Happy Christmas

I am now all ready for a 5 day massive blow out. I will cooking swan with all the trimmings. In fact my trimmings will have trimmings. As will the trimmings of the trimmings. And those trimmings will be more swan. And wine of course. If you can't enjoy good food and grog at Xmas when can you apart from every other bloody day of the year especially if some other bugger is paying for it.

I will now share with you my recipe for perfect sprouts even for those who hate them. Boil sprouts for 5 minutes. Slice. Fry in olive oil with some bacon. Add more bacon to taste. Remove the sprouts. Enjoy.

Nice to see David Cameron issue some words about Christian values last week. I am all for phony proclamations of vague faith. Cameron for example is a vaguely practising Christian in the same way that he is vaguely practicing at being a good prime minister.

His treatment of the marginalised in society is a real throwback to the good old days. And we are a traditionally Christian country in that we are still organising groups of people to head over to the Middle East to fight wars.

Still, Dave knows if he wants someone independent to chair a commission or write a report on religion and politics then I am the man. I am sure I can find it within my soul to presume to speak on behalf of the entire brolly sector on the role of Christianity whether they agree with me or not.

It is at this time of year that we remember the real meaning of Christmas. Commercialism.

Speaking of which one thing I am disgusted about is the bloody email Xmas cards I keep getting, especially one from Lester Twobobsworth, chair of the Brolly Lottery Fund. These are a disgrace and an affront to the centuries old tradition of producing expensive yet cheap cards with tacky pictures and trite messages that waste millions of acres of forest while producing profits for the manufacturers and stamp sellers.

Using social media as a way of disseminating seasons greetings is appalling. And with that, can I wish all of my blog readers a Happy Christmas.

Kim Bogg-il

It is with great sadness that one of the truly great power crazed evil deluded dictator figures has passed away. Not only was Kim Bogg-il a true master at self aggrandisement and speaking on behalf of people whether they liked it or not, he was a superb golfer and holds the record for most number of golf umbrellas used during a round.

It is a sign of his greatness that even after he died, his corpse was denying his death and then went out and shot 35 under at Pyongyang Municipal golf course.

And he was a keen promoter of brollies. Though I never take credit for the influence I have had on world leaders such as my bezzie mates Tony Blair and Benezir Bhutto, both of whom I influenced hugely, it is obvious that Kim Bogg-il clearly picked up some tips on leadership when I popped into to North Korea a couple of years ago. As I wrote at the time (September 2009):

"Today I am off to North Korea to try and have a word with the Dear Leader about his recent umbrella obsession (click here)"

And these posts outline what he may have gleaned from watching my style of stuff. See here and here.

So all very sad. At this rate there'll be no evil dictator pariah figures left for Western governments to demonise.

Instead the world has been left to contemplate its reaction to death of man capable of crazed words, beloved by some, as Ronnie Wolfe, writer of On the Buses has also died.

And I suspect that sadly today Ronnie Wolfe will become Mother Theresa to Kim Bogg-il's Diana.

Like a rash

I am all over the FT like a rash. A pink, blotchy, ill thought out, self scratching, self serving rash. As in a rash outpouring of rhetoric about the government's pink, well possibly not pink, but certainly blotchy, ill thought out, self scratching, self serving rhetoric of Bogg Society.

I said it would never work. I said it was nonsense. Now I say it is irreparably damaged though considering no one was ever sure what the fuck it was in the first place, it is hard to ascertain how this damage is assessed.

Still, it gets me in the papers again. I love to be known as controversial and iconoclastic. Even if it does more for my profile than for the causes of my members.

The BUBB Xmas party was a hoot. Hector Rule proved a remarkably adept balloon modeller though the inflatable gallows he left on my chair didn't go unnoticed. Nor the balloon knife he kept thrusting into my back. At least Fab Jobsworth was on hand to provide an excellent geography quiz. Mind you, it did drag on a bit as he had a question for each of the countries I have wangled a free jolly to this year.

I have been up to NCVO to try and sneak into their Xmas piss up and photocopy my arse on Sir Hubert's photocopier to give the BUBB one a rest this year. Despite the fact I am moving into Hubert's box room next year BUBB is definitely not merging with NCVO, largely because that would reduce the number of shindigs we now host separately, especially at this time of year. Yes, we will collaborate on things like canape menus and wine choices, and Hubert can haul his derriere over to my side of the office and make a xeroxed reproduction of it anytime he wants - shared backside office costs are a good reason to work together - but that is as far as it will go.

My Xmas cards are nearly done. Have sent one to Dylan Twirley saying he should be taken out in front of his family and shot for likening me to Jeremy Clarkson. I am nothing like Clarkson. A gobby, opinionated, self serving, shit stirring arse with a deluded sense of his own importance. I can't even drive.

But someone who is firmly off my list is my friend Deborah Allcock-And-Bull at the Directory of Gampal Strange. She is my friend and has been going round telling people for ages that my loan shark business is rubbish. I suspect that my friend Deborah is only saying this because she is running her own pay day loan racket on the side where wet people can lend a brolly at an extortionate rate of interest until they have chance to purchase a new one when they get paid that they then leave on a train two days later thus meaning they need another loan. A nice business model and one I am sure my friend Deborah is keen to protect.

Anyway, can't hanging around here blogging. Those pints and cosy country pub lunches won't consume themselves.

A handy guide to BBC bias

I am often struck by the frequency with which the BBC is accused of bias. Left wingers claim it is doing a fine line spinning for the Coalition and point to Nick Robinson as a prime example of its unfair stance while people on the right hand side of the political spectrum trot out the "stuffed full of bloody do-gooder lefties" line.

