Sunday 29 June 2014



Yes, thanks, Laura, and this is the news that a British public schoolboy, David Cameron, has been radicalised and is now a menace to people all over Europe, whom he describes as wrong, just plain wrong, very wrong and European. Twenty-six other people are wrong and me and the Hungarian fascist are right.  You'll all be sorry.  In a declaration of war against the European way of life David has been heard saying that while he may have lost one battle - he refers here, Laura, to an episode of sour-faced footstamping 

which the adults rightly ignored - he will eventually win the whole war, whatever the war is. They underestimated us a hundred years ago today,  at the start of whatever number world war it was,  but thanks to my special relationship with President Obama we soon saw them off.  And we'll do it again, once more unto the beach, dear friends, once more, that's what I say, and today Johnny Foreigner now knows that I am a man of my word, 

 just not in anything you care to think of, like topdown downtop reforming of the NHS,  I said it would never happen and it did, immediately; cast-iron, copperbottom referenduming,  I promised  we would have one and then said we wouldn't;  not raising VAT,  I said we wouldn't but, well, you get the drift.......but lessbeclear,  I have  given my solemn word on these and many other matters and when I have given my word I have stuck firmly to my principles and as soon as humanly possible, broken it.
Fuck yes, way to go.
I love the sound of lies in the morning.
And I say this most sincerely,
you can't believe a fucking word I say.

Thanks, Mark, and can you give us a little background on David Cameron and I believe he has several, maybe many other overgrown schoolboy fellow radicals in his gang, all committed to destroying the country. What can you tell us about that?

Laura, that's right

  and actually it's not too surprising because David Cameron was born into a fundamentalist sect of greedyfuckingbastardfuckpigs, raised to believe that he was born to rule and that greed was all that mattered.
And were the state schools to blame for this?

No, Laura, young David went to a private, MoneyFaith school called Eton Madrass College

where he was schooled by radical mercenary teachers who taught him that he was born to be obeyed,  where he dressed in arcane and expensive   garments and where flogging and humiliation were the order of the day, customs he continues to this day in respect of old, sick, young and disabled people.

And then?

And then he fell into the clutches of the infamous Victor al Bogbrush, 

a firebrand teacher of the doctrine of Politics, Philosophy and Economics  in the notorious Oxford University.
Is that PPE,  the entry degree to the crime councils of MediaMinster? Gosh, Mark, no wonder the poor lad went wrong.

That's right, Laura, and as if that wasn't enough, he was targeted by the al Bullingdon Boys, 

Part of a coalition government-in-waiting.

a gang of young men who also dressed up in foolish clothes, got high on drink and drugs before committing acts of terror on the local community.........

Weren't they punished by the authorities....???

 ......acts which were hushed up by the University and paid-for by the al Camerons and other fabulously wealthy parents, tribes of thieving bastards who had stolen vast fortunes over centuries.

But what's led to his going public, declaring a EuroJihad, as it were?

Ah, well, Laura, his friends say that he has fallen under the spell of Sheikh Mullah  Nigel al Farahji, 

Albion akbar,
Albion akbar.

the hated and feared Imam of Independence,  the Ayatollah of Euro payola, harem-master and leader of a growing band of   vicious, battle-hardened, elderly, sclerotic malcontents 

who seek the establishment of a John Bull caliphate stretching from John of Groats to Land's End, the part of it not owned by Americans, at any rate;  the lifting of all smoking bans and the repatriation of Wogs, Polacks, Gippos, Homos, and Lesbos - even of native but brown Britons - to what they call the dusky climes  of BongoBongoLand  and the erection of a three-hundred metre high barrier around the entire British coastline, what's left of it, when Scotland fucks off.  That's it.  That's the policy of al Farajhi. 

 The Caliphate of John Bull. Scary.
And Cameron's completely under his spell.

And what does this mean for David Cameron's future prospects, why has it radicalised him?

Well, Laura,  basically, he's a fucking idiot, David Cameron.  I mean he wasn't elected last time and he won't be elected next time  but he thinks that making a prat  of himself - and, by the way, us, too -  he will ingratiate himself with his own 1922 Mujahadeen of Nutters, many of whom would like to join al Farajhi in his holy war against the present day.

So, Mark, what you're saying is that David Cameron has become the swivel-eyed loony fruitcake he used to warn about.
Yes, Laura, that's exactly what he has become. 
Only worse.

