Wednesday 15 April 2015


I thought UKIP Suzy was great. I promise, I was not watching the Poundland manifesto show, it was just on, mrs ishmael having watched Breakfast TeeVee with her breakfast and departed, heedless of  my discomfort. It doesn't matter how often I complain that I don't care what they say, about anything, she insists on telling me what they've just said about the latest scandal, abduction, health or fashion fad, although, this morning she was also bemoaning their clumsy language- what do they mean, ahead of the election?

It was still on, anyway, as I carefully prepared my  spinach and soya breakfast roulade and I couldn't help but be struck at how comprehensive and entirely  achievable were her remedies for the nations ills.

All we have to do is leave the EU and we'll all be fully-costed millionaires, tended by a superior health service in public ownership, guarded by the best army since the Roman Empire and best of all NO WOGS.

 Suzy and Sid's Great Book of Shite.

Well, to be honest  with you,  and although Suzanne has done a great job making-up my manifesto for me, we don't actually mean no wogs, we want the right sort of wogs.
No, no racists in my party, absolutely none.
And just to prove it I will, quite frankly, let's be honest, do you know what, close the show with a little cabaret, dedicated to the many black members of my party. 
They've been a bit noisy today but that's just the way they are. 
Have to shout to be heard in the jungle, where they come from. 
Anyway, a-one-two-three......

If U-Kip Suzy, like I-kip Suzy,
Oh, Oh, Oh what a gal.

She was very good, I thought, UKIP Suzy, as these things go, especially on foreign aid and cutting ministries but  most especially when compared to Sid, himself, who looked and sounded knackered.

The sharpest televisual contrast of this morning, however, was not between Suzy and Sid but between Suzy and Nick Clegg.  If you saw and heard someone, down the library, say, if you still had one, ranting like NickClegg was, you'd contact the Community Psychiatric Nurse, if you still had one.

I know she's just another hustler, Suzy, but she made a good fist of it this morning.  
Sid must be hoping she doesn't shove it up his arse.


Mike said...

"spinach and soya roulade" - I nearly sprayed the keyboard.

Fortunately we are spared this shit down under - the lead up to the May election, that is.

SG said...

"spinach and soya roulade" - a bit too North London Metropolitan line for me. I'd cut out the middle-man and put that straight down the pan. Fucking porridge again for me in the morning (medical reasons) - I'd sooner it were a fry up... That Suzie Q, you're full of surprises Mr I... I've been watching her for a while and I'd put my money on her in a bitch fight with Gnasher any day...

mongoose said...

I sense an opening for an Orcadian barber who serves a proper breakfast. You wouldn't have to eat it yourself but you could set light to their ears while they did.

SG said...

Regarding Clegg - job done! I've reported him to Nurse Ratched. She said "If Mr Clegg doesn't want to take his medication orally, I'm sure we can arrange that he can have it some other way. But I don't think that he would like it..."

Mike said...

Mr SG: Clegg is the definition of an empty suit. I would love to take my driver, with its fuck-off titanium head, to his bollocks.

Caratacus said...

Can't help it - every time I hear one of these buggers honking on and speechifying, I am reminded of that sergeant who, when asked what his technique was for instructing young recruits, replied, "First I tells 'em what I'm gonna tell 'em, then I tells 'em, then I tells 'em what I just told 'em".

With the oft-trailed speeches and after speech analysis, they follow much the same path. The electorate share much the same vacant fucking stares of the young recruits too ...

call me ishmael said...

The vacant stare is certainly characteristic of the Tribesmen, mr caratacus, as is the heckling of journalists, seen yesterday at the Poundland bash. Imagine what it would be like with either group's supporters roaming the streets, in dulce jubilo.