Warning! You are under threat! Safeguard your privacy!

This is a warning to ALL web-users:-

Certain websites may have contacted you recently and asked you for highly confidential information. They may have asked for your date of birth, place of birth, pictures of yourself, the school and university you attended, your address details, telephone and / or cell no, place of work, your mother's maiden name, information about friends, places you hang out, when and where you're holidaying this summer, your favorite pastimes, your uncle's middle name, the name of the hamster you loved (when you were fifteen), your dating habits, smoking and drinking habits, sexual preferences, sartorial preferences, favorite books, films and television programmes, who you voted for, when you stopped beating your wife and why you stopped beating her, your religious affiliations, spiritual affiliations, whether you are or have ever been a member of the communist party or any other subversive organisation, what you think about freedom of information and who should "own" it, whether you think the Internet is a force for good, or just real bad. And finally... who the fuck do you think you are, you utter nobody?

These sites are called social networking sites and their sole purpose is to extract information from ordinary people through a process known as "Connecting". This kind of  superficial jargon enables social networking sites to fool you into thinking you can renew old friendships - or even generate new ones. The reality is, the data you're providing is a goldmine for these sites. Once in possession of your data, they'll distribute it to marketing companies and through social profiling those companies will use it to flog you their cruddy products.

You must NOT, we repeat, NOT, under any circumstances provide private data to such organisations. Respectable people will not ask you via email or any other means for this kind of information. Please treat any requests like these with extreme caution. It is worth noting: People wanting to know really personal information are called "friends". These "friends" should never (we trust) distribute that data to others (especially not marketing companies). Any individual, individuals or corporations seeking to profit from this kind of information through its re-distribution to others are NOT your friends. They are called "users". If you are contacted by such people, please contact our security department giving details of the following: your full name, your date of birth, place of birth, your school and the university you attended, your home address, your telephone and / or cell no, your place of work, your mother's maiden name...

Conspiracy Overload!

Anonymous individuals close to "senior government officials" are claiming the Internet is close to breaking point. Within months, perhaps hours it is conceivable that the World Wide Web will grind to a halt, crushed under a mountain of leaks, disclosures and conspiracy theories. The news comes at a time when the whistleblowers' website Wikileaks has just made public a huge cache of secret information about the war in Afghanistan, causing alarm in US military circles.

"Frankly it is hard to tell how many more shocking revelations, hypotheses and conspiracy theories users of the web can take," said one source, who agreed to remain anonymous so long as we gave a good plug to his book An End to Conspiracies?

"Web users are so saturated with conspiracies right now they no longer know what to believe. Some, like myself, start speaking in tongues - or "code" as we call it. Some simply walk round and round in circles muttering to themselves that they don't care (even though they clearly do). Then there are others, more courageous, who feel they must share this information with other web users - which can be particularly problematic, especially when they are logged onto banking, dating or pornography sites."


We asked a specialist to conduct a survey of web users' reactions to the growing torrent of conspiracy theories on the Internet. Our aim was to prove there was nothing unusual happening even though there clearly was. Naturally, we had to weigh this against the obvious need to come to certain conclusions that were frankly quite shocking - A somewhat tall order, most would agree. Frighteningly, we discovered the following:-

Fact: 90 % of conspiracy website followers claimed to derive greater "gratification" from logging onto conspiracy sites than pornography or even gardening sites

Fact: 90 % of conspiracy website followers claimed that 90 % of conspiracy theories were untrue but that they "tended to believe them anyhow."

Fact: 91.1 % of conspiracy website followers are either second-home owners or are thinking of giving up smoking in the next twelve months

And, most frightening of all:

Fact: 93.234371 % of conspiracy website followers are seriously thinking of setting up their own conspiracy website in the next twelve months

Armed with this staggering information, it is apparent that something must be done before the Internet and those very websites conspiracy theorists cherish disappear. It is also apparent, because of our long-held belief in the freedom of expression that nothing can be done. Most would agree that this is frighteningly paradoxical

We invite you, the audience to send in your suggestions as to how we might avoid the nightmare scenario that is An End to Conspiracies? (available at all good bookshops). We would encourage you to leave your thoughts in the comments section below - though sadly we have to announce that the comments section has been disabled... for reasons... well, for reasons we can only guess at...

Richard Desmond and Channel Five

We believe it to be a grave error of judgement to allow Richard Desmond, the purveyor of "adult entertainment", to purchase Channel Five.

