Thursday, 31 March 2011
You make you're own luck...but when will I get the breaks?
As reported the other day, for some reason best known to itself, my blog has stopped recognising line and paragraph breaks. I have had my best people working on this, as well as Hector Rule, Geof Sachell and Fab Jobsworth. The combined BUBB staff have 1,400 Oxford, naturally, degrees in total but none of them can solve this conundrum. I am pressing the RETURN key now. And again. And again. I am going to destroy my keyboard at this rate. But is it showing up in the published text? No, all you see is one block of text. Not easy to read is it? RETURN RETURN RETURN. Oh, what's the use? I suspect a plot. They cannot stop me blogging but the can reduce the effectiveness and power and clarity of my words by making it harder to peruse them. I bet Sir Hubert has got one of his tech monkeys to infiltrate my machine. Or Dylan Twirley at NAVCA or, well it could be anyone really. Probably one of those numpties attacking big brollies, Hang on, I bet it's the government. T'Hurd and my Great Aunt Maude see me as a real threat to them. Or perhaps austerity measures have resulted in a cut in blog space on the interweb. Whoever it is, please make it better. GIVE ME SOME BREAKS! What will be next? Will they start reducing the font size to make it even more difficult to read? Or change the font to webdings to really flummozx people? All I say is do your best - whatever you try and tamper with, I will still have my say. Louder than ever before. [Seriously, if someone can help with this infernal curse upon my words then please do so. In the interests of Bogg Society. Otherwise I will have to ask Dom Blond and Lord Gnat Pee round to do it for me.]
Me. In the Guardian. Tomorrow
Unbelievably, I will be doing a live Q&A for the Guardian voluntary sector network website tomorrow morning at 11am. Please see here for more details and do tune in or whatever you do on the internet for what promises to be something or other. PS Apparently my blog has unnecessary rude words. Fucking cheek eh? But I promise to be on my cleanest behaviour and not soil and sully the Guardian's hallowed and pure websheets.
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Give Greg the clap!
I know, I know, the title of this blog is childish, but honestly Sir Stephen, if you're going to present me with an open goal like that I will slot it away. But what a goal, eh? What a result. All those lovely brollies from the Umbrellabuilders fund going into the Gampventure Capital Fund (chaired by me as part of the cushy Brolly Investment Business gig) as a gampdowment. This is great testament to the power of our model of making a lot of noise and pleading to those in power. It has nothing to do with Greg Clark or Reg Smirk or whatever his name is. Now - what shall I do with the loot?
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
Littlejohn besmirches the umbrella industry
I won't link to it as I don't want to give the fuckwit any page hits but Richard Littlejohn has written something today in the Daily Mail that puts me in a very difficult position, and makes me feel a little bit grubby. In a space filling bit about how weather forecasts for a barbecue scorcher of a summer are always wrong (this follows some absolutely genius shitewaffle about Norman Tebbitt being the best PM this country never had - in much the same way presumably that Littlejohn is the best Nobel Prize winning writer we never had) he oh so amusingly comments that we should "expect a small tsunami. Better start stocking up on umbrellas, dinghies and galoshes, just in case." Aside from the ill-judged use of the word tsunami (he must have been taking advice from Toby Young who predicted a tsunami of violence ahead of the TUC march) I feel that if he is advocating umbrella usage I am compromised. It's like Adolf Hitler supporting the Vegetarian Society. If the umbrella industry has a boom period because of this I won't be able to claim any credit for it without seeming to ally myself to him. I may have to resign over this. As long as I don't have to give the knighthood back.
Monday, 28 March 2011
Red Brolly Day - a further appeal
Two of the most prolific and insightful commenters on this blog are Sir Fruity Metcalfe and Sir Bumble of Heep. It woud be great if they could send in a pictures of themselves with brollies to help in my appeal. Waddya say chaps? Sir Hubert has sent his picture in incidentally. The crawler.
