Sunday 8 May 2016


Good morning and this is me,  
thePBC's  headgirl with the raunch, 
Sophie Thighsworth, with all the election news.
And the big news is that Wales has taken leave of its senses.

Newly-elected Welsh Assembly member, 
Mr Neil Brown-Envelopes
with his governess,
Madam Christine.

Athropologists from all around the globe, together with educationalists, psychologists and specialists in the paranormal were today stampeding towards the tiny, dark region of the UK known as WalesLookYou, officially proclaimed by the United Nations as the stupidest place on Earth.

Mr Banki Dollah, of the UN.

Iss very importah tha' Hew-En reckanise unpallalled stupidity of place call Wales, an' proteck speshya status. Iss world resource. Site ah speshya scientific hintaress. How peoples can be so fucking stupid, iss velly hintahesting. Use to be Hartypool, wass mos' stupid pisshole in world, vote three time for clooked Plince ah Darkness, Mandelstein. But Wales now take fucking biscuit, with this shit.

Wales is the Stupidest place on Earth.

Whispering Kofi Annan

former head of the UN,

 said that if the price and the expenses package were right, say just a few millions or preferably tens of millions of dollars into his family Swiss bank account,  he would be happy to head a special delegation to Wales, in order to enquire into the recent election, with a view of making it more agreeable to Mr Obama or the incoming President Trousers . And, naturally, of spreading through WalesLookYou the twin UN blessings of corruption and a  massive scale of child-rape by UN soldiers and officials.
If people are stupid enough to elect Neil Hamilton, whispered Mr Kofi, they will certainly stand for a permanent UN occupation.

Meanwhile, Wales's Cultural Ambassador, Sir Tom Jones, 
 Pontypridd's answer to Australia's Sir Vomiting Les Patterson,

 said he was delighted that the full stupidity of his native land had been officially reckanised, isn't it. Over the moon, I am, it's better than having a Number One.

I thought it was me, see,
said the King of the Blues,
 that I was Waleses Number One Thicko but no, seems like everybody here's thick as a plank, isn't it, look you. And you know, when I started out, all them years ago, singing for sweeties, back in the Valleys, I had a dim understanding that I was pretty stupid, only a dim understanding, like, because I am really, really stupid - but I can just so sing the Blues, What's New Pussycat, great blues number that,  (sings)  Whoa-ah-whoah-ah- whoah-wo-wo..... (old ladies throw their incontinence pads at Sir Tom) and Delilah, pure blues, that, right from the Rhonda Delta, (sings) Why-why-why-Delilah, why-why-why-Delilah (St John's Ambulance persons carry fountainously urinating old ladies away on stretchers)

No, it's great news for WalesLookYou, reckanition at last, on the global wotsaname, rather like I've had, most of my life, yes, could mulch a thousand-acre farm, me, with pissy knickers, 


yes, kept 'em all, well, yes, if ladies piss their knickers and throw them at you, well, it's not to be sniffed at, is it? 

Yes, that's right, me and Engelbert Humperdinck, it was, back then,

the two stupidest entertainers in the world.  No, it wasn't his real name, he's not that stupid, but then, maybe he is, because he let our manager rename  him Engelbert Humperdinck.  Yes, me too, he renamed me. That's the great thing about being stupid, you let people do anything to you for money.  Even change your name.  I know, pathetic, isn't it? And I was saying to him, only a few decades ago, when we was both working LA, how much I missed my native land. WalesLookYou, but if I hadda come back, like, I'd a hadda pay tax, and I'm not that stupid. 

But no, this UKIP bloke, see, him what Mr al Fayed said was a worthless rentboy, really good news it is, for WalesLookYou, isn't it, that we've elected him to the Welsh Assembly? 

Means I am not the only stupid arsehole in Wales, not that I ever set foot there, fuck that, Pontypridd?  You must be fucking joking. But it means that there's thouands of just unbelieveably stupid bastards who voted for that repulsive arsehole, yes and his governess, too, wotsername, Christine, is it.
she can keep her knickers on.
If she wears any.