That was Mark Urban for us  there on the mental collapse of the man who thinks he's prime minister. Shame, really.  But he is an utter cunt, isn't he? No expense spared on his education and he's as thick as two short planks, fucks about like a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest, good for fuck all and yet, thanks to that dickhead Clegg, who's even stupider, he's the fucking prime  minister. Sort of.  But not really. he's like a dog walking on his hind legs, you're just waitng for
 him to fall down, go  grrrrr-woof and jump in his bed for a nice kip.

And to  discuss that I am joined by Simon  Sir Simon Reasonable, chairman of All Things Bright And Beautiful,  - you know, forests, parklands,  heritage stuff, National Trust  and  jolly nice subsidised stately homes for jolly nice rich people,   they give the nation the paintings, cop a big tax allowance  and get to stay in the house on the basis that the public can view the pictures but only for fifteen minutes in each leap year, only the house'll be closed for vital maintainance,  just exactly during that quarter of  an hour -  
Sir Simon Jenkins,
fearless reasonable journalist and knight of MediaMinster.
 A knighted hack.  I ask you.

and who works in his day job,  rather like the govament and the Metropolitan police service, for Mr Rupert Murdoch, who, bless him, will soon be dead and then they'll all be fucked.  Simon  Sir Simon Reasonable, what do you think of David Cameron being radicalised by Sheikh al Farajhi.

Well, Laura, that's two questions,  
the first is why are you and not I anchoring Newsnight and the second is what would Mr Murdoch want me to say about my fellow 21st Century Fox employee, Mr Cameron. And actually I think he's done a rather good job. I mean he's gone there,wherever it was, Brussels, was it, Berlin and jolly well spoken his mind.  Can't ask for more than that.  Mind like a sieve?  Everything leaking out? Well, maybe he has but that's not for me to say.  He is the prime minister,  and frankly,  Laura, it doesn't matter that he wasn't elected,  the Queen wasn't elected either and just look at what a wonderful job she's doing for us, all those parks and palaces, parts of which we can see from the road; knighting me. This al Farajhi chap, flash in the pan, mark my words, from the bottom drawer, he is.  Cameron'll eat him for breakfast. I rest my case.

Now, on Newsnight, there was shock and anger today at the news that  a notorious beast had behaved in a fashion that can only be described as, well, beastly.


Yes, this is the news that former PBC dee-jay, cripple-fucker, child molester, necrophiliac and friend of prime ministers, 

Now look, I'm the cleverest man in the country
 and I didn't know he was a beast. So fuck off.  My moral compass was broken that day. So that's me off the hook.


To err is human, to forgive and cover-up, that's what we do.
Let he who has not fingered a six-year old,
let him cast the first stone, eh? 
So that's me off the hook, too.

and royalty, 

Now look.  
One is frightfully well educated, been to Cambridge,  and one would never have guessed that one's subject, 
Savile, is it, 
was a whatchamacallit, 
a nonce. 
One thinks one is orf the hook.

Sir Jimmy Savile,  fucked dead people in their eyesockets but only after he had removed their glass eyeballs and made them into jewellery.  Unidentified relatives of the corpses who cannot be named because nobody knows who the fuck they are were said to be - if they knew about it -  in deep shock at the revelations, to'ally and u''erly devastated.  This is simply not acceptable,  said somebody in a Leeds pub,  I mean,  that mighta been my uncle, whose eye Sir Jimmy was knobbin'.  I don't have an uncle but if I did it mighta been him so I think in all the circumstances I should 'ave some compo, off Sir Jimmy's estate, dun choo? I mean, if it was your uncle, how would you feel,  poor dead bastard getting' his eyeball knobbed.  It's just not respectful,  you expect better from the BBC.  It's all the Jews I blame. And the homos.      