Admittedly, Channel Five lost 41M Euros last year and has only a 4% share of TV viewing figures. But should media regulators such as Ofcom and the Competition Commission honestly - and we mean honestly - be swayed by Mr. Desmond's bid of £100M? (Yes.) And if so, do they really have the future of broadcasting within this great nation of ours as their primary concern? (Probably not).

We fear that if - as now seems likely - this deal goes through, we will see much more of the following on our screens:-

- Snog, Marry, Avoid?
- Hotter Than My Daughter
- Underage and Pregnant
- 101 Ways To Leave a Gameshow
- Danielle Lineker - My New Stepfamily
- Don't Tell the Bride
- Baby Beauty Queens
- Celebrity Masterchef
- Alice and Her Six Dads
- Lee Nelson's Well Good Show
- (Repeats of) Eastenders
- Escape to the Country
- Homes Under The Hammer
- Cash In The Attic
- Bargain Hunt
- Weakest Link
- Young, Dumb And Living off Mum
- Bizarre ER - The boy who cut off his head by falling on a flower pot
- DIY SOS
- Flog It
- (More) Celebrity Masterchef
- (More repeats of) Eastenders
- (At least three hours a day of) Golf, Snooker, Darts etc etc...

We say no! Do not let Five go the way of the BBC! Fight this dreadful ogre people refer to as "Public Service Broadcasting". For, look at what it has done to the quality of our television in recent years. Join us in our campaign and insist, as we insist: Channel Five must NOT become another BBC1, 2 or, indeed, 3!

Earthlings simply don't give a damn!

The Daily Mail has revealed that more than 100 planets similar in size to ours have been discovered in the  past few weeks alone. This raises the tantalising prospect that we may not be alone in the Universe.

I decided to get in touch with some of these aliens. I reckoned there's clearly something we don't understand about them. I wanted to ask why they're so distant, so aloof, unwilling to communicate with us. As you can imagine, I had a tough time getting even that rather rudimentary question across initially. After all, my Krell, Martian and Klingon are a little rusty these days. But with the help of an odd little fellow named Ted who claimed  to be an "Interpreter" for the United Nations, I achieved my aim. I discovered why these "Honourary Earthlings" (hereafter referred to as "HEs19") just don't want to know.

Me:  Why have you never bothered getting in touch?

HEs19:  Your Ted Interpreter is picking his nose. Please ask him to stop. It is the height of rudeness to nose-pick whilst interpreting.

Ted:  I do beg your pardon. On some planets I've known it is the custom to pick one's nose on such occasions.

HEs19:  Not ours, I regret to say. But anyway, to answer your question. We do not get in touch because there is much about your planet that we do not like.

Me:  Anything in particular?

HEs19:  Well you must remember, old boy, that the only source of information for us is your staggeringly awful media. We have a live feed that taps into the broadcasts that bounce around your planet and so we watch a lot of what you watch. Frankly it's pathetic. Who would want to get in touch with a bunch of morons who are fixated on Jordan and Peter Andre and Simon Cowell and your Gok Wan and your Fairy Jobmother and Gillian MacKeith and your banal property programmes and your stupid little cookery shows and your...

Me:  OK. I get the message. So basically what you are saying is that you judge our people by the quality of the media output.

HEs19: Well, HELLO? What other way is there for us to judge you? If you burp, or you fart, you are making a statement about the quality of the wind in your interior. If you produce this utter crap that we intercept on planet HEs19, then surely it a statement about the quality of the wind within the interior of your civilisation.

Ted:  He's got a point there.

Me:  I'll thank you not to comment, Ted. You're here to interpret.

Ted:  Sorry boss. I'll go back to picking my nose if it's okay by you.

Me:  No it's not okay.

HEs19:  You tell him.

Me:  Yes, so anyway. What you are saying is that we are judged - as a civilisation - by our output? And all of this reality TV and the other garbage is so bad that... that...

HEs19:  That your media is like the ambassador of your ghastly little planet. And if that is your ambassador, we just don't want to know you.

Me:  I see...

HEs19:  I mean, let's face it the content of your so called BBC1, which is supposedly a "public service broadcast" - Ho! Ho! Ho!... it is so bad that we are thinking: Well if the BBC1 with all its silly cookery and treasure hunt programmes equals public service, then we would certainly not wish to be exposed to your public dis-service broadcasts.

Ted:  They're called BBC3.

Me:  Yes, thanks for that, Ted. Please, Ted, could you not make these asides. You're interpreting... Remember?.

Ted:  Sorry boss. It was hard to resist. Speaking as an interpreter.

Me:  But, okay, so I understand that a lot of our media output is garbage. But there is also some good stuff... films and good drama... documentaries... music...