Now, I am well known for my contradictory politics, the Brollinger Bolshevik, a true champion of gampagne socialism, quaffing fine wines while discussing how to help the poor. Bashing the greed of bankers while chasing peerages and writing window dressing reports for the Eton elite. Naturally left leaning but with a right wing skew. And while it is possible that there are examples where the Beeb strays from impartiality one way on one subject and the other on another, realistically it can't always be biased both ways at the same time. Which suggests very clearly to me where the real bias lies.

People seem to mistake "bias" with "not presenting things in the same way as I want them presented to fit in with my entrenched ideological standpoint".

But hey what do I know? Maybe I am biased.

Leveson. The nosy bastard

The Leveson inquiry into press ethics and privacy and intrusion continues. It is somewhat ironic that the first I have heard about some of these lurid tales of celebrities is via a public hearing into how their privacy was defiled. He's a right nosy bastard this Leveson fellow. I wouldn't be surprised if he went digging around in the bins of the rich and famous when he isn't trying to get actors and the like to cough up their personal secrets. On TV.

And I must say I am pretty pissed off that I haven't been called as a witness myself. I am sure my phone must have been hacked, if only by Sir Hubert or Dylan Twirley (who has thankfully moved on from NAVCA but not before making some stupid points about supping with the devil that I can be hypocritically snide about).

I have had my battles with the press - yes, Canopy Finance, you know what I am talking about, although I did manage to string a half arsed vanity column pimped by Brolly Weekly for 63 years. The umbrella sector press have been unprincipled enough to publish deeply personal information about me, including opinions expressed privately just because I had already blabbed them on my blog. I ask you. Whatever next? Is nothing sacred any more? It used to be the case that what went into a publicly available blog stayed in a publicly available blog. Not any more. Iexpect they will even quote large chunks of this just to wind me up further (please, I beg you, I need the profile, these peerages don't bestow themselves you know. And God knows I have hoped and prayed they would).

If it is gossip Leveson wants, no one drops more names than me. I am as careless with personal information as Oliver Letwin walking in a park.

So come on Leveson, let me have my day on camera. If it's indiscreetness and tittle tattle for personal glory you are after then I am your man.

Latest on NHS competition

I am taking a brief retirement from retiring from blogging. Not much has happened to me to be honest since I was last here peddling my own brand of self publicising pomposity. I have again been conflicted by my hatred of the evil bankers and my desire to milk them for sponsorship money. I have been pounding the streets knocking on doors and trying to flog the loan of umbrellas, whether people want them or not.

In keeping with my desire to do as many jobs on top of the one I am paid for by BUBB members as possible I had a brief spell working as a diversity consultant for Tramlink in Croydon which involved me dressing in drag and chatting to fellow customers.

Oh, and my secondment as Jeremy Clarkson's scritpwriter seemed to go without notice.

But other than that it has been very quiet really. No overseas trips now for a couple of weeks. The furthest I have been is walking the dog in Richmond Park, herding deer etc. Though confusingly apparently people say I should now refer to Barkles as Farkles.

But I am very excited by the news that the NHS may be able to flog off patient records and medical data to private firms. Anonymously of course. As people may know I am a keen fan of competition in the NHS and MY report earlier this year made this very clear. Competition is not a disease. And if it were there would be a very long waiting list to cure it. And it is not a dirty word. Parasiticfuckvultures is. But not competition.

Therefore I am delighted that I can make some spare cash by auctioning off my medical history. I am even happy to waive anonymity.

So does anyone want to buy some information on when I was diagnosed with slightly high blood pressure? Who wants details of when I got a splinter just above my eye when I was 5 and needed stitches? Let's start the bidding at £3.50.

Diabetes check when I was 12 (negative). Yours for a fiver. Notes on my visit to the nit nurse in 1984? £1.50 and it's yours. £14 for info about the dodgy mole on my back that turned out to be harmless circa 1998.

If only I had a serious illness I'd be laughing all the way to the bank. It's so unfair

Can I charge higher for details of all the children in my family? Sick kids are the future of the profit driven privately run NHS after all so surely it is worth the private sector investing more now.

I will even throw in my my bank details while we're at it. It will save time for when the government accidentally leaks* them later on.

(*Sells them to fund wars in various countries)

Free dinner

There are rumours circulating (started by me) that I may have wangled a free dinner at the Canopy Finance Directors' Group annual bash tonight at the Gampcaster Hotel. I am unable to confirm or deny this (as I am still checking whether there is a croissant and couscous option on the menu).

I am having severe couscous withdrawal symptoms as I have been banned from 487 supermarkets for setting fire to health lottery promotional material. Still, it made a terrific birthday bonfire when the Blacbury Lidl went up in flames on Saturday.

I haven't been officially invited to CFDG's baked-bean-counters trough-out but anyone with a dinner jacket and brass balls can usually just waltz into a fancy hotel and blag a free nosebag.

Assuming I am not too busy retiring from writing blog posts and do decide to attend, please feel fee to come and say "Wassup, Sir Robin, my main man, bro' you're sure looking cool, dude, check out that Knighthood" if you spot me and I have got past security. Some people claim they are unsure what I look like but I can assure you I look in person just as I do in the photos.

Of course I may not be going at all and this could all be some sort of a highly amusing test but if you do introduce yourself to someone who isn't really me you'll still have made a new friend. Albeit a very confused one.

Actually, perhaps I should have a code sentence for people to use. How about "Give me women (or men), wine, and snuff, until I cry out "hold, enough!". That way even if you speak to the wrong person you may at least get something interesting and have a cracking night.

Incidentally, that line is Shelley for non-poetic blog readers. Indeed it's Shelley for the poetic ones as well, but it just sounds more condescending if I highlight my classical Oxford, naturally, education in comparison to those who are uncultured barbarians. Which makes me look even more of a pompous arse when you realise that it's actually Keats. Oops.

