bobby47

Good bloody grief! So Nick is a nice chap. Who bloody cares. They're all very nice nowadays.its the way of things today. Lots of nice people telling you how nice you are and how they'd love to become your bloody friend. Well I've no wish to meet another nice Police Officer. Give me a right tw.at every single day of the week. Give me someone who aches to arrest people for wrongdoing. Give me a psychotic, mean spirited horror of a human being who, when I report that some primate has burgled my house,they'll move heaven and earth to detect the crime, tell me who did it to me and give me the opportunity to sit in the Court gallery and scowl at them as their 'brief' explains to the Magistrate why they chose to rob me and my bloody kin of our trinckets of wealth.

The Police are exactly the same as our Council. There is no difference. They're all singing from the same hymn sheet. When Nick Semper chose a different route from our Roger and decided to try and climb the pole to vast wealth and a pension you'd strangle my wife for, he had to sit before the great and the good and delivered a pile of rubbish that was sweet on the ear, easy to swallow and was dressed up in a lovely shiney corporate frock. The Police stopped promoting 'thief takers' the day they decided to model themselves on the bloody New Labour business model that's seen Bretherton, Hughes and all the other sycophantic fools dug themselves in and beneath our flesh. I promise you two things. Firstly, its true and secondly Nick Semper has had to play a game he and others have no control over. They simply sit there spouting bollock's and accept that this is their reality and if they don't do it someone else, equally as ambitious, will jump into the seat and say whatever they want to hear. Every single public service is infected and it'll be sometime yet before the wheel turns and we get back to seeing 'operational heavyweights' leading our troops rather than these dull and uninspiring idiots that are churned out ready to do whatever they are asked to do, which is, in the main, to be fu.ck.ing passionate about whatever the latest gimmick is. Ain't it truly desperate!

My very warmest regards to level80, Paul Cardin and the mighty Wirral Leaks.

Sailing around Blighty! Good bloody grief. I hope his bloody boat springs a leak after hitting rocks and he's washed up off Morecambe bloody beach in the middle of a vast cockle picking operation that sees him forced to pick bloody cockles by some ruthless Gangmaster who happens to support Hereford United, reads the bloody Hereford Times and is fully aware that his rotten signature is upon the aforementioned document. And they wonder why we bloody moan!

I see Bill bloody Norman has been shoving his weight around and stopped me raising much needed funds for the W.G.T.S. Oh we've had the letter that's heavily loaded with The Latin and banning the parachute jump because of public safety issues. Basically my mate Arthur who fought in at least three World Wars was going to fly me up in his Cessna, reach an altitude of fifteen thousand feet up above Widemarsh Common, I was going to jump out together with an old MFI flat pack wardrobe and during my fall toward terra firma I was going to assemble the wardrobe, shut the doors, deploy the parachute and when I landed, I'd open the doors to be greeted to applause for my part in this remarkable feat on human recklessness. Course, Norman, being all high and bloody mighty reckoned that having a roof on the wardrobe would make deploying the parachute near on impossible and, if I didn't manage to fix the bloody hinges properly to the doors, folk minding their own business living beneath my drop zone would be subjected to untold horrors if ever the flat pack landed on their heads. That said, Bill has settled an argument with the W.G.T.S and me. I wasn't entirely happy to jump on behalf of We've Got The Syphillis. I'd begged them to change their name to the T.G.T.S. My thoughts were when I opened the doors of the wardrobe I didn't want to be met by folk saying, 'Bravo! You wouldn't think he'd got the Syphillis would you'. I wouldn't want that because I have not got The Syphillis and anyone who says I have is a liar and an embellisher. I have not got The Syphillis! But, no, they wouldn't agree to 'They've Got The Syphillis' and frankly who can blame them and so the whole fund raising thing has been cancelled because of Bill and his heavy handed approach to good men and women who've behaved in a promiscuous way and through no fault of their own they caught the terrible disease The Syphillis. I'll tell you now, if Bill ever comes knocking on my door and asks, 'if you catch The Syphillis do you get a bright red itchy rash around the testicals', I'll say, 'How would I bloody know. I have not got the Syphillis and I resent you thinking that I have.' I'd tell him, 'clear off. Go bother someone else. This is a good God fearing family home and when we agree to intercourse with folk we know little about we ensure that we wear a bunch of ribbed strawberry flavoured condoms. Now buggar off and don't come back'. Mind, I ain't saying Bill has The Syphillis. Not at all. And if Bill reads this pigswill and mutters, 'how does he know about the rash around my testicals', I don't know. It was just a lucky guess.