Elsewhere, Mr Sid Poundland, owner of Mr Hamilton's party, Poundland, chuckled, Oh, no,  Sophie, I think you'll find, no, no, I really do, I think you'll find that Mr Hamilton is nothing to do with Poundland.  I mean, lessfaceit, it seems that once people get into parliament they start ignoring me; no, no, no, Sophie, they really do. And have to be expelled. Yes, 'cos that's democracy, Poundland style, and I think you'll find, Sophie, I really do, that not only is Neil Hamilton not a member of Poundland, but he wasn't even elected in the first place. 

Rather like Mr Kahn, he wasn't elected, either. No, no, I think you'll find he couldn't have been. 

I mean, everyone knows I like and admire Muslims, no, no, I think you'll find I really do. I mean, they make jolly good curries and all that sort of thing, and hospital porters. But that doesn't mean, Sophie, that the capital of the Empire, the British Empire, should have a raghead as a mayor, no, no, no.  I mean, we have to ask ourselves, What's the world coming to? No, no offence, Sophie, but the way things're going we'll have lesbians leading political parties.

And I think you'll find, Sophie, no, I really do, I think you'll find that many, many millions of decent English people will, this weekend, be reflecting on the heart-warming, rags-to-riches  story of possibly London's greatest-ever Mayor,

  Dick Whiteington and his cat, 
no, no, I think you'll find it's White-ington
and realising that, in that great exemplary parable  of 14th century aspiration, hard work, secure borders  and ontrapenewership, there wasn't a raghead to be seen.  I mean, who wants a Mayor with four wives, who eats with his hands, prays all the fucking time and  wants to see the red crescent flying over the GLC or whatever it is? So it's all very well to say we welcome diversity, and we do, in Poundland, we really, really do, I think you'll find, Sophie, that, no, and it's all been costed, by independent costers, I really do think you'll find that we in Poundland, we are the least racist of all parties, but having a raghead as Mayor of this great city is surely taking the multi-cultural piss, isn't it?

Well, Sophie, Huw Welshman here and if I could just interrupt, briefly, viewers will know that SIr Tom and I are great friends  and both Welshmen, it must be said,  who have made good in showbusiness but Sir Tom made a tiny slip, earlier. Here's our colleague, Earnest Monty Don, from PBC Gardeners World, to set the record straight.

Yes, Huw, and thanks very much for that. You know there's been a lot of Shakespeare in the air, recently, and speaking as the Shakespeare of the the nation's gardens, I'd just like to correct Sir Tom Jones's love's labours lost, as it were, and correct his antic disposition, earlier, when he said that all the world's a stage and you should strew your gardens not with rosemary for remembrance and pansies for thought but with stinky, decades-old ladies panties,  caked with urine and other exudates, flung at you by desperate sex-crazed  fans - and believe me, Sir Tom, I know what it's like, I get it every time I open a garden centre, 

 but in my case they go straight on the bonfire. I'm afraid they just don't make a very good mulch.
 Much better using compost made from the natural waste which occurs in your garden,

 I make a few tons of it every week and it just always seems to be there, when the camera arrives, rich and crumbly,

 not rank, stinky and, most importantly,  non-biodegradable, 
like old ladies' drawers. 

No, I don't have any help from a dozen PBC gardeners, I do everything myself, yes, several hundreds of tonnes of compost a year.
 I expect Sir Tom meant well but in reality he won't know a mulch from a martini, much less a hawk from a handsaw.

 So, don't be throwing your wives' soiled undies over the rhubarb, but here's a few jobs you can be getting on with in the garden this week-end 
And remember, all's well that ends with a BAFTA.

Field Marshal Mick Fallon, 
Minister for War.

Well, Monty Don can say what he wants, fuck him, who cares about gardening, when the nation is at war, as it is?
But the main thing is that the Mayor of London is a terrorist, his friends are terrorists, he comes from a terrorist family and he's a raghead. So there, he needs taking out, clear and present danger, threat to the security of the nation. 
Kill him at once.


Mike said...


Did a project in Wales about 30 years ago. I was struck then by how insular and thick the people were. When the obvious answer was pointed out they got all aggressive saying I didn't understand local Welsh factors. They were dead right on that.