My role in the Fortnum & Mason fracas
[Apologies but some technical difficulties mean that when I publish this post it is not recognising paragraph breaks. If anyone can offer some technical help to solve this crisis I will a) be entirely grateful b) laud it as a victory for Bogg Society (as suggested by @MrDaveConroy)] I only popped into Fortnum & Masons on Saturday to get some fancy couscous and croissants for my Boat Race picnic. But I was so shocked by the prices that I exclaimed loudly "I am not paying £48 for 15 ounces of a North African semolina wheat grain product, the robbing bastards" and next thing I knew thousands of people protesting about the cuts piled in and occupied the store in solidarity. This may have had something to do with the use of umbrellas in organising the protest but it was nothing to with me. What I did learn was that contrary to popular belief Fortnum & Mason is NOT a posh grocer for the privileged that symbolises the deep divide in our society, but a charity. They give away literally millions of tweed umbrellas every year to protect the dampest in society. Yes really. Although this interpretation may not be true and has simply been over quail's egged by those who seek to undermine the right to protest. I got so caught up in the whole protest vibe that the rest of the evening is a bit of a blur. It may seem crackers but I always felt it inevitable that the TUC march would target the Ritz. And then it all kicked off in Trafalgar Square. How sad that place named after a stupid battle between two sides that couldn't agree should have ended up as a stupid battle between two sides that couldn't agree. It was unfortunate that the protest degenerated into violence and many commentators seemed delighted by this while at the same time condemning it. To be so smugly pleased that there were ructions to prove a point is almost as bad as perpetrating the violence. And the media seemed to be almost willing violence so as to make good TV. There were reports that Sky News were offering protesters £25 to throw the Spectator journalist and activist Laurie Penny at a policeman. Penny is a brave and fearless campaigner who gets attacked by a policeman every 4 minutes on average. She just seems to attract trouble - maybe she is the one secretly causing it - the proverbial bad Penny. After doing their best to have a bloody good riot to film, the media then gave a disproportionate focus to the minority that wrongly cause the trouble even though people getting arrested in city centres every Saturday night after a few beers never get mentioned. Still, the UK was shamed by events and there were many people injured by the hyperbole and bollocks spoken in the media about what was really happening. While the Royal Family were strangely absent (Camilla apparently said there were more unwashed oiks than you could poke a stick at - though you wait until April 29th) you couldn't move for tripping over the relatives of 1970s progressive rock stars getting into trouble, looking for their own bit of Charlie Gilmour action. Keith Emerson's niece was arrested for stealing a vat of goose liver pate from Fortnum & Mason while the second cousin of the drummer from Tangerine Dream was spotted mounting Nelson's column and then denying she knew what it was there for. At least there was international support for the protesters. Gampddafi called for the UK government to stand down after seeing protests in our country's capital on the TV and he then launched air strikes to help liberate the protesters from their oppressors. All of this meant I didn't get to the Boat Race, which was a shame. I love the Boat Race. It is my favourite meaningless sporting event named after the Cockney rhyming slang expression for the face. This year's once again saw Oxford, naturally, and Cambridge in the final. And the winner was Oxford, naturally, though they were helped by the fact that the Cambridge cox got lost because she was holding her map upside down. I could finish with a lame satirical stereotypical comment about the juxtaposition of upper class toffs rowing down a river while plebs were rowing about cuts. But I won't.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Setting up a new Toby Young
People have different views about Toby Young. Some think he works well. Some think he's barely adequate but tolerate him. But I find him completely inappropriate and ineffective. Therefore I am going to set up a new Toby Young in West London, a free Toby Young that can operate outside the limitations of the existing one. Some people have mistaken the aims of this initiative (which I am calling the Free Young Love campaign) and think I am planning to set up a free school. But I am not. That would be a stupid idea that would never work. But a free Toby Young...the possibilities are endless. UPDATE: My campaign has been officially endorsed by the man himself. See here
Friday, 25 March 2011
Red Brolly Day update
It was great that Gampic Relief's Red Brolly Day fundraising appeal raised over £74m.
But the final total is even higher than reported. My own appeal for umbrella pictures has already raised literally pounds to help protect some of the dampest members of society both in the UK and abroad. Even my spoofer Sir Stephen Bubb has risen to the challenge and stuck his head above the parapet (while standing on a very big box I suspect) to send in a charming photo. He looks a complete gamp natural - fantastic posture and in the right place to assess the sky for precipitation before stepping out with brolly in perfect position (Thanks Sir Stephen, I will give a fiver to Gampic Relief for that).
I will be publishing more of the pictures on my blog next week, but I am still hoping to get some more snaps of umbrella sector bods with an umbrella, preferably red.
If I get 5 more pictures, I will increase my pledge and donate a whopping £20.
NCVO and CFDG - I am particularly looking at you here. Send your snaps to boggrobin@gmail.com or via @robinbogg on Twitter.
But the final total is even higher than reported. My own appeal for umbrella pictures has already raised literally pounds to help protect some of the dampest members of society both in the UK and abroad. Even my spoofer Sir Stephen Bubb has risen to the challenge and stuck his head above the parapet (while standing on a very big box I suspect) to send in a charming photo. He looks a complete gamp natural - fantastic posture and in the right place to assess the sky for precipitation before stepping out with brolly in perfect position (Thanks Sir Stephen, I will give a fiver to Gampic Relief for that).
I will be publishing more of the pictures on my blog next week, but I am still hoping to get some more snaps of umbrella sector bods with an umbrella, preferably red.
If I get 5 more pictures, I will increase my pledge and donate a whopping £20.
NCVO and CFDG - I am particularly looking at you here. Send your snaps to boggrobin@gmail.com or via @robinbogg on Twitter.
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
Further thoughts on the Bodget
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES. Get in there. We beat NCVO with our Bodget press release by one minute. Never mind the quality, feel our speed, Sir Hubert. True, Caryon Notasbadasbefaw at the Canopy Finance Director's Group rushed one out 43 minutes earlier but they actually understand all of this finance stuff, what with it being their job and that, and aren't just pretending.
As predicted by me earlier today (how psychic am I?) I have taken credit for a positive development. Well, I say development. More something that wasn't in the Bodget that I feared would be. Community Investment Gamp Relief wasn't removed and this was solely down to to a letter I wrote to George urging him to keep it, which he probably didn't even read. Thanks George. Incidentally it was due to a letter I wrote to the South African government in the early 80s that Nelson Mandela was eventually released. But did I ever get the credit? No.