Not blogging about the health lottery

Not gallivanting around Australia blogging and definitely not orchestrating a Qantas dispute so I can spend extra time there plus a wangle a bonus stay in Singapore and a visit to Raffles (I am so cliched it's not true. Which is in itself a cliche. Which in itself has become a cliche. Which isn't so much a cliche. Which definitely isn't a cliche) has given me an opportunity to actually get stuck into an issue that could affect all of my members - the disgraceful health lottery. This shocking idea by everyone's favourite porn-baron media mogul Richard Desmond (or to give him is Bogg name, Dick, well, just Dick) basically promises to be better than the existing lottery but basically it's a right lottery and could see a reduction in brollies.

I have publicly gone into my local Lidl and knocked over their health lottery promotional display and torn up their tickets. This is because I passionately believe this lottery is a threat to the umbrella sector and not because I see it as a cause I can hitch my bandwagon to. If that were the case I would have just penned an open letter urging supermarkets to boycott the health lottery as a way of generating publicity for Bubb.

But why stop there? While I am trying to dictate to commercial businesses exactly what legal products they can and can't sell why not add some other things to my basket of grievances. Supermarkets should also ban Dick newspapers the Express and the Star because they are shit. As is Channel 5. No supermarket employees should be allowed to watch it. It's for their own good. And I don't much like kumquats, supermarket own brand custard creams or yoghurts with fruit lumps in them so they should all be banned as well. And if Lidl could stock catering size bags of couscous that would be dandy. In fact that is a crucial issue. I may pen an open letter on that soon. And then launch a commission. Ooooh, yes a commission. That's what we need. Can I chair it? Please? Oh go on, I love chairing things. I won't blog about it - promise.

Because I have retired from blogging. And I am a man of my word.

Spending my retirement from blogging not blogging from Australia

How long can I string this trip to Oz out for and not blog about it? Even the Queen has pissed off back home. I reckon I can stay here until Australia is a Republic or at least until King Charles turns up. Hector? Keep up the good work in my absence

Retiring from retiring?

It's a pity I have retired from blogging or else I'd be having a lovely time in Australia, thinking up some "tasteless digs" to have at people without thick skin.

Resting my weary blog

I can't sustain it any more. As much as I try and travel to as many spurious gasbag gatherings in exotic global locations (this week it is Perth, Australia for some Commonwealth themed excuse) or pimp my loan shark business to BUBB members despite clearly undertaking to keep the 2 roles distinct, my spoofer Sir Stephen Bubb is always one step ahead of me.

Therefore I am taking a rest from blogging though I will still be sharing my nuggets of brolly wisdom on Twitter at @robinbogg

One of those holding blog posts so people don't think I am dead

Still recovering from the Tory party conference. Being chased by a hungry Derek Gherkins is no fun. Other than that the whole shambolic event was beyond parody .

PS Loans are great. I say this completely impartially. I would never advocate lending a brolly to BUBB members simply because I chair another organisation that relies on people lending brollies. That would be like confusing which hat I was wearing.

Which party conference am I at this week? It's hard to tell the difference when you listen to the speeches

Now in Liverpool. More networking and speaking bollocks to truth and those not in power.

Did some media on the Desmond health lottery which I think is a disgrace and tell anyone who will listen about it thus giving it loads of free publicity. How dare someone try and pretend to care about those less fortunate than them in a hollow gesture designed to further his own career. As a direct competitor It will divert money from the National Lottery and there is no place for competition or lotteries in health matters. Unless I am talking about competition and the lottery it will make of the NHS in MY recent report in which case it is perfectly OK and definitely not a dirty word.

We had a joint BUBB-NCVO fringe event (to which Sir Hubert was obviously banned for not being in possession of one. I will never tire of that joke) and had a speech from the great God Megagrand, brother of the man who should have become Labour leader, about our sector's role. He is most effective and talks about how he feels he is "coming home" as his first job was as brolly sector Minister. And he made the most charming remarks about yours truly (he didn't).

Shame he didn't give me a mention in his keynote speech yesterday. He did helpfully point out that he wasn't Tony Blair though he'd better not forget my influence on his career like Tony has if he wants to avoid being compared to him in future. I invented Tony Blair when we were at Oxford, naturally, and single-handedly put God on the first rung to not becoming Prime Minister and he'd do well to remember that.

I thought he made some good points about ending the UK's fast buck culture, which I have already had printed onto T-Shirts and have been selling for £20 a pop. And I thought it was helpful for a man with a vested interest in being seen to tackle vested interests say he was going to tackle vested interests. I deplore vested interests, personally, except the ones that help me.

Hector Rule spoke for the sector in saying at times of gloom we should also remember to have fun and keep our spirits up! Which will come as a great tonic to all the poor broken brollies struggling to make spokes meet that we are supposed to be representing. I mean, it's all very well to let your hair down, but it's even better to brag about it in a way that may be construed as insensitive.

And with that I took to the stage with the rest of the Boggleg Beatles band, the Fab Jobsworth Four. We did a great version of Rain (naturally), I Wanna Hold Your Handle and Lady Gampdonna.

Then there were some requests from the Twitter crowd:

Here Comes the Sun/Rain/Sun, Happiness Ain't a Worn Gamp and the Rubber Parasoul album in its entirety - @scottishwampa

While My Gutter Gently Weeps - @ephemeraldog

Umbrell-i Umbrell-a - @br1mcg

Brollythene Pam - @DRstarT

Helter Shelter - @matthewjrudd

Norwegian Wood-handled Umbrella (This Gamp has Flown) - @domweinberg

And we finished with me belting out "I am the Boggman, I am the Boggman, I am shameless".