I've heard some worrying reports from my source within the local Constabulary. Stupidly, during a briefing, the brains behind this job was referred to as The Mastermind. Understandable the lads heads went down straight away knowing that they were up against a criminal mastermind who by definition was considerably cleverer than them. It's lose talk like this that'll destroy the lads confidence before they even start looking for the culprits. If only they'd said, 'this criminal is as dull and thick as us', then it would have given them a bit of a boost thinking, ' there's a small chance we could catch him if he's stayed at the scene and hid in the loft' As it is they're taking the view that its pointless even bothering to go out because this criminal is ever so much cleverer than them. Mind, happily its been leaked to me that they've definitely got it in mind that this is the work of a criminal and so, cognisant that whoever did this was a criminal, the list of suspects has shot down from seventy million to twenty million which, though huge in numbers is a lot easier to address than the great stack of names they were muttering over yesterday. They've produced a criminal profile of the Mastermind who is described as either male or female, short or tall in build, has a keen interest in Religous artefacts and may be someone with a clubbed foot. Apparently they found a strange mark at the scene which suggests the criminal either had a clubbed foot, which would explain the strange mark they found or the mark had nothing to do with the Mastermind and was left there by a passing rodent who'd been foraging for food before the balloon went up. Course, the interviewing process will break the hardest of characters. Being asked, 'Did you do it' usually trips them up and brings about their downfall and the recovery of stolen property. I know how I'd react if they got me in the back of the van and put that question to me. I'd say, 'the games up. I knew you'd catch up with me sooner or later. Yes I did it and whatsmore I'd do it again if I truly believed I wasn't up against such formidable opposition as you lads'. I mean, who knows whether or not we'll get the cup back. If as they did in medieval times, folk start taking bites out of it and eating the wood, it could all be gone by next Tuesday and that blue velvet bag will be empty.

It's bloody desperate isn't it! How the bloody hell do 'we' ever deflate this ballon of wealth and rid ourselves of these bottom feeding tics who feast upon our public funds. There's no bloody end to it. One pile of rubbish falls and another springs up in its place. It's bloody relentless. Why can't the Council elected leaders say, 'No'. Why? I'd have no problem in telling them all to clear off, be gone, on your way and you'll get no gagging money from me because I couldn't care less who you tell. Go tell the world for all I care. I couldn't care bloody less. Why has it got to be this way? Bloody hell! I bloody hate them. I do. Bloody intensely. I hate them more than any of you. Oh, you might think you hate them but compared to me, you simply dislike them. I bloody hate them. I'd love to fix up a fight with Bill bloody Norman. Just him and me. I'd tip up outside Plough bloody Lane, park me handcart and its load of rancid melons and I'd fight him. I would. And he could arm himself with any offensive weapon of his choice, it would be of no concern to me and of little use to him. I'd bloody hurtle toward him screaming and gibbering in biblical tongues and frighten the life out of him howling, 'Bill. I bloody hate you and today Im going to punch you once for every pound you've managed to take from the public purse'. That'd make him think, 'Good Lord that's a lot of punching'. If Bill bloody Norman is reading this, and lets face it, its highly unlikely I want him to agree to fight me so that I can deliver Hereford from his controlling grip that sees him and his colleagues getting wealthier and us getting bloody poorer. I've said it before and I'll say it again, not that its worth repeating, Council staff have got to start leaving their work stations, knocking on the doors of the high and the bloody mighty and asking them out for a fight. That'd sort them all out. Imagine going to work everyday knowing that you had to fight the staff. They'd soon get tired of that. I know I would! If I had to fight the staff daily I'd be looking to work elsewhere at some place where I didn't have to fight the staff. Before I agreed to take up the position of Head of Legal Services on a salary of an eye watering sum of money I'd ask, 'do I have to fight the staff'. Mind, I've fought them all in my dreams you know. The theme of the dream is pretty much the same every time. I tip up, women scream, 'we can't keep our hands off him. Lets clap our hands, stamp our feet and jump up and down bra less all over his fat face' and then I fight them. It doesn't last long. Basically I dance about avoiding the punches, bobbing and weaving until the opponent gets exasperated and then I belt them over the head with a large wooden mallet and the crowd cry, 'that's a bit out of order. Hitting someone over the head with a mallet'. Then I wake up, have a cigarette, another can of ale and hope I can get back to sleep to continue beating these Council Leaders to a pulp and be cheered on by women who faint with pleasure because I am the most desirable man they've ever seen with a handcart selling rancid melons.