It was also pleasing to see that there was no removal of all sorts of other things that are advantageous to the brolly sector - not that there was any suggestion they would be - but still, all down to me I expect.
The brolly gift aid tinkering was all very well but doesn't go far enough. Basically, until all tax on brolly donations can be reclaimed by me personally, I won't be happy.
Basically it was a great Bodget for petrol guzzling big businesses. The fact that a reduction in petrol prices is so central to any crowd pleasing headlines shows exactly where our society places its priorities and will make it harder to pay for our dalliance in Libya (which is completely unconnected with oil).
At least the rise in the personal tax allowance won't be negated by rising inflation or getting less services for our money in the coming months.
On a lighter note it was good to see my protege God Megagrand in knockabout form in response to Osborne though Norman Lamont and Apple have announced joint legal action against him for slander.
Just to further impose my economic nous on everyone, there were a few areas where I felt Osborne did miss a trick.
He could have imposed a windfall tax on loopholes as there always seem to be plenty of those.
And he could certainly have imposed a windfall tax on me, me, me short term personal financial gain/loss reactions to the budget that ignore a wider society view.
What about a windfall tax on Derek Gherkins? And why not one on windfall while he was at it?
Plus just think of the money he could have raised with a levy on gushing over the top tributes to Liz Taylor?
Because ultimately the 2011 budget will always be known as the Liz Taylor Commemorative Budget (sic) - everyone screwed 7 different ways and we're all gone for a Burton.
As predicted by me earlier today (how psychic am I?) I have taken credit for a positive development. Well, I say development. More something that wasn't in the Bodget that I feared would be. Community Investment Gamp Relief wasn't removed and this was solely down to to a letter I wrote to George urging him to keep it, which he probably didn't even read. Thanks George. Incidentally it was due to a letter I wrote to the South African government in the early 80s that Nelson Mandela was eventually released. But did I ever get the credit? No.
It was also pleasing to see that there was no removal of all sorts of other things that are advantageous to the brolly sector - not that there was any suggestion they would be - but still, all down to me I expect.
The brolly gift aid tinkering was all very well but doesn't go far enough. Basically, until all tax on brolly donations can be reclaimed by me personally, I won't be happy.
Basically it was a great Bodget for petrol guzzling big businesses. The fact that a reduction in petrol prices is so central to any crowd pleasing headlines shows exactly where our society places its priorities and will make it harder to pay for our dalliance in Libya (which is completely unconnected with oil).
At least the rise in the personal tax allowance won't be negated by rising inflation or getting less services for our money in the coming months.
On a lighter note it was good to see my protege God Megagrand in knockabout form in response to Osborne though Norman Lamont and Apple have announced joint legal action against him for slander.
Just to further impose my economic nous on everyone, there were a few areas where I felt Osborne did miss a trick.
He could have imposed a windfall tax on loopholes as there always seem to be plenty of those.
And he could certainly have imposed a windfall tax on me, me, me short term personal financial gain/loss reactions to the budget that ignore a wider society view.
What about a windfall tax on Derek Gherkins? And why not one on windfall while he was at it?
Plus just think of the money he could have raised with a levy on gushing over the top tributes to Liz Taylor?
Because ultimately the 2011 budget will always be known as the Liz Taylor Commemorative Budget (sic) - everyone screwed 7 different ways and we're all gone for a Burton.
Budget response
Just arrived back from Oz in time to react to the Budget. While standing at the luggage carousel at Heathrow with 14 bags of wine stained pants I get a text from Dr Hector Rule saying that we have blagged some cash out of the government for something or other. Although we had to pretend to work more closely with Sir Hubert's mob at NCVO to get it.
Much is made of our supposed rivalry but we love each other really. Honest. Just because we disagree on a number of key things and have slagged each other off in the past and have refused to collaborate for the good of the sector a number of times does not mean we disagree on a number of key things or dislike each other or can't work together.
And I am sure Sir Hubert would say exactly the same thing if he could bring himself to admit that I am always right.
And just because we are competitive in how we respond to things does not mean we are competitive in responding to things.
Right, glad we've cleared that up - let's concentrate on seeing who can bash out a budget response quickest this year.
Ours is nearly ready to go. Just pondering how much credit I should try and take personally for the changes on brolly gift aid and umbrella legacies announced by Osborne. Or should I just have a whinge that it doesn't go far enough? As usual? After all, the gift aid changes will largely benefit smaller umbrellas, not the GREAT BIG ONES I love to champion.
Much is made of our supposed rivalry but we love each other really. Honest. Just because we disagree on a number of key things and have slagged each other off in the past and have refused to collaborate for the good of the sector a number of times does not mean we disagree on a number of key things or dislike each other or can't work together.
And I am sure Sir Hubert would say exactly the same thing if he could bring himself to admit that I am always right.
And just because we are competitive in how we respond to things does not mean we are competitive in responding to things.
Right, glad we've cleared that up - let's concentrate on seeing who can bash out a budget response quickest this year.
Ours is nearly ready to go. Just pondering how much credit I should try and take personally for the changes on brolly gift aid and umbrella legacies announced by Osborne. Or should I just have a whinge that it doesn't go far enough? As usual? After all, the gift aid changes will largely benefit smaller umbrellas, not the GREAT BIG ONES I love to champion.
