I should have defended NHS Bill support claims

There's an interesting story quoting me on Gampal Society Media's website:

The independence of Sir Robin Bogg has been called into question by Sir Robin Bogg who says he should have piped up against David Cameron's claims of BUBB support for the NHS Bill last month.

“You could argue claims of BUBB (and therefore implicitly the umbrella sector) support for the NHS Bill was a direct government endorsement of BUBB and umbrella sector support for the NHS Bill. Especially given my role in the listening exercise. I would have expected me to say something,” said Bogg.

While he praised the rest of the sector for uniting to question Cameron, he said he had failed to defend the umbrella sector when he needed to.

“One area of disappointment was me. I had expected me to be a little more robust in defending the sector when accusations were being made about supporting the NHS Bill. It shouldn’t have been left to others to point this out. I should have been doing that.”

When faced with Cameron's claims that BUBB and the umbrella sector supported the NHS Bill, I should have held the government to account, said Sir Robin.

“It does pose a question about how independent my role as chair of the competition part of the listening exercise was if I am not prepared to stand up and speak my mind robustly.”

Sir Robin Bogg declined to respond to the comments but he said that if he had he would probably have denied he was being hypocritical and self-serving.

Bloody press, eh? Making me look silly by quoting what I told them to get myself some publicity.


However, I will have no such qualms about criticising the Umbrella Commission for not responding to Cameron's dodgy umbrella comments. It should have defended umbrellas. And if it doesn't defend itself from my attack on them for not defending umbrellas against attacks I will attack them for not defending themselves. And so on until we all disappear in a recursive vortex.

Wet and windy

I see my spoofer Sir Stephen Bubb is goading me by blogging about wet and windy weather, which I happen to love as long as it isn't too windy. Or wet.

Wet and windy. Sums up beautifully the mood in the umbrella sector as we survey the wreck of the "Bogg Society" idea. Wet means that more shelter is needed than ever, but efforts to provide it are being hampered by the strong winds of incompetent government threatening to destroy many hard working brollies.

The row over gamp relief and rich umbrella owners rumbles on. We are told there will be consultation. Woopty fucking do. When the Budget was announced it was stated that the proposals would be subject to consultation. So what are we now offered? The same. Consultation. Despite the compelling evidence that the damage has been done and the rich are already cutting back on the shelter they offer the poor. And consultation is all very well. But have they announced a launch party? Have they bollocks. Amateur.

I've been to one of these famed consultations before. I stormed out over umbrella gift aid a couple of years ago as I didn't get my own way and the lunch was rubbish. It became clear the main purpose of the exercise was window dressing and being seen to listen when in reality it was a done deal. The government always packs these things with people they know agree with them. So I would not be surprised when they set up this new consultation to see Milly Coinfee and Mervyn Naredowell, both supporters of the government's position, on the invite list.

This sort of thing would never happen with the NHS consultation, for example, where I, a vocal supporter of competition was appointed chair of the panel on competition in a listening exercise that was all for show and had no effect upon the pre-determined priorities of the government when the Bill was published. Completely different.

But to be clear; if HMT think they can drown opposition in a sultry summer shower then they can think again. They have roused the wrath of a strong and influential sector. We will overturn this nonsense, I am sure of it, and you can also be sure that if we do I will be at the forefront of claiming the credit.

In other news, I hear that there are suggestions the House of Lords should relocate to Manchester. This is excellent. No one loves a bit of regional tokenism more than me and I would be more than happy to pop up North a couple of times a year and show my face for the sake of appearances. It's what some of the Lords do in London, after all.

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.

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.

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.

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".

Can't think of a witty title so won't bother

Sorry for the radio silence. While in the Balkans with Pepe Ohdearie I got lost after too much local schnapps and dancing to Agadoo (a regular occurrence when out with Pepe) and ended up in Slovenia. One thing I will say abut the Slovenians is that they know the importance of a good strong umbrella, especially in the mountains where it can be pleasingly damp. And as a little competition (no prizes) can anyone spot the very jazzy brolly in this pic?

I did take the time to ask the Slovenian people what they thought of the NHS. Obviously, I didn't bother listening properly to the responses in case they didn't fit in with my own conclusions but I do recall someone saying perhaps I should talk to patients and not just accept the results of some 2009 research as the basis for extensive consultation with the people who actually matter. But I just ignored that as well. Dave would be proud.

