This Englishman gets it…..

Hip hips all round for Kent businessman, Tim Allard. He feels so strongly that St George’s Day should be a public holiday that he has given his entire staff of 40 the day off tomorrow.

Full story here

OK 'Let's Talk' ­ first question, which one farted?

Someone's just let one go!!

Did you see the Nu Labour party political the other night? What a bloody laugh. It's all about the caring Labour Party interacting with the masses. Nu Labour listens, cares, feels the pain of ordinary folk, blah, blah pass me the sick bag, blah. There was yer commonal garden taxi driver waxing lyrical about what they would say to Tony or Gordon if they were only sat in the back of their cab right now!

Except, that this was Nu Labour and therefore hidden agendas abounded. The taxi driver wasn't a big fat baldy tattooed 50 year old with a picture of his dear old Mum on his dashboard and a rolled up copy of The Sun by his side. No, this taxi driver was a woman, she may have been a lesbian - and I couldn¹t see if she only had one leg or not - but she sure had a lot of questions to ask.. Oh, if only Tony and Gordon were there, they could provide all the answers.

No time to find out, we¹re off to vox-pop land to hear what Janet and John Labour-Plant would say if only Tony or Gordon was standing next to them in the Tesco queue.

Johnny Labour-Plant, a very serious teenager said he would ask them, nay tell them just how important it was to make sure 'Britishness' was taught in schools to ethnic minorities. Johnny failed to tell the audience why it wasn't being taught in Scottish or Welsh schools though. If my kids had been asked, they'd have asked if they had any cheats for 'Grand Theft Auto'....

We cut to a shot of a French juggler. Well he had a stripey jumper on so he must have been.... "Could Monsieur Brown do any juggling?".... A bloke with a rucksack on his back mused whether Brown had yet formulated his Transport policy.....

And so it continued. I half expected a chap in a bowler hat to put down his copy of the FT to ask about business and a bloke dressed from head to toe in bandages to wonder how much money was going into the NHS.... Between you and me, I reckon the camera crew was on location in Cliche Mall, Labourtown....

And then we're back. Back to the taxi-cab. Mrs Taxi driver is asking question after question in her piece to camera. Why won't someone answer her?.. And then, suddenly something stirs on the back seat. We pan, we gasp. For there, sat on the back seat are Tone and Gord. They're both looking a bit suspicious to be honest. Are they preparing to do a runner when they reach journey's end?

Their body language is something to behold. No matter how clever these two think they are, they're not. Fixed grins, staring eyes, hands and buttocks clenched.. They look like they are both under a sentence of death. Suddenly, the cab lurches round a corner, they both pivot. The car straightens yet still Gordon is in Leaning Tower of Pisa 'pivot' position.

No doubt about it, Gordon is squeezing one out.

It looks like it might have been an 'SBD',­ but I could be wrong - it might have been a right royal rasper 'Phhaaaarrrrrpppppp' and if so, the boffins at 'Nu Labout Truth Department' have cleverly put a bit of Tony Blair impassionment over the sound to disguise it. Bullshit always drowns out the whiff of something smelly doesn't it?

We trundle on. Is this whole journey a statement about the last 10 years? Does it sum up Nu Labour's economic policy? Will Gordon have to plant a tree in order to make his fart 'Methane neutral'?

Soon we reach the end of the road. Was this whole production some sort of Freudo-Jungian pastiche on Blair's tenure?.. Was Brown's bodily function a damning indictment of his Boss's handling of Iraq? Were we nearing Tony's terminus? Was this the end of his road?

Anyway, the two Scotsmen didn't do a runner. Blair got out first and stood around, not knowing what to do. I don't think he'd ever been in a taxi before ­- it was obvious that the concept of 'paying his way' had passed him by. Was he going to declare that he would make a donation to charity to cover the cost of the journey?

Eventually, Gordon fumbled, groped into his suit pockets for a couple of notes.