Wednesday, 16 March 2011
Come on people - let's see the colour of your brollies
It wasn't a joke - I am genuinely seeking brolly pictures to raise money for Gampic Relief's Red Brolly Day.
I have been inundated with an enthusiastic response (almost on a par with how the sector feels about Bogg Society but slightly less) and have had several pledges but need more actual photos.
I will donate for every picture received.
Send them to boggrobin@gmail.com or via Twitter at @robinbogg
And Sir Stephen, my dearest spoofer, if you can't manage an umbrella picture from Oz, how about one with a peak in it (as I believe umbrellas are known there)? Or even a pique?
I have been inundated with an enthusiastic response (almost on a par with how the sector feels about Bogg Society but slightly less) and have had several pledges but need more actual photos.
I will donate for every picture received.
Send them to boggrobin@gmail.com or via Twitter at @robinbogg
And Sir Stephen, my dearest spoofer, if you can't manage an umbrella picture from Oz, how about one with a peak in it (as I believe umbrellas are known there)? Or even a pique?
On the ferry
I am supposed to be on holiday but I am so committed to my work I can't help blogging. Especially as I have a 489 day ferry journey from Tasmania back to Umbrellabourne. Well, I say ferry, I am actually rowing across in an upturned umbrella. But I have lost my paddle in a shitty creek so am just drifting aimlessly with only my thoughts and Blackberry to keep me company (so no change there).
When I get back to Umbrellabourne I will be having some boozy lunches and pondering the great philosophical question of our time - who is Sir Stephen Bubb?
But for now all I have to do is blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog 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and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog 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and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog.
Belch
When I get back to Umbrellabourne I will be having some boozy lunches and pondering the great philosophical question of our time - who is Sir Stephen Bubb?
But for now all I have to do is blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog and blog 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Belch
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
At last. Recognition from Dom Blond
Regular readers will know that Bogg Society was my idea, nicked by Dom Blond. I have challenged Dom on this before, especially on his keenness to attribute any positive happening as a victory for his (mine) brainwave.
But only now has Dom Blond had the good grace to recognise that I am a driving force behind this rhetorical, hard-to-explain, Emperor's new spats nonsense.
On Twitter earlier I suggested to Dom that the Olympic countdown clock breaking down is a victory for Bogg Society as we'll now all have to count the days ourselves without official help.
Dom, using his Twitter handle Phillip Blond replied thus
So it is official - I am a victory for Bogg Society. And of course I "get it", Dom. In so much as there is nothing to get.
Dom has since admitted to teasing me about this (always nice to be teased by a blond) but the fact he has shown the willingness to engage is truly a victory for etc etc
And while we're on the subject of the Olympic clock, it was always going to go wrong after a misheard instruction led to a great big cock being installed to countdown the days until the opening ceremony by mistake.
But only now has Dom Blond had the good grace to recognise that I am a driving force behind this rhetorical, hard-to-explain, Emperor's new spats nonsense.
On Twitter earlier I suggested to Dom that the Olympic countdown clock breaking down is a victory for Bogg Society as we'll now all have to count the days ourselves without official help.
Dom, using his Twitter handle Phillip Blond replied thus
So it is official - I am a victory for Bogg Society. And of course I "get it", Dom. In so much as there is nothing to get.
Dom has since admitted to teasing me about this (always nice to be teased by a blond) but the fact he has shown the willingness to engage is truly a victory for etc etc
And while we're on the subject of the Olympic clock, it was always going to go wrong after a misheard instruction led to a great big cock being installed to countdown the days until the opening ceremony by mistake.
Monday, 14 March 2011
Gampic Relief challenge to Sir Stephen Bubb
Further to my last post, if I get a picture of my spoofer Sir Stephen Bubb with a brolly, preferably red, in Australia I will donate a fiver to Gampic Relief. It would be nice if he reciprocated my pledge if I publish said photo.
JUBBLIES
I expect everyone has been on tenterhooks wondering how I will respond to the terrible events in Japan, especially given my own links with the country through JUBBLIES (Japanese Umbrella Backing Body - Lunching In Endless Sushi), the Japanese umbrella body modelled on BUBB (see here)
How we communicate our feelings in light of the enormity of things like this is always a dilemma - one has to tread a fine line between trite and hysterical, and in truth often no words can properly say what is required.
The tragedy reignites a crucial debate following the 2004 Boxing Day disaster about how we respond and what language is appropriate. What it boils down to is whether Tsunami should have a capital T or not? And if so why isn't earthquake capitalised?
Other than that will I:
a) Play it low key, offer some standard words of comfort?
b) Go go over the top in a cringe worthy way?
c) Cut and paste some copy from my visit to Japan, and Sendai in particular, in September 2009 which just happens to make some mention about me being a broken record - particularly apt when it comes to the way I manage to shoehorn so many references about my Knighthood into my blog even if it is contained within a prescient post repeated from 18 months ago.
Yep, I'll go for option c)
"Another plate of raw marine-kill for breakfast is not a great way to start Saturday and I crave a nice bowl of Golden Grahams. And a croissant. You'd think a culture that has spawned some of the great technological developments would have found a way of cooking fish but no. However, my hotel has a lovely hot spring though there is nearly an incident when I expose myself to a bathful of females after wondering into the wrong room by mistake.
