bobby47

A humiliation! That's what it was and dont let anyone tell you otherwise. I was humiliated by some barstard I didn't know. And the worst of it is, I bloody paid to get in. Paid to be humiliated. The barstard wouldn't even allow me to construct an argument as to why it had relevance to whatever it was we were there for. Bloody humiliation!

What a sh.it night I've had. Paid £2.20 to park the car that allowed me to stay until 9pm. Wandered into the Barrels with Cambo and The Gridknocker, bought the drinks £8.70. Wandered out of the pub and into the Methodist Church and paid £3 to get in to listen to Johnson and the other panelists answer questions from the audience. Had a coughing fit, some kind lady was good enough to give me a sweet and some other lady who hissed 'shut up' caused to me to reply, 'don't be rude'. Went outside, had a cigarette, stopped coughing and then went back in to listen to the continued discussion between the audience and the panel. Realizing it was getting near 9pm, I shoved me hand up, got given the microphone and asked the panel what they thought about Compromise Agreements or as I liked to call them Gagging Payments. The Chairman told me to shut up, had the microphone snatched off me and I then left to avoid a parking ticket. They wouldn't even let me complete my question. Sit down and shut up. I may as well have stayed home and watched the execution of Saddam Hussein (again). Good grief!

Thank you our Megilleland. It's as I thought. Well, for starters, you wouldn't want this little cutie on Hay Bluff staring into the sun with those glasses on. My God! They're like re-entry shields. He'd burn acres of fine grazing land with one single bow of his head. As for the obvious, the eyebrows. I've never trusted a man who's eyebrow hair cannot decide which way to grow and it's this that makes me now dislike this man. That said, credit where credit is due, the head appears to be reasonably formed. As soon as i saw the head, i thought to myself, 'thats a lovely head' albeit ,its difficult to conclude how it fits in with the lower parts of his body as the photograph doesn't show me anything below the waist. No! I've seen enough. He's a rotter and a stinker and unless someone can produce a photograph of him playing with lepers who's condition is near on impossible not to catch, I refuse to shift my ground and say he ain't all bad!

My point ain't about the work ethic of our migrant brethren. They are brilliant. A chap I fish with is Polish, he's a highly educated college lecturer and he's picking fruit. My point is, what happens when the door is closed, my Polish fishing mate tires of picking fruit and he clears off. And he will. If I had his ability I certainly would be thinking of moving on. He and I talk regularly to one another and when the door is closed he intends to become a British National and get back to lecturing students about the joys of chemistry. He is picking fruit and he ain't going to stay here and pick our bloody fruit forever. He and many others will eventually leave, and just like our indigenous offspring, he and his family will move to another County where the wages and disposable income are higher. He will leave his house as will many others and we'll end up with loads of bloody houses, rooms and bed sits empty because the demand has gone. This is me bloody point. It's an economic one and its going to happen to us and it'll happen sooner than you all expect. We'll be knackered. Mind, thinking about it we've been knackered for years so perhaps I'm gibbering on about nothing.

Right! Someone get me a photograph of this Councillor Jones. You can tell an awful lot about someone simply by staring at their image. I've never seen a photograph of him and already I dislike this man. So, if ever his eyes are set to close together and the left eye is set within his skull to far away or to close to the right eye, I'm in business. As for his ears, it'll be a bonus if one ear is set lower than the other. The barstard! The utter barstard! How dare he treat the mighty Megilland with contempt. I'll be damned if I sit back and put up with this terse response. The barstard!

