Grounded

I have had a few days off on holiday. The things I saw whilst boating round Iceland lighting huge cigars were amazing. But enough of that. I have finally had chance to read all of the party election manifestos and in an attempt to retain a sense of balance I will simply say that frankly they are all shite. Not a single mention of the brolly sector anywhere. And why the Green Party bothered printing so many copies of their sorry effort I don't know. It has just ended up being an ironic waste of paper.

Of course, Nick Clegg is now dead cert to be Prime Minister and probably the new Pope as well. Fabio Capello is to give him a shock call up to England squad (playing down the middle). All this just by dint of appearing to know what he was talking about and looking like he had at least considered having some constructive policies. If last week's live televised debate was the First of the Summer Whines, then Clegg definitely trounced Haven't a Foggiest and InCompotent.

Such is Cleggmania that Tesco is to stop selling sliced bread and stock Nick Clegg instead. Nick Clegg is the new black and has swiftly been exploited by Cameron in the immigration debate.

It is somewhat ironic that Clegg's surge in the polls coincided with planes all over Europe being grounded due to the ash, meaning that presumably pigs are still able to fly.

The effects of the Icelandic volcano are far reaching. This kind of thing never used to happen when it was Bejams. The UK is completely cut off. If only we'd built a tunnel to Europe or invented boats. And never mind stranded holiday makers - what about the backlog of postcards?

Darts is in chaos. Phil Taylor has been grounded as all flights are cancelled. Richard Littlejohn says planes not flying is "health and safety gone mad" and blames non-EU volcanoes. He has also called for a cap on foreign ash over UK airspace. "Coming over here, shutting our airports".

FIFA has drawn up contingency plans for the World Cup to be played via computer games over internet. England are now favourites. And if the airline restrictions continue we will run out of some foodstuffs. PANIC BUY BANANAS EVERYBODY.

The real winners are the 24 hour news networks. They can simply show cheap footage of empty airports and let the public provide the "stories". Ash is the new snow

Only Nick Clegg can tame this volcano now. Apparently he has urged Sir Cyril "Asbestos" Smith to come out of retirement to plug the crater.

Obviously, the planes need ash brollies - emberellas? However, I have to be careful of such statements in my blog as the web traffic controllers have cancelled all flights of fancy. So no wishful thinking and bullshit from me for a while. And if the planes remain stuck on the floor it will put paid to my global junketing.

OK, gotta go as the wind is now blowing in the direction of Iceland. Time to declare myself bankrupt and fire up the barbecue. Revenge will be sweet.

Bugger it

I knew we should have had a Lib Dem Brolly Summit. Why did we waste our time on the Tories? Clegg is the future.

Purdah

I am already sick to death with the election campaign and the restrictions on me seeming to favour one side over another are driving me mad so I am going to blog off for a few days. Thankfully, I think I have got away with nailing my (blue) colours to any one mast and have tried to lick the arses of all the major players. And the Lib Dems. But no doubt I will resurface shortly with my own brand of knockabout hypocrisy and name dropping.

Brollygate

Well it had to happen sooner or later I suppose. I have fallen victim to a sting operation (and not one where I was turned into an arrogant Geordie lute playing bighead). Channel 4 have incriminating footage of me saying I am a "brolly for hire". For £5.50 I will offer anyone protection from the rain. I also claimed that for the right money I could affect policy through my extensive contacts and influence with government ministers and that I had James Purnell's mobile number if anyone wanted to "do an Ashley".

But anyone thinking of taking me up on these boasts should remember "caveat gamptor" - Byers beware.

Honoured?

So the biggest, most closely guarded secret in politics has finally been revealed. General election on May 6th. This has come as a complete shock to me. Who decided we should have a general election on a Thursday? I didn't vote for it. And I think I am busy on May 6th, washing my hair or something. I'll just have to announce who I am voting for in my blog and hope that counts. Good job I have been schmoozing the possible future government as much as possible or else I would be completely unprepared for what might happen once the votes are in.