Then it is on to our 48th launch event in Sendai. More dreary questions on "issues" and I waffle on about the need for big ideas and innovative thinking unlike that displayed by some of my colleagues in the UK who manage to be both subversive and reactionary at the same time.
One of the young activists, who is also obviously a piss artist, draws my name in traditional Japanese characters and the translation means "broken record", which isn't entirely inappropriate.
Sendai is a lively town and Pepe Ohdearie takes me out on the lash. I somehow end up competing in an unlicensed sumo event and then it's onto a karaoke bar where my version of Umbrella-ella-ella is met with stunned appreciation.
Sunday is a quiet day and I have a long chat with Professor Nopun Intendedishiro (Nissan Institute of Japanese Studies at Oxford, naturally), the chair of JUBBLIES who has managed to wangle himself a nice little earner by appointing himself as its first paid chief executive, about future ways of working together.
I am frankly completely bored by all of this now and the healthy food is doing my noggin (and digestive system) in. So I decide to duck out of the rest of the launches and head back to Tokyo."
September 2009
How we communicate our feelings in light of the enormity of things like this is always a dilemma - one has to tread a fine line between trite and hysterical, and in truth often no words can properly say what is required.
The tragedy reignites a crucial debate following the 2004 Boxing Day disaster about how we respond and what language is appropriate. What it boils down to is whether Tsunami should have a capital T or not? And if so why isn't earthquake capitalised?
Other than that will I:
a) Play it low key, offer some standard words of comfort?
b) Go go over the top in a cringe worthy way?
c) Cut and paste some copy from my visit to Japan, and Sendai in particular, in September 2009 which just happens to make some mention about me being a broken record - particularly apt when it comes to the way I manage to shoehorn so many references about my Knighthood into my blog even if it is contained within a prescient post repeated from 18 months ago.
Yep, I'll go for option c)
"Another plate of raw marine-kill for breakfast is not a great way to start Saturday and I crave a nice bowl of Golden Grahams. And a croissant. You'd think a culture that has spawned some of the great technological developments would have found a way of cooking fish but no. However, my hotel has a lovely hot spring though there is nearly an incident when I expose myself to a bathful of females after wondering into the wrong room by mistake.
Then it is on to our 48th launch event in Sendai. More dreary questions on "issues" and I waffle on about the need for big ideas and innovative thinking unlike that displayed by some of my colleagues in the UK who manage to be both subversive and reactionary at the same time.
One of the young activists, who is also obviously a piss artist, draws my name in traditional Japanese characters and the translation means "broken record", which isn't entirely inappropriate.
Sendai is a lively town and Pepe Ohdearie takes me out on the lash. I somehow end up competing in an unlicensed sumo event and then it's onto a karaoke bar where my version of Umbrella-ella-ella is met with stunned appreciation.
Sunday is a quiet day and I have a long chat with Professor Nopun Intendedishiro (Nissan Institute of Japanese Studies at Oxford, naturally), the chair of JUBBLIES who has managed to wangle himself a nice little earner by appointing himself as its first paid chief executive, about future ways of working together.
I am frankly completely bored by all of this now and the healthy food is doing my noggin (and digestive system) in. So I decide to duck out of the rest of the launches and head back to Tokyo."
September 2009
Fundraising for Gampic Relief's Red Brolly Day
Despite my selfish, self-serving exterior I do have a heart. And I have hit upon a way of raising money for Gampic Relief's Red Brolly Day this Friday (I suggested they called it brown nose day in my honour but they refused). Gampic Relief do great work providing shelter for the dampest members of society both in Africa and the UK
For each photograph I receive of a named person holding an umbrella (ideally red but can be any colour as long as there is something red elsewhere in the photo), preferably doing something silly or promoting their charity/cause/organisation (and it has to be the person who it claims to be, not just a random photograph off the interweb - and I will know because who do you think puts all the random gamp pictures on the interweb in the first place eh?) I will donate money to Gampic Relief.
I haven't decided how much yet because if I say 50p per picture and 6 people respond I will be in trouble. But let's just say 50p for argument's sake and I can always lie about how many photos I get and destroy the evidence later if necessary.
If I get any particularly famous brolly sector people responding I may even up my pledge to levels around the 65p mark.
Alternatively you could choose to donate a sum to Gampic Relief yourself (through its spoof Comic Relief organisation) in return for me using the photograph in a self-congratulatory blog post later this week.
Send photographs to boggrobin@gmail.com or via Twitter to @robinbogg
Not only could we raise literally pence for a good cause, I will have some top quality umbrella porn to keep me company.
For each photograph I receive of a named person holding an umbrella (ideally red but can be any colour as long as there is something red elsewhere in the photo), preferably doing something silly or promoting their charity/cause/organisation (and it has to be the person who it claims to be, not just a random photograph off the interweb - and I will know because who do you think puts all the random gamp pictures on the interweb in the first place eh?) I will donate money to Gampic Relief.