Bambi, Hello mate. I enjoyed reading your piece. You don't think in straight lines do you? If i'm right and I think I am, then you've got a rosy future upon these pages. Take care pal. Good stuff!

Ain't it great to hear new views. Thank you all so much for bothering. It's so very important that you join in and push 'us' all to think a little more about the things that affect us. Have no doubts, the hirearchy do read these threads and there are many influential people who read and contribute to these pages which means, in a roundabout way, you do get heard and it does have an impact, albeit, you'll never notice because no bloody body takes any notice of anything we say anyway. Mind, it hasn't stopped us going on and on about buggar all and with luck and good fortune, it won't stop you. And if, for some reason you overstep the mark and the Council pursue you through the Courts, we are behind you. Miles behind you to be exact and it'll be heartening for you to know that despite our annonimity and our reluctance to show any courage at all, step forward and support you, we're behind you every step of the way. If you think Jarvis, Johnson and the other members of the ruling elite are stinkers, rotters and the type of folk you'd hate to make love to then you've come to the right place. This is home. This is where you belong.

My God! This'll have them scratching their heads. Course, before they even set out to track these culprits down it'll have to be given an operational name. You'd be a fool to even think of tracking this lot down without an operational name. First thing I'd do if I were in charge of the job would be to get an operational name. I'd insist on it. I'd say, 'we ain't moving until we've been given a macho, blood curdling, cliche of an operational name that'll grab the readers attention. Operation 'Certain Detection' would do the trick.' If I was one of the thieves, and lets face it they are thieves, if I heard the operational name was 'Certain Detection', I'd say to the lads, 'lads, its pointless hiding out in this barn. They're onto us. There sure to find us because the operational name says they will'. I'd be giving myself up if I could manage to navigate the agony of negotiating my way through the Call Centre at their Headquarters. Course the next response from the Police will be, 'we've satisfied ourselves that this is the work of thieves. There's no doubt about it and until we hear otherwise we're going to be looking for thieves'. And worse, they'll say, 'we've had a look at the Modus Operandi and our intelligence systems and we've been left with no other conclusion than to firmly believe that these thieves were using our vast network of roads to facilitate their criminal activities'. Oh they'll catch them. It's only a matter of time. Mind, if they've run off and hid in some far off Hebridean hedge determined to lay low for ten months it might take while to dig them out. Finally I'd urge everyone to be on guard if a thief comes up your path carrying a blue velvet bag that contained a wooden relic and begs you to buy it. Tell them, 'be gone. The police are behind you. About twelve months to be exact. Clear off'.