We never actually saw Gordon hand over the cash. He made as if to hand it over, the taxi driver made as if to accept it, thereby giving the impression that a transaction had taken place. And then we faded to end credits and stirry-stirry music. I think the telly people call the technique 'conning the public'....

Oh, the irony of it all…..

What happens if you are a Welsh person living in Wales but attend an English General Practitioner’s surgery just across the English border – and the Doc gives you a prescription?

Do you.....

A) Pay the near seven quid charge because you are making use of the English National Health Service – and everyone in England obviously has to pay for the medicine?

B) Decide to travel an extra 12 miles in the opposite direction to use a Welsh doctor’s services and thus qualify for free prescriptions – and at the same time lighten the burden on Hereford NHS Trust?

C) Moan, moan, moan, moan and moan so much that the Welsh Assembly cave in and give you a special entitlement card which will, upon presentation qualify you for free prescriptions?

Surprise, surprise, they went for option C .

So next time you sick people of Hereford are coughing and spluttering your way through a quick read of a well thumbed ‘People’s Friend’ in your local surgery and you get into conversation with the Welsh guy in the next seat – just remember who is getting the free prescriptions…..
(Even when they are using English services)

English and going blind – better read ‘Animal Farm’ quick then….

Well, that didn’t take long did it – English Shire Horse carted off to the knacker’s yard - again…

Another ‘sorry, this expensive drug isn’t for you English’ story breaks – and the surprise is… no one is surprised!. This time it’s retired war hero, 85 year old Jack Strange who is suffering. He’s in danger of going blind for the want of a simple and effective drug that’s available in Scotland but not in England.

Jack has been stumping up the funds for treatment out of his own pocket for the past year – but now all his savings are spent and there’s just the house left to pawn….

No doubt, after a lifetime of work and service, Jack thought the state would look after his failing health….. Sorry Jack, you just don’t fit the New Labour profile mate… you’re not one of the chosen, you’re one of ‘them’…

If you want to qualify to be one of the chosen, then I’m afraid you don’t have a prayer…. For a start you’re English, so that automatically makes you one of ‘them’ – which automatically qualifies you for unlimited supplies of stale bread to make poultices with, some horrible brown tonic that your Mum used to give you and a deluxe pack of vinegar and brown paper for those really nasty suppurating boils……

All the really good gear - the cancer and Alzheimer’s drugs are all on the train to ‘the chosen’ up in Scotland – for their need is apparently more deserving than ours….

And that’s where I came in really, these awful stories of mendacious betrayal reminds me of my O level English - and the book we had to read as part of the course. – Animal Farm by George Orwell.

‘Boxer’ the English Shire horse had worked his guts out for years and was looking forward to a happy retirement – unfortunately, Napoleon, the Scottish piggy with a Tony Blair power complex had other ideas.

He called in the knacker man with his knacker van. His usefulness over, Boxer became something big in the petfood industry. Piggy Napoleon and his piggy Raj henchman toasted Boxer’s good health with the finest Cognac as he was driven off for slaughter…

And they looked from pig to Blair, and from Blair to pig, and from pig to Blair again; but already it was impossible to say which was which…..

Sorry Jack – but you’d better face facts, you’re just a knackered old English Shire horse, mate.

Tory makeover in Scotland - shock

The Conservative Party in Scotland are considering changing their name. Apparently, the Tories are seen as being too English to your average Glaswegian. It appears that the current moniker of ‘Scottish Conservatives’ isn’t quite Scottish enough. So ‘Call Me Dave’ and his stripey-tied perception panels have been working overtime, running a few suggestions up flagpoles, thinking outside boxes and pushing envelopes as far as they can be pushed. - All in an effort to come up with the new exciting new title (with added newness with an extra special ingredient of an exciting blend of new excitement)…

In a vain attempt to discover the truth, Private Dick, 'Alfie Gumshoe' has been rummaging through a few black bin bags round the back of Conservative Central Office… No luck I’m afraid, I couldn't find any – or more likely they don't exist, the fevered febrile cranial constructs of Tory-Thnk-Tankery & Partners Inc have utterly failed to think up even one satisfactory name.