I haven't decided how much yet because if I say 50p per picture and 6 people respond I will be in trouble. But let's just say 50p for argument's sake and I can always lie about how many photos I get and destroy the evidence later if necessary.
If I get any particularly famous brolly sector people responding I may even up my pledge to levels around the 65p mark.
Alternatively you could choose to donate a sum to Gampic Relief yourself (through its spoof Comic Relief organisation) in return for me using the photograph in a self-congratulatory blog post later this week.
Send photographs to boggrobin@gmail.com or via Twitter to @robinbogg
Not only could we raise literally pence for a good cause, I will have some top quality umbrella porn to keep me company.
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Map of Tas
It's raining. Not an entry of interest in a blog in the UK obviously, or so people like Sir Stephen Bubb my spoofer would have you believe (rain? not interesting? what is he on?), but it's not so common here.
Having said that I have been very impressed with Australian public services. I was without a brolly and getting seriously wet but was able to walk into an umbrella centre and secure an appointment to be assessed for a gamp straight away. You wouldn't get that in England.
I am en route to Tasmania and as I will be exploring the island taking blurry photos to stick at the end of blog posts (I have never been one to subscribe to the old adage that there is nothing more boring than other people's holiday snaps) I will need a good map. But whenever I ask people where I can get hold of a cheap but serviceable map of Tas, they keep laughing at me. One said "don't you mean a mapatasi, mate" and literally pissed himself. I have no idea why this request should be so funny so if someone could shed some light on this I would be grateful.
Having said that I have been very impressed with Australian public services. I was without a brolly and getting seriously wet but was able to walk into an umbrella centre and secure an appointment to be assessed for a gamp straight away. You wouldn't get that in England.
I am en route to Tasmania and as I will be exploring the island taking blurry photos to stick at the end of blog posts (I have never been one to subscribe to the old adage that there is nothing more boring than other people's holiday snaps) I will need a good map. But whenever I ask people where I can get hold of a cheap but serviceable map of Tas, they keep laughing at me. One said "don't you mean a mapatasi, mate" and literally pissed himself. I have no idea why this request should be so funny so if someone could shed some light on this I would be grateful.
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Them women creatures
Today is International Women's Day (IWD), this year endorsed by Richard Keys and Andy Gray, or as they call it here in Australia, Patronise a Sheila Day. It is also pancake day. So to honour this a famous suffragette should now be known as Emmeline Pankcake.
So ladies! Why not mark IWD by making the men in your life some pancakes. Because we're all useless tossers.
Is the fact that there is an IWD at all tacit admission that the other 364 belong to men?
Seriously, don't go worrying your pretty little heads about IWD or take what I write to heart. IWD is a great chance to reflect on the important and undervalued role played by women in socie....ooooh, look, SHOES!
A lot has been achieved since IWD 1992, especially in terms of female spelling.
And I am sure Dom Blonde will claim that IWD is another victory for Bogg Society. Pancake Day certainly is.
Joking aside women are very important and apparently new research has revealed that half or the world's population is now female. Incredible. Yet the singer Annie Lennox tells us today that women perform 66% of world's work, earn 10% of income and own 1% of the world's property. That is outrageous. 10% is far too high. And Annie Lennox is one to talk. She was in a band where Dave Stewart did 66% of the work and she got 90% of the credit.
I see that today of all days there were no women speaking at the Funding the Future of the Event Organisers Who Must be Men conference. This is a disgrace as there is plenty of high profile totty in senior positions in the sector who I will patronise by calling them gorgeous. Surely it wouldn't have been too difficult to stick a couple of them up on stage, on a pedestal, so delegates could politely listen to their views.
Right, that's enough blatant sexism masquerading as irony - half of us have work to do - we can't all sit around having an international day.
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and I may give up Lent. Or I may give up pancakes and international women. But will I find a decent church here in Australia where I can get my forehead grubby?
So ladies! Why not mark IWD by making the men in your life some pancakes. Because we're all useless tossers.
Is the fact that there is an IWD at all tacit admission that the other 364 belong to men?
Seriously, don't go worrying your pretty little heads about IWD or take what I write to heart. IWD is a great chance to reflect on the important and undervalued role played by women in socie....ooooh, look, SHOES!
A lot has been achieved since IWD 1992, especially in terms of female spelling.
And I am sure Dom Blonde will claim that IWD is another victory for Bogg Society. Pancake Day certainly is.
Joking aside women are very important and apparently new research has revealed that half or the world's population is now female. Incredible. Yet the singer Annie Lennox tells us today that women perform 66% of world's work, earn 10% of income and own 1% of the world's property. That is outrageous. 10% is far too high. And Annie Lennox is one to talk. She was in a band where Dave Stewart did 66% of the work and she got 90% of the credit.
I see that today of all days there were no women speaking at the Funding the Future of the Event Organisers Who Must be Men conference. This is a disgrace as there is plenty of high profile totty in senior positions in the sector who I will patronise by calling them gorgeous. Surely it wouldn't have been too difficult to stick a couple of them up on stage, on a pedestal, so delegates could politely listen to their views.
Right, that's enough blatant sexism masquerading as irony - half of us have work to do - we can't all sit around having an international day.
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and I may give up Lent. Or I may give up pancakes and international women. But will I find a decent church here in Australia where I can get my forehead grubby?