Folks this is serious. It's of no little consequence to us all if and when we manage to rid ourselves of the European Union. There will be a huge economic cost to pay. Thousands of our migrant brothers and sisters will remain here in Hereford and I hope they do. Now they are here and they've hopefully found in life what they've been looking for, I wouldn't want to see them repatriated. I want them to stay and be happy in their new homeland. But,...and this is the thing, they ain't going to want to pick fruit, process chicken and wash cars for the rest of their lives. They'll move on to better things. So who picks the fruit? And that's the problem we have because eventually, once we are out of the European Union, nobody will want to pick the fruit, strangle a chicken and wash my hatchback. Our economy, for the most part is driven by a vast cheap labour migrant workforce. There Labours have made our agricultural economy integral to our future. But, it's a future based upon low skills, low pay and a bludgeoning affect upon our fragile public services and if and when this agricultural Hereford market does collapse the consequences to all of us are beyond my imagination. When we do get out of this Union our public services will recover and our pounds earned will no longer be haemorraged and be sent away to a foreign economy. Our money will be recycled within our own economy and that'll only be a good thing for local traders and local business, but sadly it'll have no impact on our kids who will continue to get their education here then leave and spend that education in another County who don't pick fruit, don't strangle chickens and don't mind driving around in a dirty car. Whichever way this is cut, I see nothing but misery for us. I see out migrant friends, tiring of their old low paid jobs and I see them doing exactly the same as our young kids. Moving away. Yes they will. In time, when all things will change, they'll move away to get better jobs that pay more. And what of all the houses we've built. What of all the rooms rented out. What of all the Housing Association houses now occupied by migrants, well they'll begin to empty. The rents in Hereford will continue to plummet, homes will be repossessed and vast numbers of dwellings will be gathered up by big business who'll have their eye on a commercial chance to make more money from us. In the meantime, bees purchased from Italy to help pollinate our orchards, well they won't be needed because theres no one left to pick the fruit and the decline goes on and on and forever downwards. Mind, if our luck changes and The Ukraine settles down we can get the golden opportunity to sit on some production line helping to construct a bomb that'll eventually get dropped on my Grandson's head because he left Hereford to get a better wage, joined the Army and now finds himself fighting in a conflict between Belarus and Russia who both want different things. Course, none of this helps our housing market that sees hundreds of empty homes built around circa 2014 unoccupied because everyone is leaving. So, why are we building so many houses?

My God this is desperate. How on earth did we arrive at this point. How can it make sense to pay a bully with public money, move them on to some other place that bleats the ethos of Common Purpose and expect for a single moment that it'll all end well and it was all done for the best possible reasons. It's madness. And it's madness for our elected Councillors to imply in some roundabout way that 'these things do go on' and it makes commercial and business sense to pay people a backhander to save us a lot of money if ever they go to a Tribunal. Does it make sense to rid yourselves of a bully or someone with a questionable management style, pay them a big lump of sugar and not be surprised when they buggar up their next posting by repeating their bullying behavior or their poor management style. This does not happen in the private sector. It bloody doesn't. Never has and never bloody will because a proprietor or a share holder would never sanction rewarding employees for gross misconduct or even failure. It's madness! Only in the public sector is this culture allowed to flourish, prosper and infect all around and beneath them and to suggest otherwise or explain it all in some rational way is the very reason why this corrupt culture is allowed to exist. Wake up Councillors and smell reality. Stop hiding behind an illogical argument pretending to yourselves that all is well and there are understandable reasons for everything done beneath the banner of public service. It's rubbish! These sums of money paid out to silence the entire chain of events and gag the bullied and the bullies are Lottery winning figures. They are vast sums of public money that have been spent to keep a dirty secret hidden from all of us and some try and rationalize it all pretending to themselves that this is good corporate business. It bloody aint! It's wrong and only a fool would suggest otherwise. Surely we are all collectively better than this. Please tell me we are. Please tell me that our Councillors are angry about this and they intend to take a knife and cull this beast of burden that's allowed this form of illicit activity to take root amongst the hierarchy of our leaders. It's all madness and somewhere, one day, some recently retired public servant, possibly suffering with anxiety, stress and a strong sense of fear and guilt will rollover and set the dominoes falling all across our nations Councils. It's going to bloody happen. It's inevitable. Just like the MP expenses scandal, this area of public service is a bomb waiting to blow up in our faces.