Ever anxious to lend a helping hand, Alfie, the Edward de Bono of the Blogging world has decided devote a bit of grey matter to this imponderable problem. After much research he has come up with the following list that Call Me Dave can have for nothing on account of his party being a bit hard up and all….

The Hearty Bravehearts

Neeps, Tatties and Sensible Policies

The Clan McTory

The Krankies

Policies Galore

No more Rob-Roy Robbery. (We’ll get the cash from the English instead).

The Sean Connery Fan Club

Next stop, Director General….

Alfie, the good citizen, graduate of the University of Skint and all round nice chap has managed to be voted onto the Audience Panel for a leading current events BBC TV programme….

I heard they were looking for viewers for their panel and applied, daring them to take me on…. And to my utter amazement, they have....... (I must have been awarded the token old scroat position).

Nevertheless, it's all a bit of a bit of a surprise really considering I must write around a letter a week to the Producers of the programme, criticising their vacuous and inaccurate anti-English content and thicko presenters, as they inanely mouth the words on the Autocue without having a rats bum what they are talking about…..

Now I’m on as a member, the duties of the Audience Panel are not to be taken lightly. As well as offering my views, I am expected to put forward ‘suggestions for relevant and current issues for coverage’ to the programme makers.

So that’ll be about the unfair and discriminatory treatment of the English then?….

Margaret Beckett – in the manure….

Judging by Margaret Beckett’s reaction to the severe censure of her handling of payments to English farmers, it looks like ‘mea culpa’ is not on her favourite list of Scrabble words. MPs have called for former Environment Secretary Beckett to be held to account over delayed EU subsidies to English farmers. The Environment, Food and Rural Affairs Committee called the handling of the new Single Payments Scheme an "embarrassing failure"

Not much wringing of hands from Maggie. No offer to do the decent thing even though she has moved on to another job. No grovelling apology for the number of English farmers who have gone out of business – or even committed suicide whilst waiting for an EU subsidy cheque from DEFRA that never actually arrived. Margaret’s conscience is clear – apparently, she took the decisions "in good faith" ….. So that’s all right then.

Worse still is the potential fine that the taxpayer is going to have to stump up £500 million to the EU for the late/non-payment fiasco.

The MPs' report said: "A culture where ministers and senior officials can preside over failure of this magnitude and not be held personally accountable creates a serious risk of further failures in public service delivery."

The committee wants new guidance to make clear to ministers what they should do to take responsibility in the event of serious departmental failure….

Some hope. Since when has a government minister ever taken the noble route and resigned because they had cocked up? Twenty five years ago – Lord Carrington and Richard Luce fell on their swords citing their failure to address Argentina’s aggression in the South Atlantic. Since then we seem to have had either bloody fantastic and capable ministers – or a load of utter dumkoffs whose only knowledge of ‘honour’ is the kind that Lord Cashpoint reputedly sets up for wads of cash…..

Interestingly enough, and true to form, the BBC reports on TV, radio and web avoids describing the victims of this cock up as ‘English farmers’ – preferring to describe them simply as ‘farmers’… There is however a superbly agricultural quote on one web page from Leicestershire farmer Andrew Brown that, somehow managed to slip through the BBC web censor’s red pen….


Farmer Brown agreed with an Environment, Food and Rural Affairs Committee report calling for Mrs Beckett to be among those considering their positions.

"It was Mrs Beckett who decided to go down this route of the most complicated system for England and England alone," he said.

"Whereas in Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland, they had a different system and they paid their farmers on time. So that left the English farmers at a great disadvantage.

"And where else but the Westminster village would the person who's in charge of this mess get promoted to foreign secretary?"

Where indeed?

Look out, flying Cable overhead….

Well, wonder of wonders. Vince Cable, that English hating Lib-Demmer has nailed his colours to the mast on a question of err, nailing our colours to the mast Amazing.

Shove your Celtgelt up your spending gap, Gordon.