The chair of the Co-ordinated Savile Cover-Up Enquiry, eminent QC, Ms Kate Crow,

 barked at Newsnight that there was no appetite for a Public Enquiry.  Well, she continued, the victims might want one but I don't think it would be in their interests. And it's me who's the eminent QC around here, so they can just fuck off back to their miserable, fucked-up lives.  I have drawn together many NHS cover-ups and all are conclusive.  So there is no need whatsoever for a further full and far-reaching public cover-up which would simply upset a lot of important people who have thus far kept their arses away from the fire and whose names might leak-out before the enquiry could properly cover them up. No,  no-one is to blame for this dreadful wotsaname, scandal, yes, scandal.  Neither Mrs Edwina CurrieTramp,

  who literally gave Sir James  Beast the keys to the loonybin, 

Now listen, I'm rather bright m'self, y'know, went to Oxford and everything but even I simply never thought that this obviously rotten old beast was a rotten old beast.
and anyway,  
the main thing was that we beat the screws' union at that fucking loonybin.  What does it matter if a few  mad slappers and  nutters got fucked up the arse, teach them to 
behave themselves and quite frankly stop being a burden on decent taxpayers. 
There, that's me off the hook.

nor the cruel and cynical screws who permitted the abuse, laughing at the victims, like they do, the rotten fucking bastards; nor all the nurses and doctors and porters and managers in all the hospitals are to blame and even if they were, it's all water under the bridge,  now.  And there should be absolutely no criticism of BBC producers, how were they to know what Savile was up to?  

It's not as if it was happening under their noses, on their premises, with their audiences. Least said, soonest mended.  That'll be three hundred thousand pound, please, plus VAT. No cheques.  And a seat on the Supreme Court.  ASAP.

Interviewed for Newsnight, 

veteran campaigner for herself to be in the public eye, Ms Esther Baggage,  said, now listen I'm quite the intellectual myself, went to Oxford like most people, and been around a bit too,
 got some skidmarks,
I mean streetsmarts.

What I don't know about child abuse, isn't worth knowing. I am the country's foremost expert.  But brilliant as I obviously am,  I never would have guessed in my wildest dreams that this hideous old monster was a hideous old monster. So that's me in the clear.

I think this photo proves beyond doubt that I am off the hook.

At Prime Minister's Apologies,   pretend prime minister, David Cameron, was too busy not apologising for appointing one of Mr Murdoch's men as his house nigger to be able to apologise for Mrs Whisky Maggie
 busting her  warty arse to get a knighthood for Sir Jimmy.  And even if he hadn't been, he wouldn't .  But if he had, it would've went  something like this.

Mr Tiny Speaker, Sir James told me he wasn't a beast and that was good enough for me.  I'm a decent sort of chap who likes to give people a second chance,  only not poor people, of course, who need to jolly well stand on their own one or two ot however many feet they have, not  my problem, their feet, but with decent, prosperous wealthy people, people who take as much as they can from society and try not to put anything back, decent people, like you and I and all members of this house,  well,  I give 'em a chance, Mr Tiny Speaker, that's just the sorta guy I am.  Especially, Mr Tiny Speaker,  when Mr Murdoch tells me.  In fact, my right honourable and learned friend, the Attorney General, Mr Dominic Prat,  and I have been discussing an amendment to the entire criminal justice system whereby if a burglar, for instance, says he hasn't done any burgling  or a rapist says he hasn't done any raping, gives categorical assurances to people to that effect, then, even if the dogs in the street know that burglar A is up to his arse in widespread burglaries and rapist B's dick is dropping off from frantic, violent overuse  then just so long as people are prepared to do the decent thing and give them the benefit of the doubt, even if, as in Mr Coulson's case, there wasn't any doubt, that should be the end of the matter. What we are talking about here is nothing less than the long-overdue reversal of the status quo - where, for instance, now, Mr Murdoch's placeman is  innocent until proven guilty, in future he will be innocent even until after he is proven guilty.  Even if it means that the burglar or the rapist is given the opportunity to commit further crimes,  just as long as the person who gave them that opportunity offers a sorry-assed, meaningless, shit-mouthed  apology,  then that should be enough to satisfy everybody, even if they've unfortunately been raped or burgled. 

Of course I'll visit you,
 just as soon as you get out of prison.

 Has Mr Coulson committed any crimes while in Downing Street?  No, of course not. How do I know?   He gave me his assurance.  And that's what counts, after all.  And anyway, Lord Justice Leveson covered all these things, even though he didn't.  Mr Patrick Cock? 