When I got back to the UK I was in trouble from matron who thought I had only nipped off for a coffee break. So I have had to do a mammoth 546 hour shift, while trying to tidy up my report for Dave. It is very nearly finished and even though it is not for me to say that it is brilliant, it is brilliant. Especially the last paragraph. I cannot reveal what I say yet but if I was going to reveal it, it would look exactly like this:

"Competition is fucking ace because Dave says so and what really matters is £££££££££££££££££££££££££$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$£££££££££££££££££££££££££££££$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$£££££££££££££££££££££££££££££$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$££££££££££££££££££££££££££££££££££££££££££££££$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$££££££££££££££££££££££££££££££$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ PS Where's my peerage?"

Some of my crayon drawings of hospital beds are sublime. And anyone who says the whole exercise is sham to give the impression of independent consultation on the future of the NHS will no doubt be eating humble pie, especially since Dave has already said he accepts all of our recommendations even though he hasn't even seen them. Other than when he originally wrote/approved them of course.

So I will be back at BUBB shortly, just as well as Hector Rule has been giving it the big I am and mouthing off at conferences and generally causing trouble.

In other news I am delighted to report that in a true victory for Bogg Society, The Robin Bogg Memorial Toilet outside Blacbury library has been saved. They have found a few volunteers to wipe the arses of the rich and are saving money on paper by utilising all of the books in the library that are just taking up space.

However, I am sad to say that my chief executive at the Brolly Investment Business Donovan Lewis has escaped from the locked room I was keeping him in. He was a true inspiration and managed to implement much of the empire building into the business of lending umbrellas that I was keen on. He will be hard to replace so I may apply for the role myself. If nothing else the extra cash will help to supplement my meagre pay as chair. That's what I call progressive governance. I expect the trustees at BUBB will be only to pleased to continue paying me to spend less time doing my proper job as ultimately it makes BUBB more effective.

The only other big unresolved issue is what I should say in my acceptance speech if, sorry, when I win the outstanding leadership award at the Canopy Awards tomorrow night.

And should I wear the white dinner jacket with the collection of red wine stains or the one with the embarrassing chocolate souffle mark on the tail. If I don't win this year it will be a travesty. Anyone who can still continue to get away with what I have for so long is truly an outstanding leader and inspiration to all. See you at the Gampsvenor Hotel, folks. If you're going do feel free to say hello using the code word "drizzleproof".

Gnat Pee's off

Found time out from my busy schedule prancing round the Balkans to read the news that the government's Bogg Society adviser, Lord Gant Pee has err peed off. This whole issue reveals a basic contradiction at the heart of the government's thinking. Was he a Tsar or a Czar?

The fact he did this on the same day that Cameron relaunched Bogg Society for the 485th time (more failed reboots than a broken computer) was particularly well timed. It was all in all what Dom Blond might call a victory for Bogg Society. And it was nice to see Cameron try and add some substance and flesh to the concept's rhetorical bones by ramping up the rhetoric. But it was all overshadowed by an unnamed footballer who everyone knew the name of having his name named by an MP taking a very brave step forward in promoting the cause of John Hemming.

I am all for free speech myself and will silence anyone who says otherwise. I may be going out on a legal limb here, but I don't care. You people have the right to know. The footballer's name is

RYAN GIGGS

Anyway, back to Bogg Society. No one's listening Dave. You can't keep switching it off and back on again and hope it finally works. But then you know all about not listening, what with this NHS listening shambles. But if you listen to one thing, listen to this. I assume Lord Pee won't need his Lordship now so if there is a vacancy remember that I am ready to go and have already bought my ermine.

Bogging a dead horse

Have you noticed? Where has Bogg Society gone?

Last week marked the first anniversary of the coalition. They produced a paper listing all their achievements. I say paper, more like a post it note of the positive ones and a 1,500 page apology. But the term Boggsoc was strangely absent probably because all it has achieved is confusion.

Which is a shame really because BUBB launched its Commission on Bogg Society only yesterday. I love a commission , me. I am forever commissioning them. But I'd hate to think that all of the hard work we (members of my team) have put into this will result in nothing more than a launch and a lunch and then fall by the wayside as the government focuses on less hard to explain bullshit concepts.