HEs19:  Well there maybe. But they constitute the minority. And the garbage as you so rightly call it constitutes the majority. So why would we want to populate a planet that was swimming in such a cesspit medium?

Me:  Populate? You said populate?

HEs19:   Yes, populate. We only wish to connect with planets that we can populate. We are territorial people - rather like yourself in your own disgusting way. But we only wish to populate fertile habitats. Not cesspits.

Me:  Okay, Gotcha. So, were it not for all this crap that is filtering out over the radio waves or what have you, you would have invaded us long ago.

HEs19:  Got it in one. Plus we would have raped and pillaged and stolen all of your "satellite dishes" and DAB radios and World Wide Webs.

Ted:  Can't steal a world wide web. That's the whole point. Duh!

HEs19:  Okay then. All your iPods.

Me:  They're not all they're cracked up to be.

Ted:  Apparently there's going to be a recall!

HEs19:  Recall?

Me:  Yep. Can you believe it? A recall!

HEs19: Okay then, that's even less of a reason to invade if even your iPods are rubbish

Me:  So basically, we on Earth should be thanking Simon Cowell and Damien Hirst and iPods and all the other "cultural icons" for saving the planet?

HEs19:  Indeed Earthling. It has saved your bacon. You are too crap a planet for us to bother with.

Me:  Well, I have to say... in that case... I'll raise a toast to Simon Cowell.

Ted:  Yes, here's to Simon Cowell and all the others

HEs19:  (Awkward, squirming) But... Just one thing...

Me:  Yes?

HEs19:  It seems like an odd request... But, I don't suppose however you know how to get in touch with this Mister Cowell?

Me:  You want to get in touch with Simon Cowell?

HEs19:  Yes. Not for my own sake of course. It is just that my great great grand-daughter wants to make a bit of a name for herself on planet HEs19 and, well...

Ted:   Yes?

HEs19:  Well, she just wonders whether your Mister Cowell could help her career in any way?

Me:  Yep... definitely.

Ted:  He said, definitely.

Me:  He knows what I said, Ted.

Ted:  Sure, boss.

Special... Special... Oh, so... Special Relationship.

A (respectable) tart writes:

"It's hard to get to the top and find you're not right at the top. You've networked, brown-nosed, back-stabbed, and horse-traded all your working life. You've walked all over people you once loved. And then... when you get your prize you realise that... on the other side of the pond there is still someone bigger and better than you.

"Hello, I am speaking to you today as a respectable tart. And I can honestly say that I understand the above predicament. I have spent my entire life in the company of people ostensibly more powerful than myself (that is to say, senior politicians). And time and time again, I hear the same old refrain: "What's the point of being Secretary of State (for something or other) when you still have to answer to someone even more powerful than yourself?"

"And shall I tell you what I say? I say: Well, Honey (or Right Honourable Honey), this is clearly the wrong kinda relationship you're in. Or else you ain't doing it right. I say, just because someone else is boss, it doesn't actually mean they're boss. Know what I mean?"

"No!"  The Secretary of State (for something or other) might frequently respond. "I don't know quite what you mean. Please expand, if you wouldn't mind."

And I reply: "It's rather like being a respectable tart (which is indeed what I am.)"

"I then proceed to tell the Secretary of State (for something or other) that though I am a respectable tart, he is nevertheless expected to treat me as "The Boss" if he knows what's good for him. For if he does not treat me as "The Boss" he will end up lacking the gratification that he is manifestly seeking on this (or any other) occasion. My client tends to go along with my analysis of the situation and sees that although the "Special Relationship" that exists between us is not altogether equal in purely socio-economic terms, I am still entitled to an enormous amount of respect. He is required to make a big effort. Indeed, he might well go further, perhaps getting down on his hands and knees, playing the part of the supplicant from time to time, and licking my boots clean if necessary.

"And so it is with all "Special Relationships", I do believe. Do not become  disheartened when the relationship at times appears unbalanced, unequal. Do not swing from one extreme where you are cold and aloof, and where you reject your boss.... to the other extreme where you simply bend over and just take it and take it and take it (whilst whimpering occasionally). At all times, play the true tart and ensure that "Special Relationship" survives, not simply because you need it, but also because the client wants it... really, really wants it. Make the client understand that what he gets out of it depends on what he put into it! Then that "Special Relationship" might just work. Who knows?