BREAKING: Rick T'Hurd steals a pen
Have received worrying news from my deputy Hector Rule who is at the Funding the Future for the Event Organisers conference, where 15 million people gather hoping to hear some useful tips on how umbrellas will be financed in the coming months (they rarely do).
On his Twitter account using his @peterkyle spoofonym he sent this. Is this what it has come to? Brolly minister Rick T'Hurd stealing our stationery as well as our cash? Hector - if you need me I will get the first plane back from Oz and "have a quiet word" in T'Hurd's ear. He can just be thankful that he didn't nick your brolly. I'd do time over that.
On his Twitter account using his @peterkyle spoofonym he sent this. Is this what it has come to? Brolly minister Rick T'Hurd stealing our stationery as well as our cash? Hector - if you need me I will get the first plane back from Oz and "have a quiet word" in T'Hurd's ear. He can just be thankful that he didn't nick your brolly. I'd do time over that.
Bogg Society needs Big Brollies, and Umbrellabourne!
There has been an absurd attempt by some to denigrate the role of big umbrellas. In fact Bogg Society needs Big Brollies. But not as much as BUBB does. Big Brollies can afford the membership fees, conferences, products etc that pay my salary. Small Brollies can't.
Now back to the travels. I'm in Umbrellabourne. Sadly it is hot and no sign of rain. But as a punishment for the past crimes of their ancestors I have been able to cavort around on the beach in my thong, pissed out of my head on Aussie wine, and scare the locals.
Now back to the travels. I'm in Umbrellabourne. Sadly it is hot and no sign of rain. But as a punishment for the past crimes of their ancestors I have been able to cavort around on the beach in my thong, pissed out of my head on Aussie wine, and scare the locals.
Saturday, 5 March 2011
Yet another titular reference to being a sodding Knight...not that I ever mention it. Much. If at all.
Having a splendid time in Australia. Anyone want to see some some pictures of me in the blue movies? Insert your own "bush walk" jokes as appropriate.
It makes me soooo angry
Certain people should not be allowed umbrellas. The story here is an outrage. It makes me so angry.
No doubt now you have read it you are spitting chips as well.
Who in the sweet name of Mary Poppins calls their son Lordtyshon?
No doubt now you have read it you are spitting chips as well.
Who in the sweet name of Mary Poppins calls their son Lordtyshon?
Friday, 4 March 2011
On the telly! Again! The Culture Show no less!
I will bore you all with holiday musings and photos from Australia later. But for now, check out this clip of me appearing on the Culture Show (here). You can clearly see me at 12 minutes and 44 seconds.
I am so media it actually throbs.
I am so media it actually throbs.
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Down Under
Jesus - I must have drunk even more than I thought at NCVO on Tuesday night. I have just realised that I have woken up in Australia.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Getting into a Pickle at the NCVO conference
Just roused myself after a day in bed feeling proper poorly. Tuesday was the annual National Canopy and Visor Organisation (NCVO) "slap on the back, aren't we so smug and clever" conference and dinner at the Brewery. Even though I am banned due to an incident a few years ago that we no longer talk about, as ever I managed to sneak in and even stayed for the dinner by wearing my Rick T'Hurd mask.
Unfortunately, even though NCVO can't organise a piss down in an umbrella factory, they can organise a piss up in the Brewery and I overindulged.
The day started off with Sir Hubert Carrington waffling on about stuff (I wasn't really listening). NCVO always use this conference to launch their brolly porn research almanac so I spent 30 minutes looking for NCVO geek in chief Earl Scalding so I could lend him the back of a fag packet to do some proper credible number crunching like what BUBB does.
I had challenged Sir Hubert to a Knightly duel with umbrellas by the couscous at lunch but he failed to materialise. Unluckily, though, communities minister, my old mucker, Derek Gherkins did. Speaking in the post lunch gravetime slot. Which was appropriate given that he has been the death knell for many a midday meal in his time.
Gherkins is clearly an intellectual midget trapped in the body of a stupid giant.
He gave a speech that can only be described as underwhelmingly and unenthusiastically received. It was a classic example of not knowing what you are talking about. Or understanding your audience. Gherkins clearly knows nothing about umbrellas. He doesn't know much about Councils either so it is lucky that neither are important parts of his FREAKING JOB.
At one point he said "I'll be honest. I don't understand you lot and your funny funding ways. But this isn't my problem. Sort it out yourselves". Very Bogg Society.
Nobody embodies the principle of making it up as you go along more than Gherkins. Almost as if he had just thought of it, he vaguely promised to explore the option of possibly considering using statutory powers against local authorities who cut brolly funding beyond reasonable expectation.
The umbrella sector press have got all excited about this but nothing will happen, especially when it is all caveated by the phrase "reasonable expectation". What does that mean? One man's reasonable is another man's deficiency. I am sure that what most people consider a reasonable portion of dinner would not find favour with Gherkins.
At the end of his speech he received a sitting ovation. Without any clapping. There was almost a disaster as the entire conference venue nearly disappeared into the vacuum created by Gherkins' empty promises.
Then there were workshops. I asked for a delegate list for the Open Data session but was refused.