Why are we really building so many houses. It ain't the fault of the ageing population who are the ones the establishment like to blame when it comes to explaining why our overstretched public services are crumbling under the pressure of demand. Surely, we can't blame the ageing population again and again for all our woes. The ageing population are not responsible for the high demand for housing which is driving up the cost of rent and affecting each and everyone of us who live within our fragile economy. It ain't the ageing population who cram a dozen people into one house and it ain't the ageing population who require the bin men to collect a dozen bin bags from one family home and one or possibly two from the homes of the ageing population. My wife's a Nurse. She doesn't think the ageing population has anything to do with the fact that our Health Service is crumbling. She and her colleagues would never say its the fault of the ageing population who have become a burden on our society. In fact, many of our Health Care staff would say that it's nothing to do with the ageing population and more to do with thousands and thousands of people arriving in Hereford within a very short space of time that's brought about the havoc that has impacted upon us all. So what happens to all the landlords who've invested huge sums of mortgaged money developing their properties if and when we get the chance to get out of the European Union. What will happen then? Surely, they can't blame the ageing population again. If it happens, and I pray to God it does and we get the opportunity not to become a satellite of East Europe and we exit the European Union, what happens to our housing market. Yes, the rents will shoot downwards because the ageing population don't tend to rent, but what of the economic knock on factors. Well, many, many people who've ridden this housing bubble will suddenly find they can no longer fill their dwellings with dozens of people who are prepared to share a room with three or four strangers because the demand is no longer there. These entrepreneurial poor souls will suddenly find that they cannot make ends meet and they'll go bust. And what'll happen to our local agricultural economy that is so dependent on the cheap labour that sees their employees sharing a room with a number of strangers and causing the bin men to work harder and the Health Service to blame the ageing population for its predicament. Well, my guess is it'll destroy this economic success story that sees thousands and thousands of highly qualified people picking fruit for a pittance so that they can live in a room they share with complete strangers. And round and round we go. Despite the obvious. Despite the clear leanings toward exiting the European Union, still, even now, we choose to build houses for thousands of people who may not be resident here in Hereford after I get my chance to say, 'I want to get out of the European Union'. The tragedy is, despite my deep need to get out of this madness so that our Natuonal Health Service can be saved, I know that we in Hereford will pay a terrible economic price for pinning our hopes on a vast legion of cheap workers who only ever wanted to become wealthier than they once were. So here we are! Building houses, haemorraging the talents of our local children who've long since moved away, paying pi.ss poor wages and paying sky high rents so that our fruit can get picked quickly and cheaply! Makes you think don't it!

Right that's it. This vein in my neck is fit to burst! I'll be damned if I don't attend this meeting this Thurday evening at the Methodist Church in St. Owen Street and kick Tony Johnson so far he'll have to pay to get back in. That's it! No more Mr Reasonable from me. Ive got an eighteen lace holed Portuguese Kid Leather Right Boot and I'm for wearing it. The Left one was lost when I kicked Jarvis with it and after it became lodged in his rectum it was never returned to me. I don't know what the Christian equivalent of a Fatwa is called but whatever it is I'm doing it and I'm doing it to Tony Johnson. If you see some fat faced fool staggering in wearing a bright red hellish looking right boot that has no business being on anyone's foot, keep well away because its me. Should I be doing this in the house of God? Probably not, but I've painted three six'es on it so as to evoke the Book of Revelations which warns mankind of the coming of the beast. In this case, the beast died, I'm wearing its skin and my boot, the right one has become the messenger of God and the meek and the mild Hereford Ratepayers who can no longer afford to fuel this madness.

Ross Police Station? Ive a source who told me this!!! They were well on the way to ridding themselves of that lovely piece of property. In fact, so far down the line had they gone, they'd completely forgotten about the Radio Masts affixed to the building that prevented them ever disposing of the property anytime soon. This is what they did. They closed the building. Moved staff out. Shifted all the furniture, the fixtures and the fittings. Then they redeployed their staff in other locations, made some staff redundant and some had'nt quite gone anywhere before it was realised that they couldn't sell the bloody place because of the Telecommunication issue. So, at a huge cost, they moved the furniture, the fixtures and fittings back in, told the staff to forget the last plan and return to Ross to work and be informed 'you are back here for the time being'. Now, they're going to spend vast sums of money working out what to do about their radio communications that are dependant upon Ross Police Station remaining manned and open for business. It's madness. All public services are infected by the same strain of virus. 'Act Now. Think Later'. Oh! And just to make matters worse, the Mast attached to the Ross building is used as a relay for every single emergency service within the Herefordshire area which of course means problems. Expensive problems to be exact and we are going to pay!

Stupidfrustration, Fair enough old friend. Fair enough. Mind, I'll not shift my ground on the whole 'hand held excavator thing'. I'll be damned if I do. Never!