SG said...

I wish to lodge a formal protest Mr I. No way does Sir Les belong in the company of those spivs, crooks, charlatans, exhibitionists and PBC gardening types...

Caratacus said...

Agreed, Mr. Mike. I was in Wales (Tenby) in the mid 70s and a young lad working for me at the time was weighing up whether to take up the offer of a visiting Australian backpacker and accompany him all the way back to Oz. "Thing is, see, I doan like boats - never have, see". I was puzzled ... "surely, once you've got across to France you won't go near a boat again until you get to India or Malaysia or somewhere like that?". It was his turn to be puzzled and it was only after a few moments of awkward conversation that I realised he believed that every country in the world was like Britain - an island surrounded by sea. A novel idea, I am sure you will agree and one that the late Mr. Pratchett could have done something with. And also a mark of the educational standards which prevailed even forty years ago ...

To his credit, he took the plunge, made it to Australia unscathed and undrowned, married a Welsh girl in Perth, bought a Holden and a house and has never been back.

call me ishmael said...

I love the landscapes, mr mike, but I struggle with the folk, too.

call me ishmael said...

I know you are a fan,mr sg, which was why I thought of the distinguished Antipodean.

call me ishmael said...

Australia looms better and better to me, your majesty, wish I had been that lad you mention.

call me ishmael said...

looks, not looms.

SG said...

That is indeed a kind thought Mr I! So few people of distinction left in public life... The Hamiltons - WTF are they on? I guess when you've nothing to lose then there's everything to gain. If I were Nigel, I might just lose a little sleep over them:-

We're only making plans for Nigel
We only want what's best for him
We're only making plans for Nigel
Nigel just needs this helping hand
And if young Nigel says he's happy
He must be happy
He must be happy in his work
We're only making plans for Nigel
He has his future in a British steel
We're only making plans for Nigel
Nigel's whole future is as good as sealed
And if young Nigel says he's happy
He must be happy
He must be happy in his work
Nigel is not outspoken
But he likes to speak
And loves to be spoken to
Nigel is happy in his work
We're only making plans for Nigel

Alphons said...

The only man that I know of that had the right idea about Wales was a man called Offa, who had a dyke.

Mike said...

King Caractacus: Perth is a lovely city, the beaches are great, and Freemantle is the definition of laid back. I haven't been there in nearly 20 years - most Sydneysiders have never been to Perth.

To put it in context: London is nearer to Tel Aviv than Sydney is to Perth. Its the trip of a lifetime, quite possibly life-ending, to attempt it by road across the Nullarbor. None of your fancy pants Scottish scenery there Mr I.

call me ishmael said...

But nearly as many convicts, I imagine, mr mike.

call me ishmael said...

He may well have listened to XTC, in his former life as a wealthy whatever it was, some form of public schoolboy financial crookery.

call me ishmael said...

The Welsh, mr alphons, nailed the Northumbrian, Oswald, to a tree, hence Oswestry. A rum lot, in the Marches.

Mike said...

Mr I: if you get to Perth, the old goal in Fremantle is worth a visit. Fine old stone construction, master built by convict labour no doubt.

One of the creepiest places I've ever been in Australia is in the West - Boystown. It feels like going into a haunted house, and eerie silence surrounds the place. One of those Jesuit, child abusing places - puts the noncing monseigneurs to shame for lack of enthusiasm. One of the dangers of Australia being such a vast and remote place.

call me ishmael said...

We always think of it as a country, don"t we, it is only when seeing a map, with greens and browns that we are reminded it is a vast, dusty lump, barely fringed, edged with habitable spaces; the Future Folk will have to irrigate it. Is NSW peopled by Welsh descendants?

Alphons said...

" call me ishmael said...

The Welsh, mr alphons, nailed the Northumbrian, Oswald, to a tree, hence Oswestry. A rum lot, in the Marches."

They are a rum lot in the Februaries and the Januarys, not to mention Gladys Sidebottom, who's mother used to run the tom cat neutering clinic behind Woolworths.

Mike said...

Mr I: in the way you describe the trip north though Scotland having beauty, so does the outback of Australia.

