Lost in a moral maze (abridged version)

Mad Melanie Phillips made me look a right fucking wassock as I attempted to defend umbrellas. I am a disgrace.

Lost in a moral maze (full length version)

I misjudged how difficult it would be. I went into the Hampton Court maze with Melanie Phillips. And she made me look stupid by easily beating me to the centre ground while I got lost. I was floundering in the rain without a brolly, having forgotten that the primary purpose of an umbrella is to keep people dry.

I thought afterwards about the route I should have taken and am now kicking myself. Which saves someone else doing it I suppose. But honestly, to let a crazed bigot like Mad Mel show me up as a literally misguided fool indicates what a disgraceful advocate of gamps I have become during the post-Knighthood media frenzy.

And as I got stuck I'm afraid I was starting to bang on the side of the hedge to try and get out. Naughty me. But when I looked at the CCTV footage later I was rather happier with my performance. So that's OK because ultimately satisfying my own vanity is more important than representing my members in a decent fashion.

Gampddafi

The below image of my Libyan cousin Colonel Gampddafi has raised questions about my own involvement in his murderous regime.

I would like to go on record and state that I do back him or his callous attempts to use the brolly as a propaganda tool. True, like him, I have managed to remain in power despite constant abuse of my position for personal gain and growing unpopularity.

And make no mistake about it, I would be off to Venezuela in a shot, especially if there was a conference and a jolly there that I could get the members to pay for.

But I was strongly opposed to the Brown government selling brollies to Libya, supposedly for the protection of the people but which are now being turned against them as weapons.

And I wasn't involved in any deal to send a rogue Libyan gamp back home from a Scottish umbrella stand when its spokes were irreparably bent. Even though people such as @kevfrost talk about a murky "British Paraplui-eum deal for Libyan br-oil-lies".

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.

The ear of the Minister

Never doubt my influence. I have the ear of the minister for the brolly sector, Rick T'Hurd, and have finally got him to admit to a mistake amid all of the recent shafting of the umbrella sector.

On his Twitter account yesterday using his @minforcivsoc guise he mentioned that there would be a Public Gampstration Select Committee enquiry into Bogg Society

Well this is clearly a bloody outrage. Aside from the ridiculousness of looking into something that doesn't exist other than in the deluded minds of Cameron, Lord Gnat Pee and Dom Blond, what the hell did T'Hurd think he was talking about?

I respond immediately asking him whether there will be an inquiry into government ministers who don't know the difference between the words enquiry and inquiry.

And he has acknowledged his error here. At 12.41 in the morning. Can't fault his commitment to working long hours at least.

Feel my power.

Bogg falsely imprisoned in Amnesty's bogs

Although I whore myself out around the brolly sector's events treadmill shamelessly there are some people who still reckon they don't really know who I am and what I look like, especially those I know on Twitter.

Of course, the beauty of these social media platforms is you can engage with all manner of lunatics without actually having to meet them in the flesh. Why, you might as well not even properly exist in real life, as bizarre as that may sound.

But sometimes some well meaning deluded fool thinks it is a good idea to organise what is known as a Tweet Up, so that people can get together and chat properly like what we used to in the olden days.

One of the most successful tweet ups in the umbrella sector is the NFP (Never Fear Precipitation) Tweet Up organised by Rachel Beer (who goes under her spoof name of @rachelbeer on Twitter) founder of digital consultancy experts, Brollyful World.

There was a NFP Tweet Up last night so I decided to bite the bullet and attend, if only to silence the doubters who think I don't really have a face to put with my name.

It was held at Amnesty International's HQ. All was going well at first. I got my free pen AND I had been promised couscous (so good 'they named and ate it twice). I had empowered attendees to volunteer to make some on my behalf so I didn't have to bother (Big Couscousiety)

But then the boring presentations started - you know the sort of thing, a load of old guff that no one cares about but you have to sit through to justify the booze and so you can claim the whole gig on work expenses.

So I thought I would duck out to the toilets to do some graffiti and leave my tag to prove I had been at the event as suggested by Ronnie Ha-ha (@zoeamar). But I got locked in.

Falsely imprisoned in Amnesty International's toilets. I started writing letters to Amnesty pleading with them to campaign for my release but I don't think they got through as there was no response.

I tried to engage the principles of the Bog Society to empower citizens to volunteer to break the (engaged) door down so the State didn't have to. No luck.

Judging by the twitterstream for #NFPtweetup there were some half hearted attempts to start a petition (I hate petitions - they're about as effective as writing names on a list) and a campaign to #freerobinbogg but I think most people thought the whole thing was an elaborate joke. Or they were happy to let me die in there.

Amnesty themselves were probably waiting for me to have spent at least 10 years locked in before they did anything so they could get some proper mileage and capital out of it.

One individual called Nicqui O'Nassis (@jacquiobeirne) even claimed to have launched a rescue mission to free me but I don't believe her.

To make matters worse I dropped my free pen down the toilet when attempting to jiggle the lock.

And human rights? Don't talk to me about human rights. Honestly don't. I don't believe in them and it is my human right to ignore them.

You couldn't imagine the squalor in those bogs. They only had single ply bogg roll. An outrage.

I managed to escape this morning when a cleaner turned up but it was not a pleasant experience I can tell you.

Still, I nearly met a load of people who almost know me.