bobby47

And just to increase the blood pressure of the Greenknight a little more and to emphasise the 'we have to pay the best to get the best' mantra, during the weeks leading up to Christmas and the New Year the Nurses were getting £44 quid an hour, £66 quid on a Bank Holiday and for every single Nurse who made themselves available for the Bank Holidays, whether they worked or not, they received £150. As for the Doctors, my source ain't so sure of the hourly rates but the figure of £4,000 quid a shift ain't to far wide of the mark. Madness or what? When you consider that the normal hourly rate for a Nurse is around £22 quid you'll hopefully grasp how bad things are now getting for our wonderful NHS.

Believe me pilgrims, they're all charlatans. Yes they are! Driven by a belief that they and only they know the quickest and most direct route to the 'light', they feast upon humankinds desperate need to believe in something that's beyond their earthly understanding. Whether it's this lot, the Church of the Sacred Heart, who promise to make all my prayers come true if I would only post them twenty pounds, or the current howling mob running around slicing off people's heads in the belief that The Prophet would sanction this slaughter in order to create a Caliphate, they are all the same. In fact, thinking about it, Id make an excellent Cult leader. Yes, I've got the bloody lot to fulfill that little role. All that's required is a big imagination, a way with words, a powerful and forceful nature, oft described as charismatic, a face and body that women find irrisistable and bing, bang bong, your up in the pulpit spouting off a load of Codswallop that promises everything and delivers only frustration and disappointment. Mark my words brothers and sisters I know what I'm gibbering on about. I am full of rubbish and so are they. Our only difference? They'll eventually run out of pigswill!

Yep! Press the patients buttons and eventually the reflex will kick in and produce the wonderful piece by Greenknight. It's all so true, it's not embellished and the moment bloody New Labour gifted the Doctors with the golden opportunity to get Into a private practice, work a six hour day, four days of the week and never work a weekend or beyond 6.30pm of any day of the week, was the moment it all began to fall apart. The Doctors I know, they really no longer care as much as they once did. It's the money you see. It's entirely about the money and what areas of business get the money to continue to roll in. Not so long back, they got extra rewards for checking your cholesterol and popping you onto a Statin drug. No smoking brings in a huge windfall, as does regularly checking your blood pressure. In fact there's a huge raft of stuff that earns them lots of juicy extras and there's also lots of stuff, that they no longer are so keen to get involved in, that brings them no financial reward. Dressing wounds and treating annoying injuries bring them no financial reward at all and it probably explains why they are now becoming so keen on treating dementia. That'll bring in a tidy windfall if it catches on and ensure that the salary stays around the one hundred and forty thousand a year for riding the NHS gravey train. Believe me, all Surgeries are into all of these things that get them extra financial reward. Few are now interested in doing anything for nothing. In the meantime, Taurus staggers on, rarely seeing a patient, still not equipped to deal with a straightforward ECG and sending patients away if they want treatment that'll cost them anything to be taken from their 2.7 million funding that was originally granted to rid the local Trust of the Asda walk In centre. As for Asda, there's no slaying this beast. The patients know where they are, they know that they'll be seen and for the rural workers who are the main users of this facility, they continue to march through the doors making the idea of Taurus totally irrelevant. Incidentally, Taurus are paying the best to get the best. Well, you've got to haven't you? If you want the best you must pay the best and Taurus are most definitely paying the Nurses and the Doctors more money than they could ever earn whilst working for a local GP Surgery of down at the Hospital. This is the way it is for our NHS and nothing we say or do will ever change the culture that's now firmly dug in. Greed! Indifference. Little care. No empathy. Nurses who should never have ever chosen nursing as a profession, nurses who cannot carry out the simplest of tasks because they specialised in their chosen field of work which never bothered teaching them how to take blood, carry out a Spirometry procedure, prepare and apply a good dressing to a wound and being bloody polite and shoŵing a little compassion. As for the Doctors, well you've met some of them. You tell me! It's all a terrible mess and I've got no confidence that it'll ever get better anytime soon. Oh Taurus? Yeah I forgot. In about twelve months time there will be a meeting attended by the great and the good, the failure of the idea will be completely ignored, they'll knock it all on the head and release a piece to the HT proclaiming it was all a wonderful excercise on the never ending learning curve of life beneath the NHS funding game.