'An open vessel of alcohol'! My right nut. Good God is there no end to this bloody strange language. Bloody Hell! I watched the tv the other day and some poor soul was stuck or had been stuck in mud and sand on the beach at Weston Super Mare. Course the senior Police Officer hurtled toward the camera with one thing and only one thing in mind. To get seen and heard on the television. If I'd been on that beach when he said what he said, I'd have got off the Mule , grabbed him and throttled the life out of him. What did you fool say? Well, In response to the actual incident, which was, namely, some poor soul getting stuck in the mud, this is what he said. 'We quickly ascertained that a young male was stuck in the mud and sand and after carrying out a dynamic risk assessment we decided to employ the HAND HELD EXCAVATOR'. The Barstard! The hand held excavator! The bloody swine. Course, he had the hand held excavator in his hand when he did his piece to camera. I saw it. The entire watching nation saw it. It was a bloody shovel or a spade. The Barstard! And it's just the same with this bloody vessel thing. Any other word, jug, bottle can, glass, mug, jar, cup would have done. But not for our ruling elite. Bloody Vessel! The barstards! Where I come from a vessel is a boat, a ship of some other floating conveyance designed and intended to get you from one point to another without the ordeal of getting bloody wet. Vessel! My God!

Well I'll be damned if I sit back any longer while our heritage is raped and pillaged by those in power who choose to ignore us. Harry Bramer is not going to rape and pillage me. Never! Not on my watch. Oh he might think he can. He may think that I'll sit back and accept it but he's wrong. If there's one thing you can all be sure of about me is I ain't for being raped and pillaged. Never! Im taking direct action. Im going to go down in history as the man who saved the Fire Station and someone who refused to be raped and pillaged. There's only one single thing worse than the 'rape' and its the pillaging that goes on after you've been violated and so its Direct Action for me. Yes indeed'ee. Direct Action. That's what I'll be doing. Once the sober members of our social media site give me the heads up, the lads are taking me down there and affixing me up on high against the front wall of this wonderful building. Not the back wall mind. And not the side walls. Nobody would see me see. What's the point of being affixed to a wall that the general public have no access to. No, it's the fron wall for me. The one that looks out upon The Victory and Ledbury Road. Thirty five foot up tethered and secured against the brick and mortar. That'll get noticed. You won't have seen that before. Folk will stagger past carrying their shopping and say, 'Day sixteen and he's still up there howling 'Save The Fire Station' And when the local media gather beneath me, as they surely will, I'll tell them, 'I'm having the time of my life up here and I refuse to be ramped and pillaged by Harry Bramer'. That's a headline for a starters. The Editor would run to the printing press with that one. And for those of you out there doubting my intentions, the lads have constructed a long pike that'll hold a sponge which will be soaked in Ale and enable me to also suck on a cigarette. Mind, when they first produced this pike I told them to go back to the design board. Being thirty five foot up and trying to suck a sponge off a thirty foot pike was of no use at all. I told them, 'Lads, I need thirty five foot of this pike. Not the thirty you've chosen to give me. Give me my extra five foot'. I mean business and if any of you lot have an interest in the future well being of our City, you should start getting interested as well. I'll be damned if I sit back and are this. I k ow what I'll take, what I won't take and what I might take if someone belts me over the head with a mallet and I ain't for taking this. Never!

Wouldn't it be wonderful if Councillors of all political colours agreed to sit down together to form a steering group and seriously plan a return to Direct Services. Problematic? Of course it is and our fiscally knackered County would certainly find it hard to ignore the sums of money now required to put this all back together, but we did it before and we could do it again. We could do it and others would most certainly follow. Our Council is run by incompetent bungling idiots who've absolutely no idea on how to negotiate large contracts that involve the private sector. All these Council Directors were once spat out by the private sector and its this handicap of corporate incompetence that has become so costly to us all. This could be done. With a little political will and a strong realisation that we can't continue like this we could turn the clock back, create our own jobs, provide direct services and save ourselves millions. Somebody will do it one day. It's inevitable. Some Council will step forward, grasp the stinging nettle and do the unimaginable. Return to Direct Services. When TwoWheels alludes to the 'asylum and the madness of it all', they ain't just words. It's completely true and we've gotta do something to help ourselves and stop this legal form of theft and criminal deception that's proven so costly to our fragile economy and our future economic prosperity. I want some forward thinking Councillor to pick up the baton, run with this idea and through force of their personality and a drive to see this be openly discussed, I want something to be done to fire the imaginations of our communities who just might think this notion makes more sense than the current mad economic doctrine that we are all now following.

