Baldyman

To say it’s been an eventful few months since I last posted a blog would be an understatement. We’ve had 2 different monarchs, 3 different Prime Ministers and Lurpak has now somehow found itself with a street value higher than crack cocaine. It was my youngest son’s favourite (Lurpak not crack cocaine) but due to the recent price hikes I’ve now had to take the necessary steps to gradually wean him off it. I’ve adopted a method similar to that used when addicts are supplied with a cheaper substitute to reduce their dependence, but instead of using methadone, I chose Aldi’s own Nordpak Spreadable.

In what has been a period of great personal loss and turmoil, the Queen died, Neighbours was cancelled and then for a final dagger to my already weakened heart, Bounty bars were unceremoniously dumped from tubs of celebrations. A sequence of such harrowing events would have broken a weaker man but I have managed to stay strong with a stiff upper lip in the knowledge that it’s what the great lady herself (Mrs Mangle) would have wanted.

Neighbours was a cultural sensation that gave acting breaks to Margot Robbie, Russell Crowe and Chris Hemsworth and produced an even higher calibre of pop stars in the shape of Stefan Dennis, Holly Valance and Craig McLachlan (who can forget his timeless classic ‘Mona’). And in 1987, 19.6M UK viewers, which at the time was bigger than Australia’s own population, tuned in to watch Scott take Charlene up the aisle (don’t be disgusting) to the sultry tones of Angry Anderson.

While I appreciate that coconut is not everyone’s cup of tea, Bounties have always been my favourite chocolate bar. By complete coincidence, it was also the nickname given to the less attractive girls who attended the discos in my teenage years. When the lights came on at the end of the night and all the favourite ones had already been taken, you could always guarantee there would be plenty of them left over.

The Queen’s passing sent shockwaves around the world at what was the end of an era for a woman who had been a constant in the lives of so many. People flocked to London for a final chance to pay their respects as she lay in state for a number of days at Westminster. While David Beckham further enhanced his own reputation with a patient 13 hour wait, Phillip Schofield proved that while he’s more than happy to buy any car, he’s not quite so keen to queue in any queue.

The Queen’s funeral was watched by millions, all of which who marvelled at the performance of the young soldiers given responsibility for the transportation of her coffin throughout the ceremony. While it was impossible to imagine what it must have been like for them mentally, I felt I could empathise with them physically having once attempted to get three flat pack wardrobes off a trolley and over the parcel shelf of a Ford Fiesta in an Ikea car park. With the public intrigued to discover what the official cause of death would be, when it was announced that the 96 year-old Queen had died of old age, it was less surprising than when H from steps came out as gay on Big Brother.

If dealing with the death of their monarch wasn’t enough, the British public were also in the midst of the biggest political meltdown since Cherie Blair accidentally left her hair straighteners on for the duration of the Iraq war.

Time was eventually called on Boris Johnson’s ongoing No.10 lock-in and as the shutters came down for the final time, he quickly lost the confidence of his own party members. This was emphatically highlighted when Downing Street received over 60 letters of resignation in a single week, which eclipsed the previous longstanding record which had been held by the ‘Jim’ll Fix It’ fan club.

The next Prime Minister would now be decided from a list of ‘highly skilled and qualified’ candidates, which for the record included a former contestant on a celebrity high diving TV programme which was judged by Jo Brand. The six contenders were then whittled down, one by one, in the most pointless and least entertaining elimination game since Prince Andrew donned fancy dress and joined fellow sex offender Stuart Hall in 1987’s ‘It’s a Royal Knockout’.

With Rishi Sunak and Liz Truss the last two standing, it was the weakest final pair in any contest since Michelle McManus and Mark Rhodes locked horns in series 2 of Pop Idol (a catastrophic downgrade on Will v Gareth from the previous year I’m sure you’ll agree). Despite sounding like they’d been thought up by pre-school children, their respective campaign websites (“Ready for Rishi” & “Liz for Leader”) would actually turn out to be a good indicator as to the inspiration both would provide. It was like asking the public to make a choice between chlamydia and herpes when their first preference would almost certainly be to have neither.

Liz was victorious (for now) and spent her first week creating her very own version of Craig David’s chart hit ‘7 Days’ (thankfully though without the love making bits);

“Voted Tory leader on MONDAY,

Audience with the Monarch on TUESDAY

First PMQs on WEDNESDAY

Monarch died THURSDAY

Met the new one on FRIDAY & SATURDAY

Chilled on SUNDAY”

She did at least deliver on her vow to make history as she achieved the accolade of becoming the shortest serving UK Prime Minister in a tenure during which she;

• Campaigned for longer (54 days) than she stayed in power (44 days).
• Performed more U-turns than a malfunctioning Sat Nav.
• Proved to have a worse grasp of taxation laws than Jimmy Carr.
• Lost a longevity contest to one of the main ingredients of a BLT sandwich.