Bloody Bretherton! A bucket of sludge upon his head and a curse on his Council Allotment. He's bloody everywhere! My God! You'd think he'd clear off, reduce his cholesterol level to a point that when read on the graph showed him to be more human than swine and keep his bloody hands off areas of bloody business he has no responsibility for. The bloody man was once even trying to involve himself in the development of the two ends of me bloody football ground at Edgar Street. He's a bloody menace. Yes he is and I'll defend any man or woman who agrees with me. Bloody Bretherton!

Im a sinner! Yeah I've sinned and despite my many earthly transgressions I've no desire to repent thank you very much. Let these zealots from the Freedom Church stray from the path of righteousness, wander into the Commercial and try to bathe me in the blood of Christ and they'll soon discover, that no matter how many shiney, happy and clappy songs they sing proclaiming I was lost but now I'm found, they ain't got the equipment or the determination to stop me from hurtling downwards toward Hell or if it's at all possible, to the joyous place called Purgatory. Frankly, passing over and becoming a tiny dot of loving light ain't my idea of an eternity of pleasure. Ending up in some lovely place that has you listening to Handels Messiah and its Halleluzah Chorus every single moment of the time I spend basked in this heavenly light is something which Id rather not endure. As a dot of loving light and energy you are severely restricted. You can forget the pleasures of the flesh for starters because you've got no limbs to enjoy whatever it is you've chosen to do for the rest of eternity, and as for smoking and supping ale, that's gone forever. All you can do is float around gazing at the pint of ale and your hand rolled cigarette wishing that you'd never repented and found religion. No! Give me hell and purgatory everytime and if the price I have to pay for being there is that thrice monthly Lucifer decides to buggar me then as far as I'm concerned that's good enough for me. Im more than content with this arrangement and who knows, in good time, I might even look forward to Satan visiting me beneath his cloak of darkness and introducing me to the sins of the flesh.

This is great news for High Town. It's well overdue and very welcoming to all who've remained loyal to the place. I actually feel the need to moan about this and complain that this step has only been taken because the General Election is rapidly approaching and it's become politically expedient for the Tories to win favour. Course, moaning would be unreasonable and so i'll stop short of ranting about it and simply say 'thank you' for making this decision. High Town needs this and I sincerely hope this pledge can be delivered quickly before to much more damage is inflicted upon this wonderful place.

Happy New Year to you Phil. The costs incurred by Hoople's presence up there? I've no idea. If it were nothing I'd be more than happy to moan about it. If it were within my power I'd happily drag this beast from its cradle, drown the life out of it in a bathtub, return all their frontline staff to the Council and kick the growing number of Managers through the exit door howling, 'clear off. Go find another teat to suckle upon. From hereon, you'll find no more room to feast upon my breast. Go find some other 'wet nurse' to sate your appetite for public money'.

Let's nip this one in the bud straight away shall we. Becoming an Agony Aunt is a responsible position and one which carries with it a huge burden of responsibility. I wouldn't have a clue where to start. You've gotta be qualified for starters. There must be a Course you go on that gives you some authority to claim you can competently carry out the job and answer these, Dear Fortyseven letters. These folk, who write these letters desperately need to know that the Agony Aunt is sober, ain't as sick as them and knows what they're talking about. I know nothing. If some poor soul wrote me a letter saying, 'I'm spending every single moment of the Lords day masturbating up in the attic whilst logged in to The Whitecross Housewives', what do you say to this poor sick and debauched fool who's clearly in need of help from the local Stonebow team? I'd probably respond saying, ' you are clearly a very ill person and ejaculating several hundred times a day cannot be good for you. My advice is, go to your local Ironmonger, purchase a large lump hammer, call in the Commercial and sup twenty pints of ale, return home, get yourself up into the attic and smash up your keyboard and your computer and give your poor penis a rest from your hands you sick deranged fool.' Now! Is that good advice or not. I don't know. I've no idea and it's my guess that unless you've been on the Course titled, 'How to become a competent Agony Aunt', nobody else knows either.