Haven't blogged for ages

Have been too busy not spending time in the office and grudgingly collaborating with NCVO on events, including organising a riot to show our displeasure at the government response to the riots. On the plus side we have now a greater canape budget but on the negative I can't belch without consulting Sir Hubert. And we spend more time stating that we are NOT going to merge, despite the fact I will soon be sleeping in his box room, than we do discussing the things the events are about. Not that content matters. An event should stand solely by being an event. And by the quality of the free troughing opportunities.

I have spent time swanning around the Lib Dem conference. God knows why as they are about as effective in the Coalition as homeopathic medicine but it is a good excuse for networking. And networking is important. I have justified many a meaningless jolly with networking. It is what sets us apart from the animals. Actually, knowing what sets us apart from the animals is what sets us apart from the animals. And knowing that knowing what sets us apart from the animals is what sets us apart from the animals is what sets us apart from the animals. And couscous.

I also managed to squeeze in yet another jaunt to Europe (Naples this time) to discuss high end issues of European importance on social investment. Not that any of it will matter when the Euro dies and Europe collapses into the pit of its own bureaucracy but no one will be able to accuse me of not doing my best to prop up a moribund currency with members' money on trips of marginal importance to them.

And on a final note as if I didn't have enough to worry about I see the Umbrella Commission, the regulator, is looking for umbrellas to advise themselves and for organisations like BUBB to help do their job for them. Anyway, got to go as Dame Luci Vinyl needs her cushions plumping and Gamp Danger wants his arse wiping. With Dame Luci's cushions. Or it could be the other way round.

Away again

Surely I am not off speaking at yet ANOTHER overseas conference, this time in Crack Off, Poland? I bet my members can feeeeeeeeeeeeel the value.

Getting to Crack Off in the luxury and style I am accustomed is not as easy as you might think. Or indeed I thought when I accepted the invitation. There is only an Easyjet flight direct. This leaves at 6am and I refuse to get up early, not when I can fly to Warsaw and get the train and speed through the Polish countryside whilst taking a leisurely dinner in dining car. Unfortunately the train journey took 3 days, there was no food and I had to get out at one point and help push. What's the point of me gadding about Europe talking about things of marginal concern to most umbrellas if I don't get a decent feed? Still I am sure my members will be cheered by the fact I have posted some nice holiday snaps on my blog for them to look at while they get on with their boring jobs helping people.

Have I no shame?

When it comes to talking about bankers that is. All evil, bonus-grabbing, state subsidised bastards. Especially that Uneven Blister, CEO of RBS. Except, of course, when they are speaking at and sponsoring BUBB's annual conference. Then they're OK and I am quite happy to give them a platform for their views AND charge my members for the privilege of hearing them.

Back from an extended break in the Philippines where I have been plugging the resort of Donald Holding's Gampkido (an ancient martial art involving umbrellas) partner like some tawdry travel brochure with pictures on my blog (makes a change from plugging Donald's headhunting services I suppose).

I was shown round my new lodgings with Sir Hubert yesterday and I have a fold up bed in a box room. Apparently there are plans to move other umbrella sector leaders in to form some sort of a hub. And we all know how the last hubs worked out don't we. Ridiculous idea. I think we can all get together and agree that collaboration doesn't work unless it is on my terms.

Oh, and was delighted to see Private Eye completely taken in by the blog of my spoofer, Sir Stephen Bubb, doing their own piss take seemingly without realising it is in itself a clever parody of my own chaotic online ramblings. I should be angry about this I suppose but I will don my thickest skin and treat it like the honour it clearly isn't. After all, all publicity is good publicity even the bad publicity.

Why am I in the Philippines?

Somehow I have wangled a free trip to Manila on the premise of me being an expert on social enterprise. I was described as a leading UK social entrepreneur by the Manila Star so it must be true. Even though it isn't.

Why did they ask me to go when my deputy chair Hillda Ogden-Newton&Ridley is eminently more qualified. And nicer to look at. Perhaps because she was busy doing her job and things.

On reflection, though, if it refers to my uncanny and enterprising ability to go to as many social events as possible while pretending to do my job then fair enough. Otherwise I am not sure how I am representing the interests of my members, some of whom aren't even arsed about the social enterprise bandwagon that I wholeheartedly travel in while presuming to speak on behalf of the whole brolly sector about it.

Not sure there is anything I can teach people who have been enterprising enough to sell products about social entrepeneurialship. It's a self fulfilling movement in many ways.

Just a shame I missed a chance to have a ding dong with Paxman on Newsnight about something of far more relevance to most of my members - government plans to force young people to volunteer to use umbrellas in the hope they won't be as naughty in future. I expect Hector Rule did a good job though. I must stop leaving the country in the time it takes someone to say "free foreign beano" or people will assume that it is him really running BUBB.

Re-finding my moral mojo

These riots have had one good outcome. They have reinvigorated my enthusiasm for doing my job properly on behalf of my members. Instead of swanning around engaging on vanity projects for Dave I have been sticking up for brollies that were looted or who those who are trying to shelter the dampest members of society even though their numbers are being cut.

I have been speaking unusual good sense about how we should respond in a positive, constructive manner rather than just handing out irrational, unfair populist justice and flinging people into prison to slake the thirst of those seeking revenge. Mind you, a boost to prison numbers would increase the chances of the brolly sector running prisons which you may recall was a particular hobby horse of mine a couple of years ago. And Dylan Twirley is buggering off from NAVCA so won't be around to get all arsey with me and bring up such trivial matters as umbrella law.

I have been writing letters to the PM and everything although I expect he will be too busy to read them what with cutting short various holidays (official statistics show that he has now spent more time returning from holiday than he has being on a break or doing his job), stopping the riots with his bare hands, jerking off blame, and only today single-handedly taking on Gaddafi armed only with immense moral leadership and Libyarating an entire country. Nearly. What a guy.