With removal men now given their own permanent parking space outside and the installation of a revolving door seeming the next logical step, No.10 prepared for yet another occupant in a turnover that would rival the most popular Air B&B.

News then began to circulate that Boris was contemplating a comeback in what would have been a more far-fetched and inconceivable return than those made by both Bobby Ewing and Dirty Den combined. Despite cutting short his 19^th holiday of the year, he fortunately decided to pull out at the last second which, for a man who famously has an indeterminate number of children, is clearly not something he does that often.

With the British public now in desperate need of a leader who could empathise with their ever increasing cost of living struggles, the Conservatives turned to Rishi Sunak, a man twice as wealthy as the new King. As he contemplated his next move during his morning swim in his indoor pool, I gave my sons a well-deserved and overdue treat by saving up for three weeks so I could put the heating on for them for twenty minutes.

And just when you thought things couldn’t get any more bonkers, serving MP Matt Hancock has abandoned his political responsibilities after being tempted to head off into the bush (the last time he did this it cost him his job as Health Secretary). It seems he’d had enough of the House of Commons where he was surrounded by snakes, had been caught in a compromising position by hidden cameras and forced into close proximity with shallow individuals whose future careers were dependant on gaining the votes of the public. So instead he decided to sign up to ‘I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here’ where he’d live in the Australian jungle surrounded by snakes, be likely to be caught in a compromising position by hidden cameras and forced into close proximity with shallow individuals whose future careers were dependant on gaining the votes of the public. It does seem particularly poetic however that a man who has spent most of his political life speaking bollocks will now soon be forced into eating some.

As is now par for the course, I have once again found myself having some memorable personal experiences of late which as usual I thought I’d share with you. These have included;

• Buying what I believed to be some expensive silver wrapping paper for my son’s birthday only to discover when I began to unravel it that it was in fact the clear, see through wrap people use to cover gift baskets. In short I had paid over the odds for what amounted to glorified cling film which failed to fulfil even the minimum requirement expected of wrapping paper which is to prevent the present’s recipient seeing what it is before they open it. With no time to purchase a replacement, my son began his coming of age 16^th birthday by opening gifts covered in Thomas the Tank paper that I had managed to find in the loft.
• My visit to a Wagamama restaurant once again being tarnished due to their bizarre yet somehow widely accepted service policy. The next time I go there and I’m greeted with the standard question of, “Do you have any allergies?” my reply will be, “Yes, I’m allergic to receiving my courses in the wrong order and my own food arriving twenty minutes after the person I came to enjoy the meal with has been served and finished theirs.”
• Realising at the end of a long and busy journey on the London Underground that I had unknowingly been occupying a place that was marked “Please Offer This Seat.” My guilt soon subsided however when a quick scan of the carriage’s age demographic confirmed that even if I hadn’t been sitting in it, it was likely I would have been  one of the first people it was offered to.
• Having the genius idea of using the scales in the local Post Office when I needed to establish an accurate weight of my son’s current cricket bat. As rain began to lash down, I put up the hood of my coat, zipped it up tight to my face, grabbed the bat and ran from the car park before bursting in through the front doors. At this point, judging from the looks on the faces of both customers and staff inside, I realised that entering a Post Office at speed with your face obscured whilst brandishing what could easily be misconstrued as a weapon, was probably not the best idea I’ve ever had.

As is now customary, I have another joke to share with you.

A burglar broke into a home one night and as he searched for things to steal, he suddenly heard a voice saying, “Jesus is watching you!”

He froze in his tracks, shined his torch and saw a parrot in a cage over in the corner of the room. “Did you say that to me?” asked the burglar.

“Yes I did,” replied the parrot, “I’m just trying to warn you.”

 “Warn me?” said the burglar, “What are you talking about? Who are you?”

“My name is Moses,” said the parrot.

“Moses?” laughed the burglar, “What kind of crazy people would name a parrot Moses?” 

To which the reply came, “The same kind of crazy people that would name a 9 stone Rottweiler Jesus.”

If I don’t get the chance to post again in the next month, I wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. I will leave you with 3 last thoughts to contemplate:

1. Why is the word fridge spelt with a ‘d’ but the word refrigerator not?
2. Do people who choose deodorants marketed as having ’72 hour’ protection only shower every 3 days?
3. If a robot is buying sporting or concert tickets on line which box does it tick?

Thanks again for reading.