Well I couldn't care bloody less. They can shove as many pictures of Branston Pickle in front of my eye sockets as they like and I'll simply think, 'lovely. Show me more'. It's of no concern to me just as long as, after I've waded through these pictures of this delightful product they eventually direct me to a place where I can discover what's bloody going on beneath that place called Plough rotten Lane. Whatsmore, if the new Editor insists that every single photograph of an individual who's just been flattened by a lorry or chased up the Great Western Way by some fool carrying a butter knife, and these tragic victims are made to hold a vessel containing Branston Pickle, still, even then, I'll remain loyal to the Hereford Times. I don't bloody care and there was once a time, long before me Crown slipped when everyone else would have fallen in line and cried, 'I don't bloody care either'. Course, times have changed haven't they. Not now the force I once was! I can't even carry with me my dear and good friend GDJ who, like Ubique and Biomech still carry with them the angst and pain after the then Editor showed them the door. Well, Im staying loyal. I'll be damned if I don't and just to illustrate how strongly I feel about this issue Im going into High Town and seek out a shop that's still trading and buy me a jar of the stuff. Thinking about it, if Im one of many that feel strongly about this, who subsequently hurtle out of the house and acquire a jar of Branston Pickle then it proves a valid point. Marketing this product upon the pages of the Hereford Times will have been a great success resulting in huge sales in Hereford.

Your still on your own pal. Like your Manager Roberto, you've got problems and despite our friendship, you are still on your own with this little cutie. Take care pal. Goodnight.

So there you have it kiddo. Roger is a fine retired Police Officer who concurs with the advice we've given you. Ignore it. Don't worry. Have fun playing with them as they try to make you pay for something you lawfully do not have to pay for. My very warmest regards to you pal.

Lads, the Hereford Times is beginning to struggle to meet ends meet. A whole bunch of people, including good Reporters, have recently been made redundant and the HT has to take advantage of the one single area of growth which is online viewing and so this means that revenue has to be earned via advertisement. The HT is clearly struggling with its streams of revenue and their Master, Newsquest, dictate how this shortfall should be made up. As expensive as the HT has become I'd urge everyone to purchase it every single week of the year because without the HT we are f.uc.ked!

Cardin, I'll follow you to most places. Slavishly I'll hang on your every word. The Council can tippy toe round here, scurry up my drainpipe and drag me away to be water boarded and I'll never betray you. They can cut off my utilities, threaten me with a thrice yearly bin collection and still I'll remain loyal to you. But, on this one, that relates to the melting point of the girders deliberately installed to protect those twin towers and stop them toppling over and killing thousands, you my dear and good friend, are on your own. I'll be damned if I join you. Happy New Year pal.

And my friend Greenknight, there's nobody who posts upon these pages that will understand your dilemma more than Cardin and all the others who've come up against the machine of public service. Happy New Year to you pal.

Dippy, I was just about to message you, saying, 'back to work'. Happy New Year pal. Good to read you.

Dear colleague, My dear and good friend Flamboyant is right. Ignore it. Alas, you'll be bothered by the odd letter or even a phone call but simply do not pay. It's a charge rather than a legitimate and enforceable fine. Send the leaches a polite and firm worded letter respectfully suggesting they take the matter no further and at the same time disclosing to them that you know that they've no power to recover the charge. Don't worry about it kiddo.

Well done lad. Great work. I've read the piece on the Worcester News, commented upon that piece and noted that at least one serving Councillor has been brave enough to say that these payments are entirely wrong. It'll be interesting to see how long Herefordshire Council hold out before they reveal the exact and true cost that Herefordians have been required to pay to keep the Councils secrets secreted from our gaze and scrutiny.