And now, some ten years after it first began, they've finally said the unsayable, our rivers and lakes are being stripped of the fish. Oddly enough, they ain't saying that its the work of The Fifteen and they ain't implying that the British are to blame, which, given my hostility to this European Union is a load of worry off as far as Im concerned. Mind, they didn't mention the industrial scale slaughter of the Swans, the duck species and anything else that crawls, walks and scurries about upon this great and wonderful green island of hope and dreams. If they catch it, they'll eat it and there's little that can be done to stop it. Why would anyone wish to catch and eat a barbel? The Chubb, the carp and all the other varieties of Course Fish don't escape the cooking pot either. The Pike for example. A thoroughly nasty predator if anything I say is worth a blind bit if notice. This particular creature of God is seen as the most tasty and in some areas that once lay beyond that Berlin Wall that was torn down, the Pike is a delicacy. Why did the ever start eating the fish in the first place? Because they were starving. Any money that their state ever earned was invested in a missile that was aimed at me. Now, these areas that once lay beyond that wall have few fish in the rivers and lakes. They've all been eaten and unless something dramatic happens, the same fate awaits us. Can you stop it? No you bloody can't. It's much to late. No matter how many times you tell them to stop killing the fish, no matter how many family bar b q's you interrupt on the Wye that sees hordes nibbling away upon the flesh of these poor creatures, they completely ignore you, carry on and laugh at the futility of your personal protest. And they're right, it is pointless. We, at the Hereford District Anglers Association, have all had to have photographs affixed to our permits. Why? Because the Bailiffs discovered that one licence was being shared by dozens of them who all came down to the river to catch their supper. It's been going on for years. The local supermarkets now sell Coarse fish because the desire to eat these fish is so high and profitable. Does it help? A little perhaps, but why pay for something when its free from our rivers and lakes. The shops! The ones who sell the illicit booze to The Fifteen. They sell Barbel as well. The Bailiffs have found them in the freezers and been told, 'they were caught in our Country'. Despite the fact that they've no bloody fish left swimming in their Country, nothing can be done to stop this relentless onslaught upon our wonderful way of life that is 'Catch And Release'. And this stuff Im shovelling out. It's no urban myth. It's no piece of tittle tattle that's spread, takes on a life of its own and becomes distorted and out of control. It happens every single day of the week. You sit there, they catch a fish, they drag it onto the bank, hit it and kill it, into a carrier bag and away they go to eat their supper. Course, sometimes they like to eat something different. They arrive with an odd looking stick with a wire noose on it. Then, they start throwing bits of bread onto the water gently encouraging the bird to paddle ever closer to its fate that is, the cooking pot and their stomach. There is no end to it. Nothing you can say changes any of it. It's become a pointless excercise. Better to sit there, mind your own business and simply accept its a cultural thing and they're bloody hungry. Sadly, I've seen the British kids doing it and when you challenge them they tell you, 'we are going to sell it to the fruit pickers. They love it'. The whole thing is out if control and its taken near on ten years to get the authorities to become brave enough to say, 'we have a problem'.

Course, I had a spot of the usual down the Commercial T'other day. I'd just sat down, supped me sixth pint, set up me Ouija board to begin our thrice fortnightly spiritual meeting when all of a sudden I became overwhelmed by an urge. I thought, 'funny. Odd. Why do I feel compelled to drop me trousers and pleasure myself in front of all these good folk'. And then it happened. Tap, tap, tap on the Ouija board. Me hand, the right one to be exact, began tapping out a message from an unearthly being from beyond the grave. I tapped back, 'who the bloody hell is this. Please let me pull me bloody pants up and end this humiliation'. Cause I invoked its wrath didnt I! ' 'Its me', he tapped, 'bloody Mahatma Gandhi you fat tw.at'. I tapped him back, 'getting all personal now are we Gandhi. Clear off. At least I can afford a decent suit if clothes. Buggar off. Be gone you restless spirit'. Course, Gandhi being Gandhi, he put me in his place didn't he. Tapped me out one of his quotes didnt he. He tapped, 'in your case fatso, first they ignore, then they mock you, then they fight you and then they kick your head in and you lose!.

Stupidfrustration, you ask what the issue is here? Truthfully, now. I've no idea. I've just lost two hundred quid on the outcome of the World Cup Final, Im full of ale and it wouldn't surprise me now if one of The Fifteen who are on the list is actually 'me'. Honestly, I've no idea what Im on about, its of no consequence that I've been gibbering on about God Knows What and frankly, who cares anyway. In fact, lets go further. If anyone knows anything about anything then it must be clear to anyone with any sense at all that I know nothing about nothing and so, with a tear in either eye, I wish Castelemaine well, let the healing of our fifteen Hereford born British drunks begin and lets applaud the entrepreneurial spirit of the shop proprietors who couldn't give a stuff about my Country, its laws, us, and the Police and Trading Standards who are tasked with completely ignoring their illicit activity. When I can't carry with me my dearest friend Dippy then Im In trouble and clearly, after reading the threads of this topic that I now completely regret ever contributing toward, its obvious that I don't know what the hell Im going on about. My warmest regards my good friend.