That'll be the work of all the promiscuous strumpets who, for reasons unknown and as yet to be fully addressed and discussed, are now in possession of a vast array of sex toys. Apparently St.James is a hotspot for this new slide into depravity. Basically, with or without an 'e', the humming, dimming of lights and even the ceasation of your domestic voltage is all the result of women who are relentlessly switching on their devices at the exact same time in search of gratification. Go knocking on doors. Ask them. 'If your wife is upstairs using her vibrator could she please stop. Im trying to boil an egg'.

You'd think that ordering Stationary from a local firm would be bloody easy for the Council wouldn't you. I mean, you employ someone who, every so bloody often phones the local company up and says, 'send me a box of your finest A4 paper my dear good man' and the local company says,'Yes, we'll deliver it. That'll be ten pounds thank you very much'. And until very bloody recently,this was the way in which this paper eating bureaucratic beast of burden the Council acquired their paper. They'd phone up, the local firm would say, 'hoorah! More paper for the Council to eat through and ten bloody quid from our pile of wealth was taken and paid for the endless piles of paper this parasitic beast consumes each and everyday of the week. Well, not anymore! No bloody Sir'ee. They've outsourced that little head scratching excercise. Now, the Council employee phones the little local firm to be told, 'We cannot deal with you directly. You must phone the company who now deal with the Stationary, tell them you want a box of paper, they'll phone us up, place the rotten order and they'll say how much it'll cost you, when it'll be delivered and that's all you now need to know. Course, the sting in the tail is, because the agent acting for the Council likes a lump of bloody sugar that box of A4 paper that we once paid ten quid for,now costs us fifteen bloody quid. The local firm still get their ten quid, the Council still get their bloody paper but now, because of an outsourcing firm that may be Balfour Beatty, they get five quid for arranging the transaction. It makes you want to hurl phlegm. A curse on this Council!

I agree Dippy. The problem is, for the most part but not all, the Doctors don't want to do more than thirty hours. Most work a four day week, they don't want or like the Call Out duty, they don't like House Visits and many, not all, have lost the will to care as much as they once did. They've become wealthy, many care more about the money their Surgery makes and like the nursing profession it's been overwhelmed by many who don't like or care for people the way they once did. Go onto any Ward and you'll soon spot the Carers. They are the ones who don't mind popping a bit of lippy on the old girl who's keen to look her best. Most nowadays cannot be bothered and consequently the rot sets in and all become infected by this couldn't care less attitude.

Another empire in the making. Not so long ago the great and the good decided quite rightly that the walk in Asda Surgery was a huge drain upon the resources of the City GP Practices. Every single time a patient walks inside the Asda surgery the Practice that the patient is registered with gets the bill. It's hugely costly, its a huge drain upon the NHS resources and as far as Im concerned getting rid of Asda would make financial sense. But what do they do to rid themselves of this problem? They create Taurus. They grab a hold of Berrows House, get a pile of funding from all the Doctors Surgeries and its decided that their brief will be to take on the responsibility of examining patients who might have an orthopaedic injury. The idea I guess is to get the patient referred from their local doctor, decide whether or not there is a need for a referral to a Consultant and away we go saving us all millions. Trouble is, they quickly decided that it wasn't working, it was a money loss making machine and so they changed the rules and began carrying out general work dressing it up as taking away the strain and still saving us millions. Course, to make it all function, you need an empire and that is now whats been done. They've decided that the Asda walk in centre ain't never going to go anytime soon so they've conveniently forgot the original grand and noble cause and simply begun to build their empire by paying the best to get the best. Every day and night of the week the place is staffed by a Doctor who's on two hundred quid an hour, two nurses on eighteen quid an hour, Health Care workers who are on a lump of money and nobody knows where they are. That's right! Nobody knows where the premises are.They are actually to be found in Wargrave House and the staff who are there sit there bored for hours on end because very few patients ever come through the doors. They ain't doing anything. There's little or nothing to do because few people know where they are and the local GP Surgeries can't be bothered to send their patients there because they'd pretty much decided its a huge waste of time and a waste of money. But that's only the start of it. They are building big. They are recruiting staff at a fast rate of speed and albeit the contracts are for only nine months, they are paying way over the going rate and telling the staff that this little gravey train ain't for stopping and the employment will go on beyond the end of the nine months. Staff who are working within local Surgeries have signed up on the Taurus recruitment data base so that they can get some evening work doing nothing and getting paid a great deal more than they get normally get paid. The fact that few people ever get through the door to see them is something that seems to be of little concern. They've got their grand titles, their huge hourly rate and pretty soon now, they'll be able to produce you and I a graph that'll show how they are saving us all millions and how they've taken the strain away from all the overwhelmed surgeries who can't cope because there are far to many people registered for care. It's madness! If you ask any public servant or health care professional how to go about building an empire they'll say build, build quick, pay the best, create pointless tiers of bureaucracy and do it so quickly that it'll be near on impossible to dismantle the madness. This is the way it is. This is the way of things. You can take some really good and capable Doctors and other Health Care professionals, seduce them with the idea of power and increased wealth and before you know it you've created another slice of pointless rubbish that'll eventually end up filed under, 'Another Expensive Bad Idea' that didnt save us money, didnt reduce the strain on GP Surgeries but made a lot of people a great deal of money doing next to buggar all.