My special advisor on kiddyporn ?   
Well, yes, he is a personal fiend. I mean friend, Yes, like Mrs Brooks. And Mr Coulson.  And the bloke who owns WONGA.  But look, lessbeclear on this,  I never comment, Mr Tiny Speaker,  on ongoing trials, apart from the other day, when the judge gave me a bit of a bollocking but we need to be very clear, because the reputation of a personal friend of mine is at stake,
 Mr Cock's collection of kiddy porn, lessbeclear,  was at what experts call the lower end of the tarrif.  So,  no Great Danes, no whippings and floggings and definitely no torturing to death, topics with which I am sure many honourable and right honourable members are obsessed, I mean  familiar, from their work on various select committees and fact-finding holidays to  Bangok and Rio de Janeiro and the Reeperbahn,  which, Mr Tiny Speaker, it bears repeating,  they often undertake in their all-too-brief holidays from this place. Although not, obviously, at their own expense. Nor accompanied by their wives.

Hear-hear, waving of order papers. 
singing: For he's a jolly good liar, for he's a jolly good liar.... 

Well, quite a week for Mr Cameron.
  Here's Andrew Hairpiece, the cradle snatcher,
making his debut on Newsnight;
 he went to Glasgow University, you know and helped Mr Murdoch
get established in his business of coarsening the British public discourse.

   Brooks, Coulson, McKenzie, Gotcha! Hillsborough, Teenage Tits - doorstepping, hacking, none of it would've happened without Andy.

That was all a long time ago, sort of, and now nobody in our business asks Andy what Rupert's arsehole tastes like.  But they think it. He's here tonight, anyway, with his clunking sarcasm and weary metaphors;  good job he's a gopher and a fixer, cos he'd starve writing. 

 Dunno how he gets away with it, must have the dirt on some PBC executives. 'Swhat Murdoch's people do. Anyway, here's the old creep with his oldperson postcards with his questions on them  and his  very own Take of the Week.

Thank you, Laura  and maybe you'll join me later in the Old Folks lounge, two Scottish journalists together, a long way from home No?  Please yourself.  But I know your boss.

And yes, viewers, and I know you're thinking where's Paxman  but tonight you've got the real thing,  the real McCoy; so crack open the Blue Nun and enjoy my greatness. And it has been a firecracker of a week for the prime minister;  fuck-ups, cock-ups, balls-ups, worthless apologies, his mate about to be thrown in jail, his other mate nicked for noncing but look on the bright side, health seckatry, Jeremy Hunt, was able to deflect some of the heat by announcing some evasive bollockstalk  about that nasty old git, Savile,  as though it was all over bar flinging a few coppers and a few platitudes to his victims but, just as it was supposed to, and no,viewers, I'm not being cynical, what, me, ask that woman on a raft if you don't believe me,  it took the attention away from  Cameron's spin doctor, Andy Coulson,  being unspun, so to speak, by an old Bailey jury and then, fuck me sideways,  thirty-six hours later he's getting his arse handed to him by Europe and he's still running around like  a headless fucking chicken, 

spluttering about his long term economic plan; all these fucking nonsensical zero-hours non-jobs;  about his leadership in Europe,  what Russia has to do. And as a backdrop to all this lunacy  there's deflation, prices are going down, now, like wages,  house prices are rocketing again thanks to the white slug in the treasury and now Chinese gangsters as well as Russians are buying-up London with Micky Mouse money. And that's not to mention the football, which we won't.  Although if England has done any better you can bet David Cameron'd desperately be claiming credit.  If I was Scottish I'd be voting for Independence.

and don't let the prime minister's brain germs bite.

An elderly journalist relaxes on his day off.

Sunday 22 June 2014


Ed is my leader but he's confused.

 First it was Mandelstein and Paxman kicking him in the teeth, now it's Lord Neil Windbag  of Well alright, architect of Tory victories and NewLabour, same thing, actually.
I feel the hands of defeat on my shoulders.
 and Blind Boy Blunkett.

Ed doesn't recognise my qualities so I'm off.

All it needs is for Lord John Pies to lumber out from his eatin'n'wanking pit and the wretched Miliband may as well stay in bed for the rest of his days,  the worst that can happen to him in bed  is that he falls out of it. 
Cameron and his gimp, Clegg, must be wetting themselves in delight as Labour's aristocrats shove broken bottles up each other's arses.  What a fucking crew.