A hidden world, the new spooks

(The Washington Post is currently investigating the top-secret world the government created after 911. This resulted in the hire of thousands of new under-cover operatives. We look at the implications for the Walter Mittys and the Jekylls and Hydes of this world. We ask what The Post's investigation might mean for the schizos, for the double-dealers and the con men... even for those among us who might ordinarily be considered just plain "dysfunctional". Here, a phone-in host called VJ invites calls from members of the public who believe that their other halves might be leading double lives - but who cannot be quite sure. Are they the "new spooks"... or simply weirdos...)

VJ:  So, tonight we're discussing the suspicions the current Washington Post investigation is raising in the minds of ordinary men and women. We want to hear from callers who suspect their other halves might not be who they say they are... And first up we've got Jenny from Yonkers. Hi, Jenny can you hear me?

Jenny:  Loud and clear, VJ. Loud and clear. Can you hear me?

VJ:  I can hear you Jenny. What is it you want to talk about?

Jenny:  It's my boyfriend, Jake, VJ. He's started doing something like weird with his man-bag?

VJ:  With his man-bag?

Jenny:  Yes, VJ. His man-bag. He's started carrying it, like, differently?

VJ:  And in what way is that, Jenny?

Jenny:  He's started slinging over his other shoulder. He always used to sling it over his right shoulder and now he slings it over his left one. Isn't that kind of weird and perverse?

VJ:  I don't know, Jenny. Is it weird and perverse?

Jenny:  Well, it's kind of weird? Don't you think, VJ?

VJ:  I don't know, Jenny... Do you think he might be gay or something? Maybe, I don't know... he's kind of coming out of the closet.

Jenny:  Yeah, well, I always thought of that, VJ. But I kind of wonder whether it might be something more significant than that? You know?

VJ:  What? Than the fact you suddenly discovered your boyfriend is gay?

Jenny:  Yeah... Like, I just wonder whether slinging it over the other shoulder means that he might be a double agent or something?

VJ:  In a sense he is a double agent... if he's been telling you all this time he loves you and then you find he's been leading a double life and he's in fact gay?

Jenny:  He's also started walking different too and dressing different, you know? Like, different trousers and shirts?

VJ:  There you are, he's probably coming out. He'll probably confess everything before long. Know what I mean?

Jenny:  No, I don't know what you mean, VJ. And frankly I take offence at that statement. What right has some two-bit, jumped up little phone-in guy to pronounce on our personal life? I thought this phone-in was about double agents. Who the f--- do you think you are telling me that...?

VJ:  I'm sorry. Gotta end that call there for reasons that are no doubt obvious. We're going to take another caller right now. This one is Sandra from Baltimore. Hi Sandra, are you there?

Sandra:  What exactly do you mean by that, VJ? Of course I'm here. Don't you believe me?

VJ:  Sure I do Sandra. Just wanted to check you were on the line, that's all. So anyway, Sandra. Tell us what you want to talk about?

Sandra:  It's Max.

VJ:  Max?

Sandra:  Yes, our Labrador, Max.

VJ:  Labrador... okay?

Sandra:  Yeah, been acting kind of strange lately.

VJ:  I see, like in what way strange, Sandra?

Sandra:  Well, VJ, seems to happen when Mike, that's my partner, gets home from work. Mike and Max seem to be communicating in a really odd way. Mike's started talking this kind of coochy-coochy language to Max and I wonder whether Max has some kind of implant or something. Just wonder whether the funny language is some kind of code that Mike's talking? And what if the implant is a bug and Mike is communicating with someone else not Max? And like, you see where I'm kind of going with this, VJ?

VJ:  Yeah... I think I see where you're going.

Sandra:  Thank Heavens, VJ. At last someone understands. I've been trying to get people to back me up on this one for months. And Doctor Cobb our doctor say it's nothing to worry about and then I even took Max to a new vet - thought he might understand.

VJ:  Understand what exactly, Sandra?

Sandra:  Understood what was going on.

VJ:  And did he understand, Sandra? Did he find an implant, a bug?

Sandra:  No the freak took my frigging money and told me there was nothing to fucking worry about and...

VJ:  Sorry, but once again, we had to end that call there. Can I remind you ladies and gentlemen: no profanities are allowed on this programme at ANY time and we'll cut off and blacklist any numbers that make such calls... And so next... we have Dimitry from... well Dimitry says he's calling from Tashkent even though the number he's given us is Queens. Hello Dimitry, what is it that you'd like to talk about?

Dimitry: I do not talk. I told I must listen.

VJ:  Okay, Dimitry. This is a phone- in, not a listen-in... if you catch my drift.

Dimitry:  I just listen.

VJ:  Okay Dimitry. But it's not going to make for interesting conversation if you just don't say anything.

Dimitry:  I just listen.