As an aside I heard that he has blamed the Tripoli riots on the moral collapse of Libya's sick society, single parents and EU human rights legislation. I wonder if he'll give Gaddafi a second chance?

Oh, and BUBB has also launched a new commission on the unemployment of young brollies. This is the 48,748th Commission launched during my time as CEO and if we'd staffed and formed them all with unemployed young people rather than the usual trough guzzling suspects we'd have solved the problem of disaffected, disillusioned, hopeless and hapless youth by ourselves. Mind you, no one can say we haven't kept young people busy by ensuring there have been plenty of opportunities for them to peel spuds, make canapes, pour fizz and clean up the mess afterwards, for cash approaching the minimum wage, at our many launch parties.

And as a symbol of someone who has had his youthful promise cruelly halted as the job he craved was snatched from his grasp , what better person to chair this latest waffle wagon of speaking on behalf of others whether they want us to or not (and certainly don't ask them to take part) than Rabid Megagrand MP?

Moral collapse of our sick society

I thought it was all soundbite politics from knee jerk jerks but then I saw this distressing sight. Hanging is too good for people who abandon gamps like this.

Red brollies under the bed!

Some twatty MP has accused the National Truss and CPRU (Council for Protection of Rural Umbrellas) of harbouring "left wingers"! These are venerable national institutions we are talking about. They are indeed national treasures run by rather marvellous staff and volunteers. But harbouring Andy Sinton, Tony Galvin, Stewart Downing, John Robertson, John Barnes, Eddie Gray etc? I don't think so.

Not that there is anything wrong with communism as long as it is diluted with a touch of fizzy hypocrisy. I should know what with being a true gampagne socialist - the Brollinger Bolshevik.

The seven deadly Sir Robin Bogg myths

Umbrellas have been highlighting the impact that cuts in government funding are having on sheltering the most vulnerable people in society. And some bloggers, politicians and columnists have made statements about brollies that are wrong. Earl Scalding at NCVO calls them myths and has set himself up as a myth buster, presumably harbouring some Bill Murray/Dan Ackroyd delusion.

So I just wanted to set the record straight. There are no myths. The existence of myths is a myth. Just because so called facts are repeated to fit agendas when they are incorrect does not make them myths. Perception is very important and as long as people believe things are true that is the main thing. For example, consider how I have recently been portrayed all over the media as a brolly sector expert. It has become an established fact, entrenched by appearing all over the media as a brolly sector expert. People see me on the TV labelled as an expert so ask me to appear on something else and give an opinion, regardless of whether I am an expert or not. Self perpetuation in glorious action (also known as the Taxpayers' Alliance effect).

It is vital that this myth about so called myths is debunked as being a myth otherwise it will have an impact on decision making. As in people making decisions that may affect my career. But if there were any of these so called mythical myths, it would probably be the seven listed below.

Myth #1: Sir Robin Bogg lives off government handouts

This is simply not true. While I have whored my Knighthood around shamelessly to boost my profile, I also live off endless free fizz and canapes blagged at networking events, and lunches with bankers (who are all evil apart from when they feed me).

Myth #2: Sir Robin Bogg funded by government isn't a ‘real’ brolly sector expert

Again, this is not true. I am quite capable of proclaiming to be an expert on whatever I choose irrespective of who is asking me to produce, for example, a report on the health service and brollies.

Myth #3: Sir Robin Bogg doesn't pay any tax

Simply not true. I do pay tax, especially when I can fiddle it through expenses and I am a darn sight better at tipping Italian waitresses than my mate Dave, for instance, especially when the tip goes on expenses as well.

Myth #4: Sir Robin Bogg isn't playing his part in dealing with the deficit

More bollocks. No one has worked harder than me at talking the umbrella sector into the blackest scenario that can possibly be painted to put themselves into a position where they can be seen to be the saviour of umbrellas everywhere.

Myth #5 Sir Robin Bogg can just fundraise his way out of trouble

In theory yes, but can I actually be arsed?

Myth #6 Sir Robin Bogg is just sitting on massive piles of cash

Piffle. Yes I am sitting on massive piles but I have ointment for that. This perception that I am accumulating personal wealth from a career built on the back of the dampest members of society is simply not true and I will repeat that statement from the porch of either of my two houses or from any of my many foreign holidays.

Myth #7 Sir Robin Bogg works for free, so what does he need your money for?

More cock and arse. Yes volunteering is very important and the brolly sector is indebted to the number of gamps getting wet for no reward. But this idea that I myself volunteer without recompense is a nonsense. Voluntary positions such as chairing things are only worth doing if there is payment.

A new mophead at Brolly Investment!

After headhunting guru Donald Holding (who else?) who has no personal connection with me whatsoever spent literally minutes thumbing through a few CVs and working out which one gave him the biggest commission potential we have appointed Donovan Wingdings as new chief executive of Brolly Investment Business. This was mainly because by having the same first name as the previous incumbent it makes things a bit easier (it's lucky we didn't end up with the Mellow Yellow troubadour. Or child molesting pop impresario Donovan Kong) and he does seem to know about finance and things (not that I would know) though the fact he didn't go to Oxford, naturally, will doubtless come back to haunt us.

Until Donovan MkII starts in September it is left to me to constantly bang the drum for brolly lending to all of my members whether it is appropriate for them or not and with no apparent conflict of interest between my two distinct roles as chair of BIB and CEO of BUBB.

The alternative Graham Norton set..

I have returned from a few days off sulking in Blacbury. Blacbury is only a few miles away from Chipping Norton and the so called Chipping Norton set of liars and mover and shakers. It is a great shame that Cameron, Brooks and Elizabeth Murdoch have been plotting and scheming and manipulating power while lunching and horse riding and haven't included me.