Oh it'll all be a remarkable success dear David. Have no bloody doubts about that. They'll even get one of The Fifteen to stagger up to the Hereford Times reporter crying, ' I was lost but now Im saved. The day bloody Castlemaine came a calling, was the day of my salvation'. Have no doubts that soon, very soon after this bunch of nosey bloody interfering devil dodgers get their teeth into the poor fools, they'll soon be reduced in numbers and become The Fourteen'. 'Halleluzah' he'll cry, ' I was once homeless, drunk and happy and now, after this bunch have shown me the true path, I've become miserable, sober and Im still bloody homeless.' Not only is it a dog, its a dog with a bent tail, a busted rear offside leg, its got the mange and its fleas bite. It's a bag of rats and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool and a believer in propaganda that tells you all to be worried about something so that they can control your every single thought. Well they can't control me. Im a free thinker and I'll be damned if I swallow this rubbish that proclaims our streets were once lost to fifteen British pi.ss heads who were responsible for a sack of trouble. Lets name the fifteen. Who are these people? Lets drag them into High Town or outside the shop where they purchase all their cheap booze and shame them. That's the answer! Name The Fifteen who've created this hysterical reaction to a problem we've always had and always will have. Don't believe anything these people tell you. They'll say anything to make you frightened and worried that you have a problem and only they can solve it. Bloody rubbish!

Dippy is right, we need some new blood here. With the exception of George, who happens to be wrong because he takes a different view to mine, nobody is pressing their shoulder to the wheel. Throw me a bone and call me a stinker! Anything. Tell me things! Things that I don't know and i've no business ever knowing. If you've got The Syphillis, tell us and we can avoid you when we next meet up at The Commercial. Tell me that you love the Council Cabinet and we can become bitter enemies. Whatever it is, unless your'e being intimate with my wife whilst Im fishing for barbel using sweet corn as bait, then tell me. Tell us and lets fall out about it. Just say something!

My God! Bloody invoking the words of Gandhi, who aimed that particular phrase toward a completely different social demographic issue aint the wisest of moves and it certainly ain't going to get me to pack up and clear off home. Gandhi, when he was starving to death and being carried from village to village certainly didn't have the High Town drunks in mind when he came up with that little slice of pleasure. And anyway, having some experience of being heavily intoxicated, Im fairly sure that many of The Fifteen are more than happy lounging around all day, talking twaddle and being drunk from dawn to dusk. In fact, if I was one of The Fifteen, the last thing I'd be wanting was for you lot and your holier than thou brethren to come hurtling across the road, wake me from my alcohol induced coma and tell me, 'we are here to save you from yourself.' If my fat face wasn't choking on my own vomit and I was unable to throttle you without dropping the bottle of methylated spirits that the booze smuggler told me was the finest Russian vodka available, I'd tell you all to sod off. Go bother someone else'. Until they tell me that we've got a huge number of drunks of all nationalities, they're been supplied cheap booze by cheating shop keepers who are taking advantage of our welcoming nature, then I ain't treating anything they or you say with any sense of interest.

When highly intelligent friends of mine, found within these pages start swallowing up this rubbish and thinking for one moment that its all a good thing to start addressing this issue, then Im in trouble. More than that, Im on me bloody own and will continue to be until one of you wakes up and realises its all a bag of rats. Since time began all areas where people have settled have had the presence of the drunks. They've been in Hereford for years and despite this latest gimmick, bloody Castlemaine, they'll be here long after the multi agency people have thrown their graph in the bin that told you what you all all ready know now. Drinking Aint good. Neither is homelessness and unemployment, and no amount of meetings held by the great and the good will rid you of folk who drink to excess in places the public frequent. This is the way of things. Always has been and always will be and to throw a pile of money at something you've no chance in changing sums up the desperately hysterical society we've become. For fifteen British drunks we've created a nonsensical operational name in Castlemaine, which will be changed once this commercial company find that their name is being associated with low level nuisance crime and they decide to sue. We've flagged up all the partner agencies howling, 'another thing for us, the great and the good to sort out'. Weve demonised a tiny number of people who for many reasons are at rock bottom and unless they win the lottery they'll likely to remain there, we're readying ourselves to spend a great deal of money we ain't got. And, for reasons of social engineering, a noble cause and two blind eyes and a fear to say what is blindingly obvious to anyone with eyes and ears we choose to blame ourselves and go out of our way to say its nothing to do with anyone but the British. Meanwhile, the three shops who continue to sell this illicit booze and the tobacco to the very same fifteen that we've now demonised, well, nothing happens to them. Nothing at all. They make five times more money on the sale of alcohol that's never been subjected to duty than the food they sell because its a cover to what really is going on and we do and say nothing. This area of stealing from our Country is where the big money is. It's huge and the fifteen who enjoy what they are able to buy from these charlatans and chancer's who take advantage of our good nature, well they know one single thing that puts them at an advantage. They know that we've lost our will to do anything that may make us look unwelcoming and so, for the sake of ease, we blame fifteen Herefordians who didn't do me or you any harm at all. Leave the fifteen be and deal with the ones who take advantage of our soft underbelly and mock our justice system. Go bother them!