Oh, they knew what they were doing alright. They tried the lot on me to get me to give him up. I said, 'Never! I say Never. Not while I've Ale in the pantry and the ability to smoke me cigarettes. Never!' Course, Bill brings his Ass in doesnt he. Lovely beast. I said, 'who's Ass is that then, not that its any of my business'. 'Its me pride and joy it is', he replied. 'Ive been coveting this beast of burden for years. Everyday I'd yell to my neighbour, 'give me that Ass'. I said, 'that's the problem with neighbours like you who go around coveting others folks's Ass'es. If I had me own Ass I'd definetly not give it to you, you bloody coveter of other people's Mules. Course, eventually the neighbour gave in and must have said, 'here have the bloody thing. You've worn me down'. Any bloody way, back to the purpose of this beast of burden in the Council's Contemplation and Prayer Room with me and my interrogators. Bill then said to Pat, 'pull down his little white and tight Naval Britches. We'll film him making love to the beast, pop it on Youtube and keep the fat tw.at quite forever.' Course, I told them straight, 'Never. I'll be damned if I breach my Covenant with God and subject that Ass to manly love. Never! This here penis is flaccid, it'll remain flaccid and you can tempt me with a tray of cream cakes, a kilo of Pork Rind and you'll not see an erection develop. Not on my watch. Never!' And they did try to rouse me. Cream Cakes, Pork Rind, Ale, several bags of ground bail, a photograph of a Barbel and some sultry vixen who happened to come dancing into the room performing a seductive dance that Hot bloody Gossip would never have choreographed for fear of being banned by the BBC. At the end of the dance, Bill had a rummage through the folds of me Britches and said pointedly, 'flaccid. This man is incapable of subjecting my Ass to manly love'. I howled, 'didn't I tell you Norman. You ain't dealing with a run of the mill normal poster here. Im Bobby Fortyseven and if I say Im flaccid I mean Im flaccid and I'll argue with any man, or woman who claims otherwise.' And this is the problem we've all got nowadays. The erosion of our civil liberties. One minute you can be in your house minding your own bloody business and the next you can be dragged away and be encouraged to mate with a Mule. Why? Because Paul Cardin won't let go. That's why!, and this County is all the better for it if anything I transmit is worth a jot of notice.

Chris I am so disappointed in you. You and I have had our moments but you've never behaved like this toward me. My fellow Socialist you are wrong to treat my friend Flamboyant like this and I only hope that in time I'll be able to forgive you. Just to put this record straight, it is I who feeds Flamboyant the information, it is I who helped Flamboyant construct the email to you and therefore it is I who needs attacking. Not my friend Flamboyant. Think about these past few exchanges Chris and reflect upon them. You are a good lad and today you've let yourself down. My only regret is I've used Flamboyant to fire my arrows instead of doing it myself. This entire sad chapter in 'tapping' should end now with a bit of thought, a little kindness and a sincere apology. My very warmest regards to you Chris.