We need to reclaim Chippy for the people (calling it Chippy should help enormously for a start I think). When I say people I don't mean normal people obviously. We don't want chavs in the Cotswolds - they need to be kept in their ghettoes where we can patronise them for the good of our own careers with promises of cheap brollies. What I mean are either other brolly sector important people like Duncan Gormless of the Brolly Emergency Committee or normal down to earth folk who unlike Murdoch' s evil empire don't seek to wield power by spreading propaganda through barely disguised lies and unsubstantiated stories. Like the Archbishop of Canterbury

It makes my flesh crawl to think that my favourite pub in the area was the scene recently of a tryst between Rupert and Rebekah and I wasn't invited for a menage a trois. I shall be writing to Rupert today inviting him and his gang of criminals to crash on the floor of my box room at Sir Hubert's gaff when I am forced to move there next year.

Still sulking

Not blogging at the minute, haven't posted for a week, I refuse to talk about the highly publicised change in my domestic arrangements. And my spoofer Sir Stephen Bubb has been strangely quiet as well.

I hope he's alright and hasn't stockpiled five years' supply of couscous and croissants and boarded himself up in his Lambeth garret to read up on squatter's rights.

Yes, yes, it's all SOOO bloody hilarious

It seems that at long last BUBB and NCVO have succeeded in uniting the whole umbrella sector. Everyone seems to think that my deputy Hector Rule's announcement that I am to move in as Sir Hubert Carrington's lodger next year is bloody hilarious. This idea is supposedly to foster greater collaboration between us. But I am not doing it. I even refuse to collaborate on the press announcements around the whole stupid scheme, as I am sulking. Not even so much as a blog post.

I will leave Hector to enjoy his 15 minutes cracking jokes to the media, saying the right things. Apparently this is not a marriage of convenience. I should bloody hope not. It's not even a marriage of inconvenience. We may have spent years trying to screw each over but this is taking it too far. I will not be his gamp gimp. And it's not some long term scheme to merge myself and Sir Hubert together into one all-powerful-all-fizz guzzling-late-night-texting-super-brolly-Knight

Hector really has got power crazy since I was off work writing MY NHS report. I suspect this whole plan is to make sure Sir Hubert and I end up killing each other in a domestic brolly incident so he can take over both organisations. Next he will be suggesting that BUBB and NCVO share an office, though that might not be such a bad idea. By recognising the friction that exists between the two organisations, we can really build on that, get right on each other's nerves and drive ourselves further apart. And I would quite like the chance to rifle through Earl Scalding's research files so I can doctor fact based evidence that doesn't fit any assumption and agendas I have. Or we could treat it like a Trojan horse tactic - get inside NCVO so we can bring it down from within.

What is so good about collaborating anyway? Why can't we all just get together and agree that it is a waste of time for everyone's benefit? It only has any worth if it's done guiltily to protect one's hide. Vichy France had the right idea.

There have been all sorts of rumours about why I am being forced to move in with Sir Hubert and I can categorically say they are all wrong apart from the ones that are right.

I have not been given an order by the Council to leave East Lambeth as my tomato plants are threatening to destroy the ecosystem and my neighbours haven't complained about me blasting out Rihanna records late at night.

And it is nothing to do with the fact that I can't afford my mortgage.

The more I think of reasons why I can't share with Sir Hubert, the worse it gets. Apparently he is notorious for losing umbrellas and just picking up the first one he sees when leaving the premises meaning other people end up getting pissed on. He never does the washing up and hogs the TV watching endless videos of his football heroes, Charlton (Bobby and Jack, that is). The only positive I can see is that at least I won't spend ages picking hair out of the plughole after he's had a shower.

There is one other bright light though. If I am to be forced kicking and screaming to live in Sir Hubert's box-room I will need to keep up a string of meetings, parties and launch events so I am rarely in the house. Therefore it is good that I have been appointed to the board of the Bogg Society Truss, the new layer of supportive dressing for the window of the Bogg Society Bank. That daft old bat, My Great Aunt Maud, has refused to let BUBB and NCVO each have a seat saying we are too similar as organisations. Is she fucking kidding? Has she actually watched how we operate? NCVO exists to promote the voice of the brolly sector whereas BUBB exists to promote the voice of me. OK, sometime, more by accident than design, BUBB ends up also speaking up for umbrellas but in day-to-day terms we are very different.

Still, I have had the last laugh as Maud has said we can share a seat, presumably in much the same way that we will have to share a toilet when we live together. And whose turn is it first? Mine. Take that Sir Hubert. Three years til you get a go. THREE YEARS. I think we all know that that means I am top Knight. So at least I will be at those lovely Bogg Society Trust meetings while you're at home painting your toe nails and watching Holby City.

DWP are work shy scroungers

The DWP are a disgrace and work shy scroungers to boot. Instead of doing some proper work on addressing issues in the benefit system, they are lazily seeking to demonise disabled umbrellas as work shy scroungers by themselves scrounging off the popular Daily Express line and perception that most of these brollies are somehow fit to work really and only pretend to be broken to claim assistance from the State.

You would never catch me simply repeating a populist view and ignoring the statistics and details that don't fit the argument to slur an entire group of people. By the way, did I mention that all bankers are greedy, evil bastards?

And by painting the disabled as the villains in an attempt to spin a justification for cutting oodles of cash going to those people in society who actually need it, so they can further feather their own nests, the politicians are both missing and applying paint to the bigger picture.

There are plenty of high quality scroungers at the top end of the system, not all of them are work shy as such, in fact they put a tremendous amount of effort into playing the system for their own benefit. They milk the less well off in society for the purposes of their own career, chasing personal glory on vanity projects, collecting titles, chairing stuff left, right and centre, blagging canapes and cheap fizz at an endless roll call of launches and lunches...