Then after some drinks it was onto the dinner. My request for couscous on my dietary preference form had been taken literally. Too literally. I got couscous soup, couscous in a basket and couscous ice cream.
The rest of the night is a bit of a blur to be honest though I am sure I behaved in the way a Knight is expected to. As in I went round fighting people with my umbrella.
Unfortunately, even though NCVO can't organise a piss down in an umbrella factory, they can organise a piss up in the Brewery and I overindulged.
The day started off with Sir Hubert Carrington waffling on about stuff (I wasn't really listening). NCVO always use this conference to launch their brolly porn research almanac so I spent 30 minutes looking for NCVO geek in chief Earl Scalding so I could lend him the back of a fag packet to do some proper credible number crunching like what BUBB does.
I had challenged Sir Hubert to a Knightly duel with umbrellas by the couscous at lunch but he failed to materialise. Unluckily, though, communities minister, my old mucker, Derek Gherkins did. Speaking in the post lunch gravetime slot. Which was appropriate given that he has been the death knell for many a midday meal in his time.
Gherkins is clearly an intellectual midget trapped in the body of a stupid giant.
He gave a speech that can only be described as underwhelmingly and unenthusiastically received. It was a classic example of not knowing what you are talking about. Or understanding your audience. Gherkins clearly knows nothing about umbrellas. He doesn't know much about Councils either so it is lucky that neither are important parts of his FREAKING JOB.
At one point he said "I'll be honest. I don't understand you lot and your funny funding ways. But this isn't my problem. Sort it out yourselves". Very Bogg Society.
Nobody embodies the principle of making it up as you go along more than Gherkins. Almost as if he had just thought of it, he vaguely promised to explore the option of possibly considering using statutory powers against local authorities who cut brolly funding beyond reasonable expectation.
The umbrella sector press have got all excited about this but nothing will happen, especially when it is all caveated by the phrase "reasonable expectation". What does that mean? One man's reasonable is another man's deficiency. I am sure that what most people consider a reasonable portion of dinner would not find favour with Gherkins.
At the end of his speech he received a sitting ovation. Without any clapping. There was almost a disaster as the entire conference venue nearly disappeared into the vacuum created by Gherkins' empty promises.
Then there were workshops. I asked for a delegate list for the Open Data session but was refused.
Then after some drinks it was onto the dinner. My request for couscous on my dietary preference form had been taken literally. Too literally. I got couscous soup, couscous in a basket and couscous ice cream.
The rest of the night is a bit of a blur to be honest though I am sure I behaved in the way a Knight is expected to. As in I went round fighting people with my umbrella.
Tuesday, 1 March 2011
Competition time - I need a motto
Now I am Knighted I am sorting out my coat of arms (see here).
I need a motto to go with it, preferably something in Latin.
I reckon something based on a phrase that my spoofer Sir Stephen Bubb has used 9 times in his blog since August would be appropriate.
So I might go for
"Narro bollox ut vox, sententia bollox ut verum"
Which as I am sure you good people with a clear grasp of Latin like what I have (being as I am educated in dead languages at Oxonia, rectus), know means:
"Saying bollocks to truth, speaking bollocks to power"
But if anyone wants to suggest a different one there may be a prize in it.
I need a motto to go with it, preferably something in Latin.
I reckon something based on a phrase that my spoofer Sir Stephen Bubb has used 9 times in his blog since August would be appropriate.
So I might go for
"Narro bollox ut vox, sententia bollox ut verum"
Which as I am sure you good people with a clear grasp of Latin like what I have (being as I am educated in dead languages at Oxonia, rectus), know means:
"Saying bollocks to truth, speaking bollocks to power"
But if anyone wants to suggest a different one there may be a prize in it.
Postcard from Mansfield
Every good Bogg deserves favour (even well travelled and holidayed knighted brolly sector CEOs!). And so I have a day off and my sister and I are in Mansfield to see that fabulous Boggcini opera Tosser at the community centre. I bloody love opera me. Don't understand a word of it but it makes one appear sophisticated.
It's about love, power and betrayal in the brolly sector! I can identify with the characters. Some may think I am like Cavaraboggi, the idealistic and politically aware artist, with Sir Hubert cast as the evil Baron Stuartia. But I prefer to see myself as the tragic heroine, in the title role, who stabs the Baron to death with a brolly, Markov styleeeee. People have often compared me to her and shouted Tosser as I walk down the street.
As I finish of this post a glass of Lambrini has arrived. It's time to relax. Enjoy my day off! Arrivederchi (good to see my spell check works just as well when I am tying to be cultured and speak in Italian as it does when I mangle English (Bogglish)).
It's about love, power and betrayal in the brolly sector! I can identify with the characters. Some may think I am like Cavaraboggi, the idealistic and politically aware artist, with Sir Hubert cast as the evil Baron Stuartia. But I prefer to see myself as the tragic heroine, in the title role, who stabs the Baron to death with a brolly, Markov styleeeee. People have often compared me to her and shouted Tosser as I walk down the street.
As I finish of this post a glass of Lambrini has arrived. It's time to relax. Enjoy my day off! Arrivederchi (good to see my spell check works just as well when I am tying to be cultured and speak in Italian as it does when I mangle English (Bogglish)).
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