I mentioned some years ago my sufferings at the hands of blind piano tuners - Yes, I'm sorry it's so badly out of tune, that's why you're here, yes, I know, it's never gonna be a Steinway, but if it was a fucking Steinway you wouldn't be anywhere near it, I'd want someone who could see what they're fucking doing; yes, yes, it's alright if you can't tune it to concert pitch, it's not for concerts;  yes, I know, it probably would benefit from being re-felted and re-strung but I just want it tuned, you know, to itself; now you're supposed to be a piano tuner, a bloke who tunes out of tune pianos, be no point in you being here if the piano wasn't out of tune, wasn't for me, you'd have to be off sitting in the corner with a blanket round your kness, basket-weaving,  - I was beginning to think that they'd actually sent me a basket-weaver and not a piano tuner - yes, I know it's an old piano, that's why I bought it, it's a short upright art deco Odeonesque piano but that means fuck all to you, does it, because you can't see it.  I know short uprights are notoriously not as good as bigger ones but that's what it is, if I'd known you didn't like them I woulda bought a bigger one but I didn't. Now, can you tune it?  No, I'm not being rude. Actually it's you's being rude. About my piano. Now, bad as it is, do you wanna tune it and get paid for that or do you wanna fuck off? I don't fucking care which it is. I'm sure that with a bit of practice I could tune the fucking thing myself, how hard can it be?  I  have a good ear, I know what an octave is and I can read-up on it, which is more than you can do.

I never understood how people could, just for fun, smash up perfectly good pianos, as they did, in the 'sixties and 'seventies, as part of that knocking-through fashion in their homes, knock this wall down, here, pin  some nice hardboard over those old, panelled, joiner-made pitch pine doors,  paint them up with some nice gloss paint, fit a nice electric fire to the wall and get rid of that old walnut piano, smash it up in the street, mebbe we can beat the Guinessbook record for piano destruction.  Now, I think, well fuck me Jesus, if I'd hadda have one of those blind bastards coming around moaning every six months I'd smash the fucking piano up, too.  Yamaha, keyboard makers,  I bet they make donations to blind piano tuner training schools, just to make sure that there is no revival of the acoustic piano trade.  I have a Yamaha keyboard; it just sits there, I never touch it but I know that if I do it'll be in tune and I won't have to endure the obnoxious bullying which only blind piano tuners can effect.

Blunkett, he should have been a piano tuner;  he was good for fuck all else.  It was a measure of Tony and Imelda's  breathtakingly comprehensive cynicism that obedient, nauseatingly grateful,  token disabalista, Dave, 

I simply say that blind is best,
rather like the electorate.

was appointed inter alia home secretary, home fucking secretary, in charge of national security at a time of apparently unprecedented peril.  Yeah, that's right, all these urgent, pressing decisions to be made about some people's safety, other people's liberties, yeah, we decided that a blind man was best equipped for that role; we'd get all that stuff translated into braille for him, so's he could make split-second decisions, not exactly split-second, more after a while split-second;  what, looking at 'photos and stuff, why would a home seckatry wanna do that?  Sight?  No, it's not necesary at all, why should it be, no,  look, didn't he go out to that asylum seeker camp place in France, to see for himself what was going on? Well, no, of course I don't mean literally see for himself.  What would be the point of that, because being blind he can't actually see for himself Why did he go then? Well, I dunno, do I? Got countries to destroy, me, fortunes to make. It's just a gesture, really, David Blunkett.  I mean, how much harm can he do, can't see his cock in front of his face, I mean his hand.

Now, the rotten, vile bastard is playing his beardy face  again. Ed is my leader, he gurns, but he obviously wants new blood in his cabinet - as though he'd want a disgraced, lying, cock-waving, incompetent  fuckpig like Blunkett around the table, dribbling - and since I'm not gonna be a minister I shall leave, now,  "In simple terms, I would rather leave while I am still giving 100 per cent.”

In the Guardian piece from which that quote is taken, Blunkett boasts of his clout as a former minister, being able to get more for his constituents.  He's as thick, Blunkett, as a bucket of pigshit and sees no incongruity in one constituency receiving better treatment than another merely as a result of  back-scratching, of   its member having been in a cabinet of filth; so grimy, so tainted is this vile old whore that he is deafened even to his own wretchedness, his complete, inadequate deficiency. 

