam and Dave Blue and maybe little spot of ShitEater Brown, like skidmark.

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Thank you, stanislav. Heavily edited to take out the rude bits. Should not need to point out that this is 15 year old satire and not incentive to incite racial hatred, but, le loi est le loi si vous êtes Mede, Perse ou Lucy Connolly, so just to be clear, this is satire.

Back to the flag flyers of Birmingham, York, Bradford, Worcester, Manchester, Newcastle and Norwich.

"The meteor flag of England

shall yet terrific burn,

Till danger's troubled night depart,

and the star of peace return." 

Thomas Campbell -  1777-1844.

Bet you didn't know that the Union Jack is named after Jack Crawford? At the Battle of Camperdown off the Dutch coast on the 11 October 1797, Venerable was Admiral Duncan's flagship. During the battle, part of the Venerable's mast was felled, including the admiral's flag. Lowering the Admiral's personal flag was a sign of surrender, and even an unintentional fall was unacceptable. Despite being under intense gunfire, Crawford climbed the mast and nailed the colours to the top.

Hence - Union Jack and nail your colours to the mast.

Here's Bob Fox, At Trades Club in Hebden Bridge, February 2010, telling Jack's story:

What's on Telly.

Hostage

Starring Gentleman Jack, aka Suranne Jones as British Prime Minister Abigail Dalton

Julie Delpy as French President Vivienne Toussaint

Bashy, (a rapper) aka Ashley Thomas as the Black Husband
Lucian Msamati as the Downing Street Chief of Staff, looking like David Lammy after a very heavy weight fell on him 

Netflix tells us that "Hostage" is a gripping new political thriller series on Netflix, featuring a storyline where the British Prime Minister's husband is kidnapped, forcing her to navigate a complex web of political intrigue and personal dilemmas.

This is Tosh. Complete, unadulterated Tosh, filled with stereotypes and clichés. It is impossible to suspend disbelief. Two female Heads of State, one with the obligatory Black Husband, one bonking her stepson, a David Lammy-style Civil Servant functionary, and a forest that resolutely stayed very English-looking, despite the tents, helicopters and hostage takers. Just titillatory crapdoodles. I swore I wouldn't watch more than the first episode. My friend managed 25 minutes before giving in. I'm up to Episode 4 now and was only able to stop myself gulping down Episode 5 because it was midnight and past my bedtime.  I know – terrific tosh! Downing Street has now been blown up and Madame la Presidente is dead – it all serves her right for being a dirty whore because it was the girlfriend of her stepson who duped him into carrying a laptop bomb into Downing Street. But Gentleman Jack will save the day, what with her perfect cheekbones and Black Husband and Half Black daughter who grassed her up to the press but all is forgiven, because what can you expect from a retarded teenager? And her Wilfrid Pickles old dad whose only narrative purpose was to show she has common roots is now murdered at the hand of Madame la Presidente’s step-son’s girlfriend who is cross because her Regiment - the Jolly Highland Sheep Stealers, has been axed because of Budget cuts. But, fortunately, before Downing Street was blown up, miraculously not killing Gentleman Jack, her Black Husband, Half Black daughter and la Presidente’s step-son, who seems to incur no moral opprobrium because he has stubble and is a bloke, despite banging his aged step mother and videoing it – the video that was released to all media outlets by his Hoots, Mon, former Jolly Highland Kilters girlfriend, fortunately, as I say, a deal was struck in which the French for Fuck’s Sake, will supply the British with all the drugs that the NHS has run out of, which deficit has caused rioting on the streets. Take a deep breath.

One more episode to go, one more episode to sort Britain out!!!

Highly recommended. If you like tosh. Which, it turns out, I do.

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

You may like this.  It speaks to those of us who have far more decades behind us than ahead of us.

There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend and editor, 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 Jolly Highland Sheep Stealers Regiment now axed due to Budget cuts.