My good friend Gashy sent me this image of one of the brand spanking new 20 quid Bank of England notes with Adam Smith’s boat on. It’s proof positive that the people’s protest against the Barnett Formula, otherwise known as the Celtgelt / Celtgeld is gathering pace.

Alfie would really like to join in. He’s got his indelible pen ready and a witty quip to hand. Unfortunately, new 20 quid bank notes are as rare as honest politicians round our way (we’ve only just got used to the disappearance of the farthing and the diminishing purchasing power of the groat).

If anyone would like to help me out, just send your spare 20 quid Smithers to yours truly and I’ll get scribbling right away….….

Joe Stalin's youngest....

I don’t know, what do you think? Is the Soviet Man of Steel related to our own Iron Brewed Chancellor? Check out the eyebrows, eyelids, chins and miserable menacing scowls....

Did Joe Stalin have a dalliance with old Mrs Brown from the Soviet Republic gulag of Kirkcaldykov all those years ago? Was she seduced by the big handlebar moustache, the five year plan and the endless supply of rocket grade vodka?

In short, is Gordon, Joe’s love muffin? Is our Chancellor’s real name, Gordon Ivanavoff Stanislav Stalin?

You know what, he just could be…. And if he was, it would all makes sense….. ‘Gordon Stalin’, ‘Gorball’s Mick Rasputin the mad drunk’ and ‘Czar Tony Romanov, the really, really Terrible’…….

One thing’s for sure, when Gordon finally takes over the Politburo and Czar Tony is airbrushed out of history, will our new glorious leader be buying a bumper pack of ice picks? If so, Charles Clarke, John Reid and Lord Turnbull better watch out.

Dear BBC Breakfast TV.......

Another letter of complaint I'm afraid regarding the story in this morning's show about hospitals in England making nearly £100 million from car park charges.

Honestly, when will the people at BBC Breakfast invest in some journalists? The standard of reporting this story was just pathetic -- and as per usual, the two people masquerading as 'presenters' completely failed to understand the dynamic of the story. Hospital Car Park charges only happen in England because English hospitals are the only ones out of the UK who actually charge their patients to park their cars.

And when Sian Williams read out that email about the hospital in Merthyr Tydfil that has FREE car parking, she airily summised that it is because land prices in Merthyr were cheaper than in England. Good grief, to come to such a conclusion really is pathetic, quite apart from it being totally inaccurate.

Wales and Scotland let their hospital visitors and patients have free access to their hospital car parks because they can afford to do so, courtesy of the Barnett formula cash dividend gathered from English tax payers.

So English patients are the only ones who have to pay for hospital car parking, only ones who don't qualify for expensive cancer drugs, only ones who have to sell their homes to pay for residential care.....

Don't you think this should be reported by the BBC? But then again, I'm not surprised, After all, editorial objectivity from the BBC was one of the first casualties of a post Hutton corporation. You are nothing but supine lap dogs for Nu Labour - with the reporting ability of a Janet and John children's book editor. Editorial objectivity? What an utter joke.

The 'Cash for Lives' scandal...

Another day, another drug apparently completely off limits to those living in England, although freely available to the Scots. All due to the great northern bribe, the pay-off of shame, the billions of Barnett formula cash given to the Scottish nation in an attempt to stop the moaning and emasculate the nationalists.

Well it just ain’t right. People in England are dying in the ‘Cash for Lives’ scandal, courtesy of Gordon Brown’s ball-point pen and his Treasury cheque book. The Barnett formula - this appalling annual pay-off, little more than hush money, has more in common with ‘Dane Gelt’ the Anglo Saxon tax pay-off to the Vikings, than with a modern sophisticated market economy..

This pernicious little Brown envelope payment to a miserable and ungracious neighbour has just got to be stopped. The Celt Gelt is out of date by a thousand years. It’s time to bin it and treat all citizens of the UK with equal respect, because if we have to rely on this illicit payment to help preserve the union, then from this person’s perspective, it’s much too high a price to pay.