The event went well. I took a break from my 114 hour shift at the hospital (snuck out when matron wasn't watching) to put in an appearance and spent most of the event blogging. I am a bit confused who exactly I am working for at the minute and cannot decide if I should offer poor value to the members who pay my wage or to the taxpayer who is funding my secondment to the NHS. Actually, I am being unfair to myself as I did spend all weekend working on NHS stuff by taking a break from bedpans and phoning the other people working on reports for Cameron screaming "Competition is crucial. And I'm going to produce my report first, you loser".

Even if Bogg Society does go down the pan and is flushed away, our initial report had some helpful stuff in it. By placing a huge focus on banks and social investment and lending brollies to damper communities it coincidentally ties in nicely with the stuff the Brolly Investment Business, which I chair, is involved in even though any suggestion that I am once again blurring my supposedly two distinct roles are of course merely mischief making.

Yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

My involvement in the NHS reforms is already paying dividends as my blog has suddenly cured itself of the disease it has had recently where it wasn't allowing paragraph breaks.

See?

Everything is fine now.

This is another victory for (the) Bogg Society and patient choice. The empowerment of individuals to sort out their own health problems so that the State doesn't have to. If you can't afford an expensive solution either diagnose and treat it yourself or use the oldest health technique known to man. Keep quiet and hope it gets better all by itself rather than bothering experts. Time is, after all, the greatest healer.

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.]

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

Chaos at Windsor Castle

Well, what a week! I started it by namedropping about telling the Prime Minister about the damage the cuts are doing to umbrellas and I ended the week namedropping about Her Maj whacking me in the bollocks at my investiture.

The day started off with a slight hitch when I got to the gates of Windsor Castle. My bald patch was gleaming but I was told that Hawaiian shirts are not allowed.

I have to admit I was a little more nervous talking to my Sovereign than I was to her Prime Minister! (Did I honestly just type that?). In fact I was desperate for a slash as soon as I got inside but didn't dare visit a toilet to splash the Royal Doulton after my recent experience at Amnesty and I didn't want to risk using one of the many convenient vases dotted around the castle.

I expected there to be some food available, indeed I had phoned ahead and ordered couscous but apparently Prince Philip had eaten it all.

And I also requested that instead of a sword Her Maj use a ceremonial umbrella.

The rehearsal was amusing. When I say amusing I mean pointless. I didn't get where I am today without knowing how to kneel before someone to get what I want.

Suddenly it was time for the real thing. I decided to live tweet the experience. Some jobsworth told me to stop using my Blackberry but I just ignored them.

Then it was my turn. Before the dubbing there was some idle chit chat (just get on with it, I was thinking, before someone changes their mind).

HM asked about BUBB and said to me umbrellas seemed to be having a hard time. Like she'd know - she may have had a long rain but has not wanted for someone to hold a gamp over her privileged crowned bonce if the need has arisen. Probably never actually handled a real brolly in her life (as later events would prove).

I told her that our chief executives were indeed having a difficult time and she just tutted and said "fuck me, sunshine, you should try being chief executive of this bloody dysfunctional family, matey." She also asked me what her Boggname would be when I inevitably wrote about the day's events in a pompous fashion in my blog. Cheeky cow. You've got to earn a Bogg name.

Then it was time. I think my Twitter feed in real time best illustrates how the drama unfolded:

My turn. I am starting to kneel down

She is mumbling my name. She looks thoroughly bored

She's lifted the mighty umbrella

She's lowering it...

OH NO, DISASTER. She's been blinded by the light reflecting off my bald patch and has whacked me in the bollocks

She's commanded me to "arise Sir Robin" but I can't. I am in agony and cannot move. Will this count?

I've been carried out the room and slung into the garden. I assume I am "invested" even though it was chaotic

Right. That's that then. Off to the pub

And here for your delectation are the photos. On second thoughts, why would anyone want to see pictures of me and the Queen engaged in anachronistic pomp and ceremony? Especially at a time when I am loudly going on about how the cuts will affect the poorest members of society and generating a fair bit of personal media coverage and attention thank you very much - the sort that gets you a Knighthood in the first place.

It might seem a little hypocritical to be swanning around a castle in my posh frock and stockings partaking in a charade that merely underlines the deep inequality in our society, especially when it was attacking the consequences of that very divide that got me the K.

You'll just have to imagine the scene for yourselves. Tell you what, get yourself a first class stamp and an umbrella and go from there.

Bogg Society Bank

At the end of last year I wrote to the Chancellor urging him to consider a tax on bank bonuses, in order to ease the £1bn cuts the brolly sector faces in the year ahead.

This morning I received his response. Read it here.