For the sake of victims and the peace of mind of all the Torbay public servants, I hope it's all recent stuff rather than historical. Mind, if it becomes historical then I guess we'll all become extremely interested in past serving Officers who perhaps left Torbay and gained employment elsewhere.

It's true and I'll fight any man who says it ain't. Last night I was laid on the bed, flat on me back dressed up in one of my wife's collection of uniforms. As she writhed, wriggled and generally thrust about upon me, I lay there nibbling upon a platter of Cornish Clams dressed from head to toe in an undersized World War Two Japanese Naval Admirals uniform. Minding me own bloody business, eating me Clams and swigging back the Ale, her right knee hit the hilt of my Decorative Sword causing discomfort to my left ********. I said, 'Sweet Lord! Take care. You'll give me a Torsion of the Testcle. At the very least writhe around and display some care and consideration toward me you brazen and wanton strumpet'. Course, this then develops into a pointless conversation doesn't it. Wished I'd never bloody mentioned it. She says, 'what's a torsion of the ********'. I said, ' I'll tell you what that is. It's something you wouldn't want. That's what that is.'. Course, she wants to know more doesn't she. I said, 'fair enough. You're thrusting up and down in pursuit of personal gratification, your knee forces the hilt of this fine sword into my scrotum and me testcles can get all knotted up. That's what that is'. Course, the bloody woman then says, 'I wouldn't want that' leading me then further into this pointless conversation explaining that the last time I checked she hadn't developed a scrotum and therefore it was highly unlikely shed ever suffer the whole torsion of the testicles thing. Happily, this bag of boll.ocks of a meaningless and pointless conversation was disturbed by a tap, tap, tap on the bedroom window. Keen to end this physical violation of my human dignity, I shouted, 'dismount. I'll see who it is tapping on the window'. And I did. I opened the curtains to see Bill Norman clinging onto me window sill. I said, 'clear off Norman. Im a diligent recycler of rubbish and I'll be damned if I tolerate you scurrying up my bloody drainpipe, disturbing the brackets that affix my drainpipe to my wall and have your bloody feet and knees scraping off my rendering'. I told him, 'be gone or I'll come outside and box your ears'. Wasn't going was he! Determined wasn't he! Said, 'you want to fight me. Get out here now Emperor Horihito and I'll kick your head in'. Anyway, I popped me little Admirals hat on, hurtled down the stairs, opened the door, slammed the door, which, given the benefit of hindsight was a huge mistake, to find Bill Norman stood there in the company of Geoff Hughes, Jonathon Bretherton, Alistair Neil, Tony Johnson and Pat Morgan. I thought, 'hi up. I shouldn't have slammed me door shut.' To cut a long story short, they all gave me a kicking, beat me with short pointy sticks and dragged me away for questioning. Course getting dragged up Commercial Road dressed as a World War Two Japanese Naval Admiral was'nt the easiest of experiences, particularly the scorn and ridicule that poured out from the Ale houses that all had the phrase ' you stupid tw.at' incorporated into them. Once in Plough Lane, they got to work on me. Tied and bound and wired up to the domestic electricity supply the questioning began. 'Give us Paul Cardin'. Over and over again, 'Give us Paul Cardin and the agony of this encounter will end.'Course, being a black plastic bin bag man, a man who refuses to shop within the new development or eat produce that was purchased from within the new development and being someone who's not intimidated, I said,'Get stuffed. Never. I'll never give Cardin up'. Then after three hours of being head butted, thumped, slapped, pinched, electrocuted, shot, stabbed, poisoned and having my fat face jumped on, Hereford Councils Chief Legal Officer Bill Norman cried, 'we've gone to far. We've abused our positions of power. We'll release him and buy his silence with a generous Compromise Agreement'. And they did. With a Tax Free Lump Sum of sixty two thousand pounds tucked inside me tight white Naval Britches I staggered back home richer than I was before vowing that I'd never talk about my beatings within Plough Lane. And I won't. Never!

Cambo, I've used all the flyers mate. Thanks for your interest. Do what you can to get some people to attend so that Nick and I don't lose money. My warmest regards old friend.

