First published June 2009….
Does anyone else find it a little ironic that on the 65th anniversary of D Day, we as a country sent a BNP representative to Europe!
No matter which party got in or didn’t, you can’t blame me for any of it, because as in true ‘British’ fashion, I forgot to vote. I meant to, but I had other things on my mind like how do you pronounce Piz Buin! The enemy, the good lady wife, has already started to buy things for the annual FitzGerald holiday. Piz Buin I understand is a sun cream and not the state I will be in, on this enforced weeks of sun and culture in Greece! Yet another pair of bloody shorts have been bought for me and a floral sun shirt which will have to be worn with a sports bra.
Any road, I got home late on election night and discovered that I wasn’t alone in my absence from the ballot box as thousands of you also could be bothered either. I sat down and flicked on the tele and I must congratulate the people of the television text service who had obviously typed up the headlines rather quickly and didn’t have a spell check on their system. Under the title ‘First Votes Counted’ was the startling statement…. ‘Counting in underway in regional councils and the many urinary authorities’. I can only assume that a urinary authority is like a unitary authority but slightly less popular.
The other reason for missing my chance to shape the future of this great country is that I have been busy. Monday I was at the opening of a brand new hotel! In their stupidity they offered me canapés! I have a natural fear of canapés! Give me a wedge of pork pie with a salad cream dip and I know where I am. The gristle in the pork holds everything together and the salad cream takes your mind off the jelly under the crust. But one bite of the bacon in cider with apple purée crostini and most of it landed down my suit, then to the crotch of my trousers and thus to the new carpet! You can smear salad cream into shag pile but apple purée tends to clot! Sausage rolls, cheesy wotsits and twiglets…. brilliant! Battered goujons of haddock with sauce tartar and my dry cleaning bill and their re decorating budget are right out the window!
Wednesday was a little better when I discovered that I was working with Neil ‘Razor’ Ruddock and not a canapé in sight but then again, neither was he!
A phone call came through about half an hour before we were due on stage.
‘Where’s Devon then?’ said Razor.
‘Cunningly hidden between Cornwall and Somerset. You can’t miss it!
‘I’m in Saltash!
‘Oh, you’ve missed it!’
He turned up a little disgruntled that he had to pay a £1.00 to get out of Saltash and described it as a dump. And this is a man who got out of Millwall alive.
Yours truly,
Fitz