The whole announcement thing was a bit of a farce. Nowadays news coverage consists of pre-news where the story is the news that some important news will be announced later. The BBC was wasting licence payers' money by flying a helicopter over Whitehall filming nothing much and 24 hours channels tried desperately to fill the gaps. It was the biggest triumph for rolling non-news since the snow. "Send us pictures of your apathy".

Eventually, Gordon put on some clean pants and booked a cab to go see Her Madge, although the cabbie did insist on having his say on how to run the country first. What the Queen should have done is hidden behind the curtains when Gordon popped round. Or stuck up her "No hawkers, no canvassers, no circulars" sign. Or better still she should have just refused to dissolve parliament for a laugh. "One is amused by a constitutional crisis". Apparently what she did say to Gordon was "Piss off and don't darken my doors again. Tell Dave I'll put the kettle on for May 7th and I'll check Mumsnet (or Ma'amsnet) to find out what biscuits he favours."

So now we enter a period where British politics will slide even further into petty childish point scoring as every last vote is fought over like the last pork pie in Melton Mowbray when Prescott and Pickles visit.

The political bloggers and commentators will be so busy spinning lines they'll get tangled up and forget to vote when it comes to the big day. I am unsure who to vote for myself and will be seeking guidance from Piers Morgan, Amanda Holden and Simon Cowell. Or I may just treat my voting slip to a slap up meal and really spoil my ballot paper.

But the biggest possible outcome of all of this election fever is the Dissolution Honours List. There have been rumours (started by me mostly) that a certain Umbrella chief executive could finally get the nod. I am on the Brolly Honours Committee myself but couldn't possibly divulge whether I had opted to receive a shiny gong myself. Seriously, I would of course be excluded from any decision on my own due rewards and I have been asked to absent myself from loads of meetings recently. All of them in fact. At the start. So I am confident that at the very least I will get a MBE (Member of the Brolly Elite) and who knows, even maybe the Garter of the Order of the Quick Shower.

For now, the Lords can wait.

Bogg snorkelling

Even such a global junket-punk as me (Phileas Bogg - round the world in 80 jaunts) was getting pissed off in Japan (they don't do second hand so my jokes were about as popular as Chris Grayling at a Brighton boarding house) so I left Hillda Ogden-Newton&Ridley to it (being a woman I expect she loves looking at displays of cherry blossom). She has a lifesize dummy of myself that she is lugging around to official functions so I can pretend I am still there with the added advantage of it not offending anyone.

I decided to spend Easter camping. On Thursday morning I flew home and arrived in time for a last supper with 12 members of my staff. It all got a bit messy. Hector disgraced himself by wondering around claiming his real name was Peter and denying three times that he is after my job. And Fab Jobsworth betrayed me by trying to take some cushy paid chair roles I was after for 30 pieces of silver. Then I disappeared until yesterday when I rose again from the mud - for I am the son of Bogg.

My aim was to recreate the exploits of the woman mentioned in this story and I pitched my umbrella tent by the banks of a stream. However, it got pretty muddy when the rains came and even though I am Boggy by name and nature I was unprepared for the impromptu Bogg snorkelling I was obliged to undertake. By the end of yesterday I was regretting not staying in the land of the rising gamp.

I will leave you with some Japanese umbrella haiku (spoku).

It was pissing down
My umbrella came to life
And kept my clothes dry

April Fool

My head of communications Marina McMoan is a right card. She issued a press release this morning saying that James Purnell was to join BUBB's board. As we know, the gorgeous tax dodging former blue-eyed New Labour poster boy is moving away from politics and Marina revealed that he would receive a nominal sum for advice given to BUBB (that's progressive governance, folks).

She even included a quote from me saying that I had courted James for years. (Not strictly true, at least not according to the Courts. Stalked is their preferred term).

It was a joke following in the long tradition of quality spoofs and was almost believable. Both Canopy Finance and Canopy Times published it as fact. But the really sorry thing is that I myself believed it was true when I saw the press release. I got so excited I, well, I can't really say what I did but rest assured it is all cleaned up now.

So while sadly it is a joke, James, if you do want to join our board, there will always be a seat left open for you. And a fee, whether nominal or whopping, will I am sure be possible to arrange.