VJ: Okay folks, I think we're going to wrap this particular item up right here. We appear to be encouraging too many fruit-cakes and weirdos... But please join us again after the break where we will be discussing people and their pets. We'll be asking: Is your pet special, gifted... and could your dog or your cat... or even your octopus, just possibly... be psychic? Thank you for staying with us...

Bloody-thirsty, psychotic narcissists - and we're not talking psychiatrists

It is always very interesting when another blood-thirsty, psychotic, wife-beating, brutal, murderous, mental, narcissist thug  bursts onto the scene. Aside from the fact that such events are worthy of acres of newsprint and hours of rolling news (even when nothing is actually occurring), there is an obvious benefit for psychiatrists such as myself who get massive exposure - all gratis and for free, I might add.

Events like the murderous rampage of Raoul Moat are becoming all too common in this day and age - which is probably a good thing for men such as myself who are increasingly viewed with suspicion by certain sections of the medical profession as  well as the public at large. For when blood-thirsty, psychotic, wife-beating, brutal, murderous, mental narcissist thugs emerge onto the scene and start killing everybody at random, ordinary folk search for an explanation. Now this is where I come in and where I get the opportunity to try out new buzz-words that I have coined just for such an occasion.

"Future-foreshortening - this is indeed my favorite buzz-word. You could say it has become my buzz-word of the month, my buzz-word "du mois". The  phrase future-foreshortening is one that will forever be associated with myself - a psychiatrist of no mean repute. Here I  have the opportunity to use a word or a sets of words (commonly called 'phrases') that appear original and somewhat scholarly in nature, rather than resorting to simpler, more cliched terminology such as "living as there were no tomorrow" or living for the day."

I get to repeat my pet phrase on live television again and again and people stop and think: What an interesting phrase that psychiatrist has used. I must write it down and remember it. I might even use it myself some day, so that I might indeed sound as lofty and authorative as that fellow on the telly.

And every time I appear on television I will pepper my broadcast liberally with this, my pet phrase. Here is one example:  "The blood-thirsty, psychotic, wife-beating, brutal, murderous, mental, narcissist thug called Moat is engaged in the process of what I call future foreshortening, which means that he can do whatever he wants because he has dispensed with the future. This frame of mind, if I  haven't already mentioned it is call future-foreshortening and future-foreshortening is a new phrase that elegantly describes what I think Moat is doing." And that is why I use the phrase future foreshortening again and again, in interview after interview. And just in case you want to experience the phrase one more time, here it is: future-foreshortening, future-fore-shortening, FUTURE-FORESHORTENING!  Bravo! Encore! That is what you I hear you say. And yes, I agree. It does have a ring to it. So there we are.  Future-foreshortening (Whoops! I used it again. But then you love it don't you?)

Now there are some among you who will say that I am "up my own arse" (or torso-foreshortened, as I call it). You will suggest that I am therefore a narcissist like Raoul Moat. Now most of you who think like that are no doubt fellow psychiatrists who are hacked off, envious I received so much coverage. But when it comes to myself, nothing could be further from the truth. I would like to say that I am unquestionably confident of my own skills, of my in-depth knowledge of what makes a man like Moat go on the rampage. But I can safely say that I am doing the public a service by helping everyone understand what is really going on when a blood-thirsty, psychotic, wife-beating, brutal, murderous, mental narcissist thug flips and kills everybody. Society needs men like me in order to get to grips with such a complex and incomprehensible set of  events. I should be praised for what I do. For indeed I am to some extent like a God and most definitely not a narcissist.

And one last thing I might add. By feathering my nest in this way, by bursting out into the limelight like this, I can guarantee that the general public will be lining up to buy my forthcoming book entitled: "What makes blood-thirsty, psychotic,  wife-beating, brutal, murderous, mental, narcissist thugs go nutso and kill everybody?" And indeed I can be safe in the  knowledge that the serialisation rights alone will make me a packet. And might I suggest that in this respect, I am one man amongst you who is most definitely not guilty of "future foreshortening"?

Thank you.

(Please give generously to the Narcissist Psychiatrists Benefit Fund - It might just stop future fucked-up psycho fruit-cakes from going mental and shooting everyone.)

Political memoirs and open government. A publisher's take

"There are many who view political memoirs with a degree of scepticism. There are some who view them with derision. Commentators often question whether the recollections of senior politicians can be anything other than self-serving - simply an attempt "to set the record straight" by writing and perhaps "righting" history.

"Now, I take issue with cynical attitudes such as these - as I do with those who'd adopt them. It is very easy to say that politicians are secretive, that they control the flow of information to suit their own twisted ends. And yet, when these self-same politicians do in fact publish their "warts and all" accounts they still come under attack. They are, as it were, damned if they do publish, and damned if they don't.