England BC…

Good God Almighty. The nightmare scenario of double the meddling from a no mandate leadership is looming like a big dour loomy thing over England. The BC option might actually happen.

It’s a truly depressing thought. The unthinkable might just become the possible; the barely credible could become reality. There, amongst the prawn cocktail dregs, stilton cheese crumbs and gravy stains, the terms of a Brown – Campbell power-sharing pow-wow has been scribbled on the back of a Lib Dem Harrogate Conference dinner napkin. Ming the power-mad opportunist reckons the dour Kirkcaldian might just need his help after the next General Election.

Ming thinks he and his party could be holding the balance of power aces in a hung Parliament – and has made it known that should new, New Labour Leader Brown be struggling to form a government, then he would be willing to throw his lot in with his Scottish conspirator.

It could happen I suppose. Brown is unpopular, miserable and uncommunicative – and thanks to Blair, Labour’s parliamentary majority will continue to whither, especially in England.

So the nightmare scenario could mean that the people of England will be ruled not by just one Scottish Leader with a Scottish constituency, but two. To be ruled by one Leader with no national mandate is a democratic outrage. To be ruled by two is like, having a laugh - but the joke is on us and it ain't funny.

But Ming’s complicity will come at a price. He’s proving he has got some scruples, even though they don’t work that well nowadays. He has set out 5 coalition tests that Brown must adopt in order to get the Lib Demmers on board. And do you know what? I’ll sort of bet my mortgage that not one of the 5 tests will include a commitment to give the people of England a national parliament. So let’s check –

1) End Labour's authoritarian attack on civil liberties. Identity cards will not stop terrorism, they won't stop illegal immigration, they won't stop fraud and they won't stop crime.
2) Grasp the challenge posed by climate change ...
3) Break open the poverty trap.
4) Trust the people.
5) Britain's foreign policy should not be set in Washington.

Hmmmm, can’t quite see the commitment to an English Parliament there, can you? I suppose the nearest to English empowerment is number 4, ‘Trust the people’ – (but not the people of England with democracy, obviously)

St George or no St George?….

OK, I’ll admit that now and again I watch the crappest quiz show on the box – Channel Four’s Deal or No Deal?….

On special days, they’ll do a bit of a theme, last month was a luvvy dovey big hearted edition to celebrate St Valentine’s Day. Heart graphics and kissy-kissy icons everywhere.

Today, being St David’s Day meant the 22 contestants all had daffodils sticking out of their lapels. The woman invited to take the deal or no deal journey was Welsh and the special prize for which the public phoned in to try and claim was increased accordingly to mark this special day.

Guess what? They’ll be doing a St Patrick’s Day special on March 17th as confirmed by the Channel 4 bloke who I rang straight after today’s show. "So if you’re doing a St Patrick’s Day celebration – and you’ve just done St David, are you doing a St George’s Day celebration on April 23rd ?… Will everyone have roses in their lapels and will Noel Edmonds be dressed as St George?"..

His answer came straight from the Deal or No Deal box of evasion…."Hmmmm, I’m not really too sure. I could suggest it to the producers if you like"

Oh goody! Another media company ignoring the national icon of the biggest country of the union – I ranted away. Quite a lot, actually. He was quiet – hopefully he was listening intently. More likely he had gone away to make a cup of tea or something…finally, I said "So what are you going to do about it?"….

He said he would put my comment in the comments log.
Whoopy do.

I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone.
I wasn’t allowed to ask that someone ring me.
I wasn’t allowed to ask diddley squat…..

Maybe you’ll have better luck? You can phone Channel 4 viewer enquiries support on 0845 076 0191. Or you can email them from here

Respect to the Westminster massive…..

Africa? That can wait….

Global Warming? On the back burner…

Cash for Honours? In the back pocket ….

Constitutional reform? Talk to the hand before I put a cap in yo’ ass….

For today, the Westminster massive wuzz out on the streets getting down and dirty with the kids on sink estates, you kay, innit. ‘Gun culture’ was the buzz, news crooze, pr pimps, cardboard cut-out party honchos invadin’ any commooni-ee centa they could eyeball was the reality, wannit.