Im away Colin. My warmest regards to you.

George, Good for you lad. Put me in my place. Mind, don't press those buttons. You'll start others doing it and before to long it'll make me look wan.kie and anyone will be thinking they can give me a slapping whenever they feel like it. As for our home and City it was safe before, its safe now and when we wake up tomorrow it'll be safe then. As for this operation, its a dog, its a gimmick and all they've done is demonise a small group of people and told you and I they're onto it. It's all a load of boll.ocks and I personally couldn't care less. Nobody out there drinks ale like I do and anyone who enjoys the feeling of being intoxicated is an ally of mine and someone who I'd like to befriend. My warmest regards George.

And while Im at it, if you read the 'piece' upon the Hereford Times you'll see that they happen to mention that there are fifteen problem drinkers in the City and all, they say, are British. Now, why is that? Why mention it? Why tell the reading public that there are fifteen British drinkers who are making your lives a little more difficult than they ought to be. Think about it. Why mention that. What purpose have they got to emphasise that all the drinkers are British? Me? I think that its entirely to do with controlling what you think, what you know and what you see. It's entirely about engineering all of us to banish any thoughts of individual thinking and believe completely in what we are told by the media that's rapidly becoming an extension of the arm of The State and any beliefs or thoughts you may have and hold are completely at odds with mainstream society. If you think differently, see things differently and believe differently you are on the wrong side of any argument and issue. Again. Why even mention it. Could it be possible that this is not the case? Could it be that the Police are inundated with reports of migrants drinking in public places within the City and for a good and noble cause and promote the idea that all is well and everyone is happy, they wish to flatten that observation and let you know that what you see, what you think and what you believe is completely wrong? Would it have been right to say, 'you've got fifteen local drinkers and they're all European Union migrants'. Of course not. It would have been completely wrong. Have we got fifteen British boozers in the City who are causing some social unrest?. Of course we have. You'd be a fool to say otherwise but, we now have amongst us a culture of heavy drinking in public places by migrant visitors who, because of cultural reasons think that its completely acceptable. So why do they not mention this?

What a load of rubbish. I've read it. 'Take back the streets'. My God! They truly believe they are stars in their own little movie. 'Take back the streets'. To many police programmes. To many cliches and far to many people sat there doing nothing that results in this. 'Take back the streets', which of course implies that the streets were once lost, which means they allowed it to be lost and consequently an admission that buggar all was done before they decided to do something and take back the streets. Bloody rubbish! And just to make sure 'we' become overjoyed with this dynamic pile of urine, they give it a name. Bloody Castlemaine. Good grief! Castlemaine. As if they're the source of all our woes. Why not call it something more akin to the truth. Operation Shops that are taking the pi.ss out of our hospitality and steal from our Country. That'd get my attention. That'd get me thinking, 'hi up. Something's going to get done'. The problem is entirely down to only a tiny number of people who ain't really a great problem being sold booze by proprietors who run shops that don't pay duty. Mix that ups with a Police Service who ain't been doing their job properly and you've got this, Operation Castlemaine and we are going to take back your streets. Get stuffed! The streets were never lost, will never be lost and its highly unlikely that a gimmick like this will convince me that they ever got close to being lost. It ain't difficult. Get out of the cars, off the bikes, out of the offices and simply talk to people. That's it. It ain't to difficult. Mind, when its uninteresting stuff, the boring stuff and the stuff that you can't possibly become interested in, these areas of Police work get ignored and shoved on the back burner and left ignored. Take Back The Streets! Good grief!