Some years ago, when I was working in Hong Kong, we visited Australia for the first time and ventured through the Northern Territory - an area made famous by Crocodile Dundee. It was the first place on earth I've been which was both transfixing in natural beauty, but also deadly. One breakdown or slip up, and Goodnight Vienna.

Its what finally convinced me to emigrate. Oddly, I haven't been out bush since then. I've just decided its something we must do.

Mr I: there are 2 types of Aussies: the metrosexuals, as you find in Sydney and the capital cities, and the country folk. The two are genetically different species - the latter being tough, resilient and hard as nails. They may come from Welsh stock, not sure, The Scots went to New Zealand.

mrs narcolept said...

Wales is a beautiful little country outside the industrial area, but if it were an English city it would be Liverpool.

Chwarae teg, mr ishmael, I doubt whether Mr Battleaxe would have got elected under his own steam. It's the list system wot dun it.

yardarm said...

I`m struggling to comprehend the phenomenon of the Hamiltons too. Almost quaint proto sleaze from the 90`s, used notes in brown envelopes, how deluded can any cunt be, including them, to imagine they bring fuck all to any party ?

I never thought Top Hat Boy had the brains to go mad but his manicured fingers have lost what little grip they had of the plot, gibbering about war, Churchill and the Spanish Armada, serried rows of white headstones ? Is he back on the drugs ?

No wonder they handed London to Khan: they thought one lazy, rich Etonian was elected twice, let`s try that one again. Gideon and Dave must have already bogwashed Goldsmith: " The fella Khan`s pater was a bus driver, how could one lose to such an oiker, Zakkers ". And Fallon ? The English language is failing me there.

SG said...

Well, after listening to the Prime Minister's speech today, I am gravely concerned at the prospect of a rift in time opening up, should we vote the 'wrong' way in June, leading to the disembarkation of several Roman Legions upon the Kentish Shore. Said legions will then proceed north, resolving infrastructural problems with the road network and water supply, installing underfloor heating etc. before pushing the woad covered tribesman up beyond the Antonine Wall and finally into the sea. Prepare for incoming 'refugees' Mr I...

call me ishmael said...

. It is one kf the aspects of England which I miss the most, mrs narcolept, North Wales, although an unhappy, childhood exposure to a coven of Anglesey witches left me opposed to any form of nationalism.

call me ishmael said...

And Patagonia, too, the Welsh, mr mike. It is the colder wilderness which calls to me, though not Antarctica but Alaska, Lapland, paces with indiginous, crafty folk, and trees, albeit that I am sure the Abo and the Outback are magnificent.

call me ishmael said...

I have yet to issue a written warning, m alphons, but I might.

Anonymous said...

Meanwhile up in Dundee it has been as hot as the Mediterranean. People wandering about in shirt sleves in the evening, brilliant sun shine, and open-air dances outside the museum. I have been in danger of sun stroke wandering around Discovery Point.

A very encouraging sign out at Broughty Ferry is the number of charming young Scottish people chosing to stay in Scotland as they are able to get jobs and do combined study. If Gnasher has any sense (yes, I know) she will foster this instead of preening about drafting in slave labour.

Mr Raft points out that 4m Scots squeeze themselves in to Glasgow and Edinburgh, while the remaining 1m sensible people spread themselves out. This south-facing slope with the arc of the sun along the Tay is looking very tempting. I prefer flatlands, and you get that on an estuary. (My knees are not what they used to be.)

I think I will be back in a few weeks, and thanks for the route advice. I had a nice smooth drive.

Mr Raft on tour

call me ishmael said...

Thank you, mrs woar, the Tay in the sunshine is lovely. Unfortunately mr woar is correct, the impetus for much of what happens in Scoitalnd comes from a slum-dwelling majority. I did say, a while back, in a travel piece, that the tribesmen have never even been to the places they claim to love so well. Anywhere north of Glasgow or Edinburgh is a blessed land, usually well-stocked with English and other Outlanders who appreciate and treasure it; 'tis the Tribesmen sending pylons marching through the Cairngorms, when the lines could have been buried for only a little more money. She's a fucking nitwit, Sturgeon.