Speaking of people scrounging off the State, I met Princess Anne last week. She has always been a keen champion of the umbrella sector. We joked about how she used to read my column in Brolly Weekly so I gave her a copy of MY report on the NHS to have a look at. I even signed it for her.

And I had the extreme displeasure of having to go to Newcastle last week where I had to meet some poor Geordies patronised by Umbrellabuilders loans of free gamps. Luckily I avoided any attempted popular culture references such as to the song "Bridge on the Tyne is all mine, all mine" (which everyone knows actually goes "Bogg on the Tyne is all mine, all mine").

And I think it would be best not to say anything about the horrors of Norway rather than say something for the sake of being seen to say something.

Over my dead body

So my deputy Hector Rule has a plan to for me to move into Sir Hubert's spare room as his lodger does he? He must be fucking joking. He can shove his cosy canal-side location up his arse. I am not going. I am all for collaboration but the best way to achieve that is by not doing anything together and retaining our own distinct ways of doing things.

Besides, I hear he never buys the milk and uses everyone else's on his grape nuts. And he leaves the seat up.

Leadership and the Evil Empire

Have been unable to blog since getting dressed up like a twat last week and taking my knightly oath (not be confused with my nightly one) at St Paul's, due to serious RSI (really smug infection). I had to promise to bang on about being a Sir as much as is humanly possible in a ceremony that made anachronistic seem like cutting edge.

Since then I have been busy using the term Evil Empire as much as possible. The staggering unravelling of the phone hacking scandal has had me gripped but extremely worried. If my mate Dave is forced to resign it will be very sad. Mostly because he is the only person of any influence in government who has even pretended to read MY report on the NHS and competition.

The way that Rupert Murdoch has gone from being a power hungry player, seeking to control the official line on behalf of everyone else by getting as close to politicians as possible, to a withered, deluded old duffer who seemingly didn't have a fucking clue what was really going on all around him is a fascinating one that has absolutely no parallels with my own career.

Of course it is all about leadership and the saga has many lessons for us all. Some oh so clever so and so has written a new book on leadership called The Shite: The Future of Shirk is Already Here, which might be OK, I haven't actually read it but will still quote from the blurb on the back page in an attempt to make myself sound knowledgeable about such things.

But basically there are only two forms of leadership. Do what you want and sod the consequences, or piss off for two months and hope those left behind can pick up the pieces and do a better job than you.

The umbrella sector's Royal Wedding

I was going to post some pictures of the umbrella sector's Royal Wedding between my director of strategy Prince Fab Jobsworth and the beautiful Lucky Robins which was held in Borders bookshop last weekend. But I am sure the last thing Fab would want is me embarrassing him with tales of getting pissed up and dancing the gay gordons with brollies interspersed with blurry, creepy photographs from the day. It's bad enough for him that I made him invite me with a threat that otherwise I would never release him from his contract to go and take his undoubted talents to a better job.

Open public services - power and choice. Whether you want it or not

On Tuesday I was once again presuming to speak on behalf of the entire umbrella sector by offering support to my mate Dave's plan to carve up public services. I have long been a keen advocate on umbrellas taking on a greater public service delivery role, even the ones who don't want to so it was a further opportunity to get my tongue right up Cameron's pampered posterior. Though I note the presumptuous arrogant clown has stared calling me Rob. He'd better show some respect or I'll stop acting as an unpaid spin doctor for his harebrained schemes.

As it turned out what with the unfolding drama at News International it was a good day to bury a controversial blueprint for public service reform. Incidentally I am still waiting to hear confirmation that my phone was hacked. I do hope so. It would be one in the eye of Sir Hubert if I was hacked and he wasn't. Though given the number of text messages he sends to important people late at night, News International probably thought it would be too much effort to process all of the information on there. I will say this to Sir Hubert though. When it comes to bothering Rick T'Hurd and the like he is an amateur. Text messages at midnight? He should be waiting outside his house, ready to pounce when he leaves for work in the morning. Or better still, do what I do and disguise himself as a box of All Bran so as to give him earache over breakfast. Just don't wear a Duchamp tie or you might end up with semi-skinned milk down it.

Edited highlights of the last week as I have been too busy to keep up with the frantic blogging of my spoofer

It's been a busy old week. First of all I went to a posh stately home to pretend to discuss Bogg Society and Europe. There is no finer setting to patronise the less well off in society than a big fuck off pile of opulent bricks with four poster beds and fine food and wine.

There is a lot we can learn from Europe though. In MY report on the NHS I was aware of different EU health models. I would have liked to develop this theme more in MY report but I judged politically this would not be wise as we can be rather xenophobic about lessons from stupid bloody foreigners!

Then I had Commons select committee hearing on Bogg Society. The Unions talked shite. I spoke eloquently and sensibly. And the Committee seemed fascinated by my blog which made it in numerous mentions, admittedly all by me. "Have you read my blog?" I kept squeaking. "What is a blog?" one of them replied. "Is it another word for a car crash?"

Tony Blair is still resplendent, although I did teach him all he knows when we were at Oxford, naturally. The networking, the chasing of the shiny coin, the unwavering sense of righteousness in the face of evidence to the contrary...he's learnt from the best.

Blair was speaking at an event about the importance of faith in political decisions. You can't go round making moral judgements and starting illegal wars unless you have faith that a non-existent being you believe in is better than that of some foreigners who have oil.

Faith is also very important in the umbrella sector. Please God, let it not rain as I have left my gamp on the bus. People often refer to thunderstorms as being Biblical, by which they mean they're made up and didn't really happen. Indeed faith is often used like a cheap brolly as an ultimately futile veneer of shelter from the deluge.