"I am a publisher and I have a somewhat different perspective. Yes, these memoirs might be elegantly tailored to suit the designs of certain authors. Yes, they might filter out certain salient points whilst flooding readers with others the authors would prefer them to take on board. Nevertheless, often quite by accident, they do offer an insight into the mindsets, into the attitudes, and therefore into the worlds these authors/politicians inhabit during their long and turbulent careers.

"Here, I give an example of one particular encounter that occurred between three senior politicians as they plotted the downfall of several senior cabinet colleagues in addition to the "liquidation" of various officials and members of the public who were deemed to have become an "inconvenience". I think you'll agree that, though the individuals concerned are not actually identified (for reasons of national security) and though the specific operation to which they refer is not immediately obvious, this account offers an unprecedented insight into the secretive workings of the "inner cabinet".

The Right Hon. Mr X: I really don't agree with you Otto (codename). Calling it "Operation Strongbow" is a dead giveaway. It suggests that we are up to something involving physical violence.

The Right Hon. Mr. Y: Oh, utter rot, Hagrid (codename). Strongbow is the name of a cider for crying out loud. What are we supposed to be up to? A cunning plan to get people pissed?

The Right Hon. Mr. Z: He's got a point you know, Otto. We don't really want the word strong... or bow for that matter. People might not see the cider angle. They might just think bows and arrows... death, destruction and the like.

The Right Hon. Mr. Y: Oh for crying out loud!

The Right Hon. Mr. X: I think that we should go for something warm and cuddly sounding. How about Operation Fluffy Bunny? No one would have a clue what that was.

The Right Hon. Mr. Z: Or how about Operation Teensy Weensy Cutesy Little Guinea Pig? Who'd suspect that?

The Right Hon. Mr. Y: (Sneering) Yes, well how about Operation Looney Tunes? That has a ring to it. And if ever we got caught we could claim, I don't know, diminished responsibility.

The Right Hon. Mr. Z: You know, you might be onto something.

The Right Hon. Mr. Y: (Sneering again) It was meant to be a joke.

The Right Hon. Mr. X: (Cutting in) Listen. I think I have the solution. Let's simply call it Operation Operation. That way, no one will have any idea what we're talking about.

The Right Hon. Mr. Y: (Perking up) You know, actually, I like it. Operation Operation. Totally meaningless... That's exactly what the business of government should be all about.

The Right Hon Mr. Z: Sorry... I don't follow. How d'you mean?

The Right Hon. Mr. X: The business of government should be all about nobody knowing what the hell we're talking about... even with all this Freedom of Information bullshit. Everyone is still clueless.

The Right Hon. Mr. Y: Yep. I go along with that.

The Right Hon. Mr. X: So, we're agreed. We're calling it Operation Operation?

The Right Hon. Mr. Y: Sounds good to me.

The Right Hon. Mr Z: I suppose so...

The Right Hon. Mr. X: But, you know what. Let's obfuscate a little more.

The Right Hon. Mr Y: Yes?

The Right Hon. Mr. X: Yes... To confuse matters further, let's call it Operation Operation Operation. That way, no one will know whether we're talking about the Operation... or talking about talking about the Operation. Good idea?

The Right Hon. Mr. Z: Erm...

The Right Hon. Mr. X: GOOD idea, boys?

The Right Hon. Mr. Y and Mr. Z: (In unison) Yes... Mr. X.

Mad,bad and dangerous...

Gordon Brown was mad, bad, dangerous and beyond redemption. That's what former PM Tony Blair thought, if Lord Mandelson's political memoirs are anything to go by.

So why was Brown tolerated for thirteen years?

Perhaps because much of the Labour front bench was mad, bad and dangerous as well - especially in the final months leading up to the 2010 election.

The "beyond redemption" bit is also relevant. The thing about redemption is that you never know for sure when someone is actually "beyond" it... until of course it's too late, the penny finally drops and you decide: Yep, they are indeed, they truly are... beyond redemption.

It's like a lover who keeps on forgiving a partner, patching things up, splitting up again, getting back... until... eventually... they realise that the lover really is... beyond redemption.

Maybe the people around Brown all thought: he could change. He couldn't.

Still... all's fair in love and war. That's the other reason why Brown lasted for thirteen years. Probably.

News in Brief

Charity begins elsewhere

Colonel Qaddafi's playboy son has said that the flotilla currently heading for Gaza is pursuing peaceful goals.