‘Funk Master Tone’ was in the North West, pressing the flesh, groovin the moovin and respectin the turf. The Funksta went into a one to one with a young white Turk, a young black dude, a couple of commooni-ee leedazz and the Chief Plod from the Manchestarr Constaboolaree…. As per usual, Tone’s croo made sure all commooni’ee profile meet ‘n’ greet boxes had been ticked.

‘Call me Dude Dave’, dressed in a cool 2 piece street-cred pinstripe single breaster and over-easy patent leather basketball sneakers was mixing it up with a few rappers. Hoody met Hooray Henry as Dave heard how mean the streets were, how hard the life was and how expensive real street cred sneakers were….

The ‘Mingin Old Dog’ from the Libbin Croo wuzz in a gym somewhere on the wrong side of the tracks. All around him, the brothers were workin out. The Mingsta looked flusta’d – a PR pimp wuzz eyeballin a photo opportooni-ee with a bench press, several hundred pounds of weights and a pair of borrowed tracky bottoms…. The Ming was outta there soona than you could say ‘Pass the smelling salts"…

And so they left. Gun crime got the chin-rubbing, concerned furrow-foreheaded ‘I feel your pain’ treatment from the three great frauds from the Westminster cabal. Back they went, digital piccies in the bag, press releases written up and posted to friendly media moguls. Job done!….. And so ends another day of blather and lather from Tone, Dave and Ming – and what will tomorrow bring? Who knows? The PR pimps haven’t had their morning meetings yet…

Magna Carta – a right good read…..

I watched Melvyn Bragg’s ’12 books that changed the world’ programme yesterday. That ace medieval paperback, ‘The Magna Carta’ by John Plantagenet (ghost written by Baron Robert Fitzwalter) was being featured. Melvyn, resplendent in white fluffy gloves, reverentially fingered a signed copy of the great tome at Salisbury Cathedral.

Quiff-boy Bragg, rightly enthused about what a great piece of work this was – The Magna Carta, the very first document ever to enshrine the basic rights of the individual in law. Imagine that. The very first ever, ever, ever – and as Bragg correctly informed us, it was an English achievement. Not British, or European, but English…..

This great document of England, for so long buried by our Brit-centred conniving establishment into a distant memory of inconsequential waste paper is the pivotal moment of documented freedom. Countries all over the world have used it as a basis for their own bill of rights…. Including the United Nations human rights charter….

But what I didn’t know was that the 5th amendment of the U.S. Declaration of Independence was taken virtually line for line verbatim from Magna Carta….

It’s just amazing isn’t it? In any other country, the Magna Carta, this defining episode in human history would be celebrated and enshrined in the consciousness of its people. Magna Carta Day, swearing on the Magna Carta, Order of the Magna Carta – but not here, not in the UK – and especially not in England. If it is mentioned at all, it is spuriously and ignorantly absorbed into a British identity.

I asked my kids – all 4 of them have gone through the state education system, None of them were taught anything about Magna Carta, 2 of them have never even heard of it…..

The tragedy is, I wasn’t at all surprised at their replies…..

Anglo Saxon King Albert found in Geordieland….

Today, English Heritage are unveiling some newly found claimants to the Anglo Saxon throne of England. One is 70 year old Albert Turnbull from Gateshead – and who knows, if Harold Godwinson had won the Battle of Hastings, we might now be bending our knees to King Albert and family – rather than a Hanovarian…

It’s a great ‘what if’ isn’t it? Who knows, there could be Anglo Saxon blue bloods all over the place working in B&Q, Tesco and the bloke who works down the chip shop might not be just Elvis, he could be Prince Elvis of Wessex and all England…I asked Alfreda if she thought I had any royal Anglo Saxon blood coursing through my veins….

She didn’t think so, although she reckoned I looked a bit like Henry VIII in his really fat-arsed arsey period…

She’d better be careful, if I ever do get to become King, she’ll be the first into the Tower….

