Bogge de Jour

You may have seen in the news this weekend that the former prostitute who funded her PhD as a high class call-girl, and then wrote of her encounters under an assumed name, Belle de Jour, has finally revealed her identity. Obviously I am suspicious of the motivation of anyone who feels the need to hide behind a ridiculous pseudonym. The rumours circulating that I am in fact behind the equally mysterious Bogge de Jour diaries, about a brolly enthusiast pimping out high-class umbrellas to fund his City & Guilds in plumbing, are well wide of the mark.

On a different note, it is interesting to see Gordon Brown planning a handover of power in Afghanistan. If the brolly sector is going to have a bash at running prisons, I say to hell with it, let's have a pop at running a war-torn, conflict riddled Asian pseudo-democracy as well. Who's up for it?

Zero tolerance

There should be proper punishment for people who take feeble umbrellas like this out into the weather we have had this weekend. What are they thinking? When we're running the prisons there'll be special units for brolly wallies so they can learn the error of their ways. And I am going to start a programme of little visits from one of Don Boggi's boys (Gamp champions, or Gampions), perhaps offering a little protection for people's umbrellas, if you know what I mean. Right, time for breakfast. Meatballs and croissant.

The Boggfather

Did you hear me on the radio on Saturday evening? I was discussing the topic that I can't mention any more, excessive salaries, on Gorgeous George Giveaway's lively show on Talk Shite radio. He called me "Capo dei capi" - boss of bosses. So Dylan Twirley and Donnie Fiddly and Lotte Shight and anyone else who crosses me had better beware. For I am the Boggfather, Don Boggi. I'll make them all an offer they can't refuse, such as borrowing an umbrella from me when it's raining. I keep my sworn enemies close, and everyone else closer. Capiche?

Boggian boggedness

Bumped into Dame Luci Vinyl (chair of the Umbrella Commission and feisty defender of the brolly brand) on a pedestrain crossing in Westminster. She was furious, especially as the cab I was in had jumped a red light. But when she calmed down we got talking about the thing I said I wouldn't blog about again - salaries. She was pleased to see me defending umbrella interests and praised my Boggian doggedness, or Boggedness as I like to call it.

We need Fiddly salaries

My breakfast was immeasurably improved when I opened an email from brolly accounting guru, Fresh Princey. You know he's a guru because he goes around telling everyone he is. Of course I wouldn't dream of reproducing a private email verbatim just to make a point about me deserving a fat wedge but let's just say that Fresh was very supportive of BUBB's position on excessive salaries.

I will now try and draw a line under this whole affair and worry about something else. Like whether to back the Labour or Conservative philosophical approach to the role of brollies in society as the election approaches. I have been attending a number of lectures recently which have been illuminating.

On one hand Labour have such intellectual giants as Ian Scorn. On the other, David Cameron went to Oxford, naturally. And where was Gordon Brown miseducated? The University of Edinburgh. Being schooled overseas at what was probably formerly the Polytechnic of Scotland or something won't do. Cameron it is.

The actions of one effect us all

I am still shaking like a jelly in an earthquake at the sheer cheek of Donnie Fiddly at Divide about the supposed excessive wage culture in the umbrella sector. I have asked my deputy Hector Rule to write him a letter (his handwriting is better than mine but that in no way makes me unfit in itself to run anything). Hector made some splendid points and finished off by offering Donnie out for a fight.

Donnie may have only been referring to the few cases of ludicrous pay in our sector but he has to remember that highlighting the one or two examples that are out of line tars everyone else with the same brush. Or to put it another way, it only takes one loose cannon to bollocks it up for the entire sector.

To try and calm down last night I watched Harry Potter. What a pile of sub-Blyton shite that was. There were points whether I wondered if it was really meant for children.

And fabulous news this morning as Maggie Pott, chief executive of Tomorrow's Brollies, which seeks to find ungainful employment for redundant umbrellas, has been made a pier by David Cameron. She has to stand in the sea at Southend while balancing fish and chip shops, roller coasters and amusement arcades on her back.

I ring to congratulate her. She is momentarily phased, which is a bit of a blow as I only meant to faze her.

People who live in glass houses, shouldn't.

Oooooh, I am HOPPING MAD. I have got my knickers so far in a twist that I frighten dogs when I speak. I have got myself into so much of a lather that Fab Jobsworth is using me as shaving foam. I am so heated that you could fry an egg on my forehead. (I only said "could", incidentally Hector. I didn't expect you to take me literally and leave me with egg all over my face.)

Why am I so incandescent with rage? Donnie Fiddly, head of the Divide union, has made some comments about excessive salaries in the umbrella industry, while he sits there on his fat pension-plan protected arse earning millions of pounds a year plus perks and bonuses.

I am not saying he doesn't deserve it - his is a challenging role for a complex organisation and anyone who can climb the greasy pole and stay at the top for years in a job they are clearly unfit for gets my full admiration. But leave the brolly sector out of it, eh Donnie?