"We Qaddafis have a long record of performing peaceful and charitable acts, including our invasion of Chad in the 1980s which was essentially an act of mercy, and the part that we played in the Lockerbie bombing which was simply an attempt to assist our Arab allies.

"Our human rights record at home is also better than that of Israel's in that the floggings for adultery, the indefinite detentions, the migrant and refugee abuses, the disappearance of dissidents and security forces' immunity from prosecution aren't that widely publicised."

Archbishop of Cant will not resign

Archbishop Rowan Williams has denied claims that he is about to resign after the synod rejected his compromise solution over women and gay bishops. "What I said was: I'm resigned to the fact that you can't please all of the people all of the time...  especially if some of them are crypto-papists."

I will Beria the hatchet

A Lavrenti Beria writes:

"My memoirs shouldn't be viewed as an attempt to undermine Gordon's reputation as the best leader this country ever had  (which clearly he was not). I would sooner let bygones be bygones,and "bury the hatchet" as it were. These memoirs should in  fact serve to recall the man Gordon once was in the days of that delightful but verbose - and challengingly  ineffectual - Mr. Kinnock. Back then Gordon was a man of ideas - charming, proactive, resilient, and most important someone  of dogged intellect and determination.

I was asked by Gordon to return to government back in 2008. He was clearly aware that his flagging fortunes could only be  revived by a man who possessed my superb Machiavellian instincts. Just as I had propelled Tony to government in 1997, so,  Gordon reasoned, I could propel him back to No.10 with perhaps a bigger majority and renewed vigour.

Sadly however, it requires a Machiavellian Prince to capitalise upon the plans of a Machiavellian adviser like myself. Gordon  was clearly unable to keep up with, to comprehend the brilliant strategies that I devised to allow him to cling on to  power. I did my best to make him appear statesman-like, to make him stand grand and proud on the steps of Number 10 whenever  a crisis occurred. But Gordon's problem was that he could never run with the situations that I engineered, he could never  carry them through to the point where the people could behold a man of leadership and purpose and destiny.

In the end, it was a hopeless case. The battle with the electorate was lost. The ordinary people reverted to type: greedy,  grasping, selfish and ruthlessly individualistic. Plan Brown was never properly expedited. But, and this is a big but, I  would like to make it clear that unlike that other Lavrenti Beria who was Stalin's fine henchman, I was never guilty of  poisoning my fatally flawed and wounded boss. Gordon, I am sorry to say, did that himself with those funny pills that he  referred to as "anti-depressants".

No. I can hold my head up high. And so I will - very high. I have, unsurprisingly, received multiple job offers from the  finest companies. I wish I could say the same for Gordon, who, it appears, will likely move on to that knackers yard that  people refer to nowadays as "academia".

But most important of all, I continue to serve the Labour Party with my perceptive observations and my  in-depth commentaries  and I am always ready to offer my pearls of wisdom to those, such as the Miliband of brothers who would graciously receive  them."

Yours, PM

Blessed are the peacemakers...

(The Archbishop of Cant, Rowan Williams explains why he will not support gay bishops, women bishops, let alone gay and lesbian bishops)

"Can women and gay men become bishops? This is a thorny issue indeed. The synod may vote in favour of  women bishops, and a man of the cloth can, quite rightly (in my judgement at least), sympathise with the sodomites. But I must weigh these considerations alongside those of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

"You have heard that it was said, "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I tell you not to resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. If anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also.

"And so it is with the Catholics and the Evangelicals and those Anglo-Catholics who would stop gay men - and women - from becoming bishops. Though they may hinder the efforts of the Anglican Church to modernise, to be progressive, though they may wish to preach their bigoted message or messages, should we not assist them by rolling over and abandoning everything the Anglican Church stands for in this day and age? For a Catholic may indeed be as close to Jesus as a rich man is to Heaven, but should we not set an example and show him or her the truly Christian way?

"And I say unto you: Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. And so it is with the women and the gays. They are persecuted indeed by the negative attitudes of Rome and its sympathisers. But theirs will ultimately be the kingdom of heaven. And the persecuted shall have the last laugh, if indeed laugh is what they do desire.

"Consider the 'nimbies'. For there are those amongst us who long to be progressive and tolerant of women and gays, but who do not wish to see these people in their own backyards. For though the nimbies do toil and spin, they care not for the manner in which these women and gays are arrayed, with their dresses and their thigh length boots and their fishnets and their other regalia. That being said I hope that these same nimbies are somewhat more tolerant of the sartorial tastes of churchmen and the laiety, whose deportment is altogether more modest, what with the robes and the cassocks.