Pope Tony Blair the Innocent meets a babe…..

(or Cowboy meets Indian)....
Yesterday, after Prime Minister’s Question Time, the immaculate omnipotence that is Tony Blair had a one-to-one with Indian cultural attaché, celeb big brother winner and Bollywood superstar, Shilpa Shetty at the mother of parliaments.

Shilpa approached on bended knee, kissed the Papal ring and was granted a 15-minute slot of awesomeness with the great one……

And when you think about it, how amazing is it that she got to see him at all? Tony’s so damn busy isn’t he? Tony just doesn’t have any time to see anyone at any time – ever. He’s too busy saving the world, saving the country, saving his miserable party, saving his miserable skin….

After all, Reg Keys and the rest of the relatives of the British Service dead in Iraq have, for the past 3 years been vainly trying to meet up with him without any success whatsoever. They’d like to talk to him about how their loved ones had paid the ultimate price for Tony’s brave words by donating their lives to a flawed cause.

Also, the relatives of wounded British Service personnel have been vainly trying to get him to visit a service hospital to talk to soldiers wounded in Iraq - without any success whatsoever. They have paid for Tony’s brave words with the donation of the odd limb, brain injury or half gallon of blood for a flawed cause.

Tony’s just too busy to see you guys – OK!

Reg Keys, if I were you, I’d apply to go on the next edition of celeb big brother (Oh, and be sure to mention that Jade Goody doesn’t like you)….

Shock, horror, Scots MPs found twiddling thumbs!

According to this report from The Scotsman, Scottish MPs are a bit short of work nowadays. Well, it’s hardly a surprise, no one in Scotland bothers to ask them about education, health, transport and planning issues anymore… And you can only rearrange your files, straighten your pencil case and fill in your bloated travel expense forms so many times can’t you?

All the work they used to do for their constituents is now gate-keepered by the MSPs and the Scottish Executive. Their only function at Westminster seems to be shoving their nosey boats into English education, health, transport and planning business…..

It is clear that Scottish MPs don’t have enough to do. Maybe they should do a bit of moonlighting, some mini-cabbing maybe….. or selling the odd insurance policy….. or double glazing…… or, I don't know, maybe, possibly, they could stand for election as an MSP at Holyrood in their own country?

Welcome to Advertisybowl XLI…

Good grief, what the bloody hell do the Yanks see in American Football? I stayed up until 2 in the morning last night to watch as much as I could of the Superbowl – beaming live, straight into my front room from Florida, the sunshine state….….

It absolutely pissed down all through the game. Goddam stair rods, cats and dogs mingled freely with horse liniment, testosterone and cocaine dust. Consequently, the ball (or Goddam bar of Goddam soap as the locals call it) was just impossible to control. I couldn’t make up my mind if I was watching a 5 hour programme of adverts, occasionally interrupted by a shot of a steroid-stuffed line-backer dropping the Goddam ball – or the other way round.

It was all very confusing, the rules seemed to be made up as they went along….. I haven’t a clue who won, but I suspect the advertising space sellers were having a bit of a whoopy-do somewhere on the Strip….….

The pre match entertainment was a bit weird. Some ex-player was being interviewed saying the Superbowl was the biggest Goddam sporting occasion on Earth. (Has he never heard of the World Cup – or even the European Champion’s League Final, or even the FA Cup Final, or even the Beezer Homes Division 2 Knockout Challenge Trophy?)

Billy Joel sang the Star Spangled Banner (music composed by an Englishman incidentally). There, in the rain, the 500 players and 800 baseball capped coaches that made this spectacle what it is suffered collective bottom lip wobble. Those big, big beefy men, comedically bound from head to toe in spandex and metal were united by rivers of tears. The camera panned out to the crowd, they too were crying for America. What with the rain and the tears and the rain and more rain, were we looking at a flood risk?

I gazed on, breathing heavily, coughing, gulping. But I couldn’t stop twin trickles, then floods of salty water meandering down my cynical cheeks.

Yes, Billy Joel really was that crap......