Bloody inbox! 'Liar', they say. 'Prove it' and 'Nobody believes a single thing you say'. Sweet loving Jesus! Of course I can't prove it and frankly, given the limited time available to me, I wouldn't want to try and prove it. You'd be an odd sort carrying out observations upon Councillors in the hope that you could catch them masturbating. If detected, these elected people would be perfectly reasonable in demanding that some sort of draconian restraining order was gifted to me by the Magistrate in order to stop me prying into their daily activities. I'll be damned if I try and prove it! Look, its all codswallop. It's all rubbish and its all from the mind of someone who's clearly in need of help from a trick cyclist. I've no control of it. It just comes rushing out. It's high times for some of you able to think in straight lines. Some, including me, haven't got the benefit of this thought process and see things from around the corner. How many times have I got to say its all pigswill! Bloody hell. And to those who now say, 'you are encouraging folk to masturbate at your door step', I say, ' I bloody ain't. Let me make this abundantly clear, if anyone ever, under any circumstances, tips up at my dwelling, rings the door bell and begins to masturbate, my first reaction is going to be a perfectly normal and rational one. It'll be, 'I hope they hurry up. I don't want to miss the head to head final on Pointless.' And if ever this catches on, and hitherto good and honest folk do start to openly masturbating in public, it gathers momentum untill High Town becomes a place you'd wish to avoid, don't blame me. Don't ever blame me. Now stop bloody writing to me!

I see Gridknocker that you've chosen to use the consonant, the letter 'L' in a particularly clever way. You can be sure of one thing, he won't be sailing around upon Morning Cloud enjoying the blessings of heaven. More than likely, he'll be suffering an eternity of being poked up the anus with a red hot poker, which, given the tragedy that was handed out to so many young children, is rather an apt punishment I think.

You haven't offended anyone my good friend. Not at all. For my part its good to see others snapping away at oneanother and know that its buggar all to do with me and anything I may have said. My very warmest regards to you.

And when they come a knocking and say, 'please vote for me', you need to think long and hard about who should win your vote and who you'll opt for in the polling station booth. They'll all say this, that and the other to win your favour and, moreoften than not, you'll cast your vote for the one who you think is the more open, honest and frank with you. That's what we want really. Honesty from the Candidate. But of course, finding a Candidate who you know is being honest with you ain't that easy. Often, after they've left your threshold you'll be muttering, 'can I trust this person', and 'I didn't like the look of him. His eyes were set to close together'. So, how can you be sure the person you are voting for is being honest with you? Well, today, after contributing to another topic, it suddenly struck me how easy it would be to establish whether or not a politician is being honest with you. Masturbation! Yep, the thoroughly unpleasant act that all people engage in when a wicked and erotic thought races through their mind. Everyone does it. They do! They sneak off to some private place and masturbate and so, given that everyone does masturbate, when the local Candidate tips up on your doorstep begging to be given your vote, you ask that single question to establish whether or not they are being honest with you. You say, 'I've listened carefully to all you've said, I like the look of you, your eyes look fine to me, do you masturbate? If that person says, 'Never. I say never! I'd sooner cut me bloody hand off with an axe than engage in that sort of activity', you tell him to, ' be gone. Clear off you dishonest person'. Now, the Candidate that says, 'I'm so pleased you've asked me about this. Yes I do. In fact, more than I should do if the truth be known', then he's the one who wins your vote. This is the Candidate who you should vote for. Why? Because he's displayed honesty and despite the fact that he clearly is mentally unwell,he's displayed a willingness to say anything to win your vote. Mind, don't go voting for the Candidate who staggers up your path, knocks on your door and begins masturbating in front of you. Don't put up with that. Tell him to clear off and call for the Constable demanding that steps are taken to prevent this politician returning and masturbating again. I wouldn't put up with that! If any politician ever tips up on my doorstep masturbating in front of me Im going to take the matter further. I'll be damned if I put up with that.