My heart goes out to my fellow Brits who are Muslim. My God, they must cringe with anger and frustration whenever they open the papers, turn on the TV and listen to idiots like Amjen Choudrary spouting their views on our culture, our heritage and our way of life. The French media are politely asking that all Western media outlets transmit the cartoon image of the prophet Mohammed to show some display of solidarity and protect our freedoms of expression. Id rather they didn't, thank you very much'. There would be an explosion of violence on an unimaginable scale in our Country. In many ways, sadly, I believe that we reached the tipping point long ago and our great Country is destined to become deeply ensconced in this ideological battle between the modern world and that of Radical Islam. As for us, the West, we've given birth and voice to two of the planets biggest Christian religious zealots, the liar Blair and George W Bush and its they who Id like to see hauled before The Hague before I race off to meet my bloody maker. Our Civil Liberties? This latest act of mindless brutality will set in place statutory instruments that'll affect each and every one of us as we pursue our peaceful lives trying to be tolerant, accommodating difference and hang onto the belief that our way of life is better than those who hunger for death and the golden opportunity to dispatch anyone who doesn't submit to the deranged doctrine of these thick and medieval barbaric monsters who've crossed lines that no human should ever step near. As for the future, it's inevitable that tensions will rise, Islamic people will become demonised and they'll slip gradually away from the centre of our society. Many, for many social reasons are already on the margins of our society because there's been no integration and events like this will only push them further away. We are bloody doomed and throwing a few million quid at local charitable organisations that preach tolerance toward none Muslims and why it ain't so good to hack someone's head off or blow themselves up, is a pointless excercise served up by politicians who simply haven't got a clue what to do. We have no answer. Nobody does. Two cultures have collided and there is nothing that anyone can do to stop the inevitable madness that will follow this terrible destructive event.

T'other day I foolishly ventured onto the pages of Bulls Banter where I thought the lads would appreciate my thoughts on this, that and the bloody other. How bloody wrong I was! The lads weren't keen at all to read anything that I considered to be worthy of consideration.The facts appear to be that within those pages there's no room for individual opinions and anyone who dares question the 'clique' gets branded a traitor to the cause and a 'plant' from one of the past failed regimes of Hereford United. Worse, the lads sent me packing leaving me in no doubt that I was a rotter and a stinker. Well I'll be damned if I take this! Id sooner cozy up to Carole bloody Decker and listen to her constantly singing that dreadful song 'China In Your Hand', than take this rejection without a sane and intelligent response. From hereon, if ever Im sat in the Commercial supping ale and I see Andy Lonsdale creep out from beneath a mature and well maintained privet hedge and he grabs hold of one of the Bulls Banter posters who told me to clear off, pulls their pants down and subjects them to aggressive manly love and then shouts, 'Tommy bring your carpentry tools here and nail his head to the door', I ain't calling the Constable. I'll be damned if I do! Whatsmore, if that poster, and there were a few of them who verbally abused me cry, 'in Gods name. Save me from this dreadful ordeal', I'm going to say, 'pull your own pants up thank you very much. You'll get no aid from me'.

This is very impressive work Paul. Well done lad. Thank you for taking the time to dig this blog up from the depths of the WIIT archives. It'll be of help to some poor soul who suddenly finds that they and only they were the cause of the problem as they quickly realise that opening their mouths and saying, 'this ain't right' was the most stupid thing that they could ever have done.

Secretsquirrel, My very best wishes and warmest regards to you pal. Sincerely, I do hope it all works out well for our Club. Me? I've got a terrible fear that the Council will carve up the leases, the ground will be asset stripped by those who have the ear of Mr Bretherton and Stanhope and Mr Jon Hale, though well meaning and full of good intentions will not be able to fund his role of King. It's simply how I see it. Yes, it's the glass half empty view of things and I dearly wish I were more optimistic and able to hoist both Jon and Chris upon my shoulders, but I just can't bring myself to imagine that all this chaos will all work out in favour of you, me and anyone else who simply wanted to watch a game. Once again pal, my very warmest regards to you and I do hope you enjoy your time here at Hereford Voice. Take care kiddo.

Hello my old friend and sparring partner. Truly, I just knew that 'you' would have read it and I knew that you'd most definitely mention it either via PM or upon the Open Forum. I honestly thought I'd give it a go, dip my toe in and see if I could dig out anyone who, like you and I had some doubts about the direction of travel of our team. Hurt and bruised? Not at all. In fact, compared to my In Box upon other pages, I thought they were quite gentle toward me. You take care my old friend and have a good New Year.

