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.