Hello Chris. I do hope your arthritic pain becomes more manageable and less debilitating. Course, its Gods work and God does everything for a purpose. He's given you this arthritic condition for a purpose. He has!. Being God, he goes about things in a highly unusual and roundabout way. Instead of telling you to start opening your eyes and start lifting up stones, he has given you the Athritis to get you all fired up, angry and curious to learn why the Council hirearchy are behaving in the way that they are. It's like Coal. Instead of giving us a vast mountain of the stuff to visit whenever we wanted the Coal, God went about it in an entirely unusual way. He blew all the trees down. He did. He summoned up a mighty wind and blew the lot down, and then, after fifteen million years of geological pressure and vast eras of time, we got our Coal. Course, when he did blow all these trees down and they fell on people's heads, few of these good folk would have cried, 'hoorah! Coal in fifteen million years time'. For them, they probably didn't think that Coal in fifteen million years was a particularly good thing. Understandably, they didn't see the wisdom in Gods work and just like you, with your arthritic pain, they questioned the point if it all. Yes, Im convinced that this is Gods work and he has a very special purpose for you. It's not unlike my post.'Pointless' But, God being what God is compelled me to scurry downstairs this morning, have a cuppa, a few puffs on me hand rolled cigarette and transmit this rubbish to you. Chris, the whole Council tree has been infected by this 'sense of entitlement' ethos. The hirearchy have been at it for many years now and its no wonder that the troops at the bottom of the foodchain felt that they were able to produce embellished application forms that propelled them to the top of the housing list and succeed in being able to acquire cheap and low cost housing at the expense of those that really needed it. The Furlongs Housing Project Chris. This bag of rats has nothing to do with the hirearchy. The troops at the bottom have created this financial advantage for themselves. They've done it because it can be done. They've done it because they could and they've done all these things because they've seen the hirearchy behaving badly and thought, we will do the same. The whole tree is in need of treatment Chris and God has decided that's its you who'll do the work, and the longer you sit back and hope someone else steps forward and takes on the task, the more arthritic pain God will give you. He's a cruel God sometimes but he does everything for a purpose and you Chris are his instrument of choice.

Ain't it awful! It's truly desperate when good people elected into Office have no way to stop or curtail the activities of those who've joined the gravey train called 'Common Purpose'. I mean, what is it that stops people in authority openly saying, 'Whatever you want to call these payments, Gagging Payments, Compromise Agreements or any other label you choose to pin on these sums taken out of the public purse, they are completely wrong and if they ain't corrupt, the abuse they represent will most certainly lead to corruption? This whole thing, just like the MP's expenses scandal, is going to blow up in our faces and what in Gods name will our Councillors say then? The stink is so bloody obvious and yet, despite the stench of these payments, they say and do nothing because they say, it's the responsibility of Mr Neill. Well, I'd like to see our Councillors take a leap of faith, stand up and say it loudly and clearly, that paying someone for their silence is corrupt and it serves no good purpose in pretending that these things are anything other than an instrument to suppress open and honest public service business. It ain't difficult is it? Why do we go round and round in circles desperately trying to convince ourselves that corrupt practices only ever happen in other places. It's here in Hereford now. It's been going on for such a long time and its really about time that those who represent us should feel comfortable and be able to question these things instead of 'ducking it' and pretending that its 'nowt to do with them'. It's got everything to do with 'them' and its got everything to do with you and I and its tragic that people like 'us' and Mr Paul Cardin should have to keep shoving and pushing this millstone up the hill. The tragedy is, its entirely about getting people to think. Think for themselves and stop being engineered into accepting whatever they spoon feed you. These people that lead us? They are thick. Some were corrupted many years ago when they first asked for a lump of sugar, a bung/ gagging payment. As for the outcome? Its inevitable. They'll eventually get caught, theyll be prosecuted for using a pecuniary advantage to gain a financial benefit for themselves or another and they'll have to answer for their behaviour. Sadly, and its a fact of life ,these people who dance this jig beneath the banner of public service, proclaiming that they love to serve, well unfortunately, they have a habit of dragging others into their illicit activities until the waters are cloudy, the lines are blurred and the Dock in Court is to small to seat each and every defendant wrapped up in this thing they call 'Compromise Agreements'.