In the same article Blunkett rants that his oldman's fling  with MediaMinster village bicycle, Kimberly Quinn, 

was entirely his own affair - it actually involved the pregnant Quinn hotbedding with hubby, 

with Dave and with Guuardian wine knob, Simon Hoggart, at least,  all at the same time

in an unwholesome, distasteful, disjointed gangbang - and none of the public's business. In fact, bullyboy Blunkett wrongfully eased the home office's processing of Quinn's housenigger's visa, misused members of the Special Branch in an attempt to bully Quinn, lied his dumb face off about it all  and was sacked.

I am  resigning because I have done nothing wrong.
  And for the sake of my little cock, I mean my little lad.

He was given a Mandelson Pass and soon back in government where he fucked up again, seeing his public duties as a means of privately enriching himself.  He is a nasty, corrupt, incontinent, brutish fascist, Blunkett,  and long ago he should have been in the hospital wing of Wormwood Scrubs.   

 Like nearly all of NewLabour - Mandelson, the Blairs, the Ballses, the Milibands, Campbell, Patsy-paedo Hewitt, Milburn, Reid, Hoon,  to name but those who spring swiftly to mind - Blunkett has betrayed the Labour movement, parliament, democracy, the nation,  and at every opportunity stuck his snout in pockets public and private; that Blunkett has done this often whining behind the screen of his disability is particularly abhorrent.

His intervention in the matter of Miliband's leadership is typically nasty, self-centred and disingenuous.  It would be an act of divine if ironic providence were he to be granted his sight on his deathbed,  only to see what a cunt he is. 

A home seckatry's thoughts.

Machine-gunning, it's too good for prisoners.
Honest, not invent.

this, from wikipedia

A controversial area for Blunkett was civil liberties, which he famously described as "airy fairy".[21] As Education Secretary, he had repeatedly expressed the intention that, were he to become Home Secretary, he would make the then-incumbent Jack Straw, who had been criticised for being hard-line, seem overly liberal. An indication of what he meant came in October 2002, when there was a serious riot at Lincoln Prison. Martin Narey, then Director General of HM Prison Service, later claimed that when informed of the riot, Blunkett became hysterical and 'shrieked' that the prison must be re-taken without regard to loss of life and that rioters should be machine-gunned if necessary. Narey concluded that Blunkett was not up to the job. Blunkett denied this version of events.
Blunkett served as education secretary, home secretary and work and pensions secretary under Tony Blair. He resigned as home secretary in 2004 after a visa application for ex-lover Kimberly Quinn's nanny was fasttracked. An official inquiry found a "chain of events" linking him to the speeding up of a visa application.
Less than 12 months later, his return to the cabinet as work and pensions secretary ended in resignation amid a row over his business interests.
 Talking of giving one hundred per cent, Blind  Boy's entry, below, from the Great Parliamentary Book of Bribes.

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9 December 2013, I took part in a conference for Tablets for Schools (Tablets for Schools, 1 Portal Way, London W3 6RS) for which they have agreed to pay £1,000 to charity. Hours: 3 hrs. (Registered 9 December 2013)
5 December 2013, I received £300 from The Guardian (Kings Place, 90 York Way, London N1 9GU) for writing a comment piece. Hours: 2 hrs. (Registered 21 January 2014)
7 January 2014, I received £3,400 from the NCFE (Q6, Quorum Business Park, Benton Lane, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE12 8BT) for speaking at their conference. Hours: 6 hrs. (Registered 21 January 2014)
17 February 2014, I received £5,000 from the Corporate Research Forum (One Heddon Street, Mayfair, London W1B 4BD) for taking part in a seminar on trust in private and public institutions . Hours: 7 hrs. (Registered 26 February 2014)
7 March 2014, I received £2,975 from the Voluntary Organisations Disability Group (The VODG, 6 Market Road, London N7 9PW) for giving a speech at their conference.  Hours: 4 hrs. (Registered 12 March 2014)
27 March 2014, I spoke at a seminar for Red and Green Halcyon (The Brewery, Bells Yew Green, Tunbridge Wells, TN3 9BD) for which they agreed to pay £1,500 to charity. Hours: 2 hours. (Registered 2 April 2014)
9. Registrable shareholdings
(a) HADAW Productions and Investments Ltd.
11. Miscellaneous
Visiting Professor at the University of Sheffield, 17 Mappin Street, Sheffield S1 4DT. I am reimbursed for travel and accommodation  expenses.
(Registered 2 December 2013)

from wiki, although true