And what is it about a Football Club that draws the commercially successful to its bright light? They can't resist it can they! Like Moths to a flame there's no shortage of takers that are prepared to join in the belief that they, and only they are capable of delivering our Football Club to the promised land. It's like some sort of strange disease. An infection if you like that draws the great and the good to rally to the flag and proclaim that they are our Messiah and they can deliver us all from our misery. Stand up the latest prophet! No doubt, Mr John Hale is a good lad, who loves his Mam and helps old ladies across the road. He's been bitten by this disease. He's next up to ride the glory train. With a big fat expensive Havanna cigar in his mouth, a wide brimmed Fedora hat, wearing a brown Crombie and a dream that one day he will step off the first team coach to be met by howls of, 'hallelujah. John Hale walks on water. P.iss in my face and cure all my ills', he has decided that his ego needs sating and he is the one who will acquire what's left of our football club and ensure that our club will reach the old Vauxhall Conference before I hit bloody ninety and drop down dead because of Ricketts. Yep! John Hale and Hereford Supporters Trust have decided that they are the chosen ones and anyone who claims otherwise gets slaughtered on Bulls Banter for heresy! What a load of old bollo.cks! The whole thing is a bucket of sludge that sees commonsense, rational thinking and logic giving way to mass hysteria that now sees so called intelligent people celebrating the demise of Hereford United as being in some strange and odd way as a victory for the simple supporter who only ever wanted to watch a game, cheer on their team and shout, 'Hereford United till I die'. Till I die, my right nut! Whipped up into a state of frenzy, egged on by HUST, John Hale, Chris Williams and Supporters Direct, we've now got no football team to support and this is some great achievement? Go read Bulls Banter. Go read the intellectual thoughts of those who glory in the demise of our once mighty and legendary football club, once called Hereford United and then argue with me that they ain't simpleton idiots who've had their buttons pressed and have been socially engineered into bringing about the ruin of our football club. Why? Because a bunch of fools decided amongst themselves that they wanted to run Hereford United and they, and only they knew what was best for our beloved Club. It's all now gone and despite what the new prophets say, it ain't coming back anytime soon!

And here we are! Our football club, Hereford United is gone and no matter what many say or even wish for, this 'old girl' ain't for returning anytime soon. Burdened by poor management, catastrophic decisions, bile and phlegm heaped upon all those who've played a part in its downfall, division amongst the supporters and a tragic tale of plotters and schemers desperate to lay their hands upon the promise of becoming wealthy once the leases were exploited, it's all gone. Done, dusted and now confined to the dusty shelves of football history and any further debate as to why, when, by whom and for what reasons is now a pointless excercise in futility. It's as pointless as some of the stuff I shovel out upon these pages and now is the time to look to the future. And what of this future? Well, the new name looks like it'll be Hereford Football Club, where they play is highly uncertain and given that the Council must provide good value for money to the ratepayers, Id say that it's looking unlikely that Edgar Street will be its new home. The likely outcome will be that the Council will deliver up the leases to property developers who'll create social housing, commercial development associated with the plans to create a University and a patch of grass that'll allow some football to take place together with some other sporting activities. Wherever the new Hereford Football Club play and no matter which division they manage to compete in there will be consequences and these consequences are not happy and sweet for the local amateur football community. For the likes of Westfields, Pegasus and Wellington they'll quickly realise that competing against Hereford Football Club, particularly if this Phoenix Club are playing at a similar level, ain't going to be a bag of sweet smelling roses. They'll be badly affected with the emergence of this new team. These hitherto, we'll run local amateur teams will suddenly find that they are competing against an amateur giant. Yes! Giant ain't to stronger word to describe this new team. Supported by several hundred die hard supporters who's ten pound yearly subscriptions will ensure that money is not the immediate problem, they'll wipe the floor with all who stand before them. Suddenly, the likes of Westfields and Pegasus will feel the strain. The local Well of players they've traditional gone to, to pick up good amateur players, will be being fished by Hereford Football Club and those kids who've got the golden opportunity to play for the mighty Hereford Football Club, play in front of perhaps a thousand fans and get more money in their back pockets are going to refuse the invitation from Westields and Pegasus and grasp the chance to be associated with the new local amateur giant. Course, both Westfields and Pegasus will suddenly arrive at a crossroads of destiny. Do they compete with the new giant and raise the pay or do they simply sit back and watch. What happens if Westfields and Pegasus make the decision to try and compete? Do they flourish and prosper or do they get themselves into financial difficulty, fold and end up playing in the lower reaches of the Herefordshire County leagues. One things for certain, the new birth of this new giant is going to impact upon local football and it ain't going to be good for them. The only thing that I can see is unhappiness and the full impact of the death of Hereford United has yet to be fully appreciated by the local football community of Herefordshire.

Wonderful Ubique! Dippy, a poem if you please to commemorate the only bloody positive thing that I've read in months.