I used some biblical analogies to pep up my keynote speech to the major Action Gamping conference in Westminster Hall. Though you try and shelter from a plague of locusts with only a golfing umbrella .I was followed by my Great Aunt Maud. I was flattered to hear her describe me as the best advocate our sector has. Though I may have misheard the word advocate. Or indeed the word best. She said what I say sometimes is uncomfortable for government in that it makes them cringe with embarrassment but is always pragmatic and realistic. She didn't really say that, I am just pretending she did although to do so is clearly unpragmatic and unrealistic.

That is certainly what I aim to do leading BUBB. Work with government when we can promote our (my) common objectives and oppose when things ARE NOT FAIR AND DON'T GO MY WAY. Gobby in the press one minute. And the next. But leadership is complex. It involves compromise and judgment. Or so I am told by those who are good at it. I prefer more shouting my mouth off as loudly as I can and attacking critics via my blog to any of that nonsense.

Perhaps at times I get that wrong. (Perhaps? Perhaps? I nearly accidentally made an admission of fallibility. Thank God for the word perhaps) Clearly at other times I get it right or I wouldn't have had a commission from the PM on health choice and competition. Hang on, that was more to do with me being a fierce supporter of competition. After all the PM does have excellent judgement when it comes to who he associates with though there is no truth in the rumour that he only asked me to help out as all former dodgy News of the World editors were busy trying to save their own arses elsewhere.

I was then supposed to then fly off to Edinburgh for the Sector Wedding of the year. My marvellous director of strategy (hang on, we have a strategy?) Fab Jobsworth marrying Lucky Robins in Borders bookshop on Saturday.

But I had to delay my flight as I was asked to number 10 to talk about public service reform. We had a good roundtable to talk about how to promote this. When I say good I mean in terms of my usual measurement of success - how well known the names of the other attendees were for the purpose of dropping them all over my blog. Key ministers like Danny Kendallexander, Gulliver Leftwing although he spent all of his time on Twitter (check out his feed at @oliverletwinmp, he's non stop and gives Twitter readers the full benefit of his wisdom on every subject.). The PM was also there for a period which given that he lives there wasn't surprising though he did give me a look as to say "why are you in my kitchen again? You've written that sodding report so stop bothering me to actually read it".

Tired of thinking of blog post titles about being tired of thinking of blog post titles about being tired

Decided to take a few days break after a lot of my members kept saying I looked tired. Or maybe they said they were tired of looking at me. Whatever, I headed off to Edinboggrh for a rest. But on my return I have been busy getting back into the day job and have not been continually blogging about health issues as that might lead people to believe I can now only think about the NHS and am being retained as an unpaid unofficial spinner of the government line on competition and am using my BUBB role and blog to do this. That would mean I was completely ignoring my many members using umbrellas in other sectors and wouldn't be right.

Hector Rule, my deputy, keeps putting things in my diary to keep me out of the office so he can carry on running BUBB properly while I pretend to have moved on from my NHS derisory, sorry, advisory post.

Still, if I had have been blogging about health stuff I would definitely have labelled the BMA (Brolly Medical Arses) a disgrace because they don't agree with me. What do they know about the health service? They're not experts like I am.

They run down patient choice when we all know patient choice is key to the reforms. I know this because I talked to loads of patients when writing MY report. OK, I didn't but I know that most patients want a choice. And if they don't it's not their choice. Patient choice will be at the heart of the dismantled NHS as people will have to be patient when making a choice about how much time they decide to wait for unprofitable treatment before paying cash to the private sector vultures.

I was furious with my interview in Brolly Weekly. OK, they did a very good job of allowing me to pitch a one sided justification for my controversial decision to presume to speak on behalf of the whole umbrella sector in helping Cameron out with MY report. But the cartoon was a disgrace. Made me look as if I had been trying to apply clown make-up on a roller coaster.

I will just finish with a plea to the Rough Justice Secretary Gareth Sharke who has announced plans to make it mandatory to stab burglars or indeed anyone who looks at your stuff longingly. But I am confused by this. Does it mean that attacking burglars is only permitted with a knife or are other instruments allowed? Because all of my knives have been stolen by bastard burglars. Would an umbrella suffice or would there be legal complications? If brollies are allowed I will simply set up a trap for all of my enemies (Hubert, Dylan Twirley etc) and lure them into my home, bludgeon them with my gamp and claim I thought they were robbing me. But I am sure no one else would exploit this ill-thought through populist Middle England plan that values possessions over life as a way to wriggle out of, for example, a domestic incident. Would they?

Back on the blog

Haven't been blogging for ages. It's not cos I am lazy, it's just I have nothing to say. I know usually that doesn't hinder me but I am still knackered after my 1,456 hour shift at the hospital.

I hope no one looks at MY report on NHS and competition too closely and asks any questions about ooooh I don't know, competition law in Europe, cos I have completely ignored that such was my fervour to say "competition is not a disease" 487 times. "Competition is not a disease, but might be when Brussels has a look at it" doesn't have quite the same ring about it. But as long as I don't mention my oversight in my blog I should get away with it.

We are now into the recruitment process for the new CEO of the Brolly Investment Business. Donald Holding, headhunter supremo, is trawling the highways and byways of the City and Sector to find that special individual who will lead him to even greater commission on the back of me using a personal friend without any awareness as to what conflict of interest may mean.

We said goodbye to Donovan Lewis last night with champagne in a down market pub by Goldman Sachs. I will leave you to pick out the contradictory bones out of that last sentence. I wish him well, he will be hard to replace but with a bit of luck Donald will recruit me so I can, as I have mentioned before, supplement my meagre chair's salary with a decent wedge.

And I have been at BUBB's annual summit where all of the big brollies in the umbrella sector get together so I can Lord it over them (as a rehearsal for the real thing). They have missed me. Even those who haven't. I am back.