And so I finish by saying unto you: "Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves.You will know them by their fruits.

"And indeed it is the "fruits" and the women, I mean, the wolves in sheep's clothing that trouble me. For, can they truly inherit the Earth? What will men say of the Anglican Church then? Yea verily, Archbishop Williams has an important role to play in the Anglican Church and that role must include appeasing the bigots through rigorous pre-selection of the bishops (as it was said in the Book of McKinsey and Co, Chapter Ten, Verse Sixteen.)."

AMEN

(Do I get to keep my job, Prime Minister?)

Building Shiny New Schools for the Future.

The view from the public (school) sector - A boarder goes home for the summer hols

"Pa pulls up in his ropey old Audi. Massive cringe - The other boys zip home in brand new TVRs and Porsches, because their old men have made killings in the bond market or on their "property portfolios". My Pa's property porfolio amounts to a  crumbling old stately home and some cottages in Northumberland and Pa says that the upkeep means he'll never be able to afford a "fucking Porsche" which is no big deal apparently because they're driven by rich oiks anyway.

Everything's falling to bits on the estate. It's grimmer than school where the mould in the dormies was up to my shoulder this term. I shoved Dicky Drew against the mould last week and it left brown smears on his blazer. My mate Pablo told everyone that Dicky had shat himself in terror and it had all shot upwards. But Dicky then went and blubbed to the House Master and we all got end of term detention in that shithouse where the Removes jerk themselves off every lunchtime. Fuck, that place stinks of piss. It hasn't had a "lick of paint" for years and however hard we try we can't persuade the boys in Form One to chuck the old Dulux on their tongues and to give it that "lick" it richly deserves.

Ma and Pa couldn't give a toss about the dorms, although Ma says that if I left the old place and went to the local "Academy" school I could play my computer games in a shiny new "ICT suite". Pa says that these shiny new buildings are financed by a bunch of bloodsucking bankers, who charge an arm and a leg for buildings that will probably fall down within a decade.

He tells me to stop moaning about the dorms and the forms - it was the same in his bloody day. Shiny new buildings won't make you better at translating Cicero or Catullus. And mould is character building anyway. I told him that some of those bloodsucking  bankers he had referred to send their boys to the school nowadays. And he said "There you go. Even these arrivistes realise that a bit of mould won't do their precious little boys any harm. So why are they shoving their horrendous financing schemes on poor unsuspecting education ministers and their dim apparatchiks? It's just a bloody racket, spun by that crook and fraudster Brown and his bunch of Stalinist henchmen when Labour was in power. Well done Mister Gove for putting an end to this racket."

Then Ma tells Pa to stop ranting and says that she rather admires the architecture of the local "Academy". Pa says that just because it's designed by some wanker who lives in Islington, doesn't mean its worth twenty million quid to the taxpayer thank you very much. Then Ma just silently wanders over to the television and switches on Eastenders, while Pa storms off and locks himself in his study with his typewriter and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Ma says that if he didn't drink so much he'd see that his study could well do with a "lick of paint". I'm buggered if I don't agree with her."

Baron Prescott Announcement - Pauline Conversion?

"Following on from my recent canonisation, I would like to make it totally definitive and without any clarification whatsoever needed that unlike most class warriors who are resigned to the acceptance of peerages and honours and suchlike in the twilight of their years,  my undertaking of the title of Baron Prescott will in no way preclude my ability nor inability (whichever may be the  greater) to hold the establishment - and chief amongst them the current so-called coalition government - to account.

"Just because I have decided to don the ermine which has always been the very insignia of the working class oppressors, it in  no way, shape or form suggests that I am about to surrender my fight with those who would undermine those values and those  beliefs that I have fought for all of my working life to overcome. No, absolutely not! There is no reason why a class warrior  in the twilight of his or her beliefs should not wear any uniform whatsoever of wheresoever it takes his fancy and thereby  find a relevant and appropriate methodology of pressing home his or her message or messages. The regalia which a man like myself adopts is in no way prohibitive to the execution of said duties thereof (with the exception I do readily admit of the  paraphernalia of the Stormtrooper or the Ku Klux Klan - which are in fact totally different matters altogether).

However, contrary to some reports, I would like to state, with no degree of uncertainty or doubt that certain rumours  circulating in the press right now that I am about to follow the path of Comrade Blair (or Tony as I still refer to him) and  adopt the learnings and the rituals of the Pontiff in Rome and the acceptance of the Latin Mass have no foundation nor  justification here on earth nor anywhere else at this present time. It would ill behove a man of my stature and standing to  come to such a decision whereof to turn to Rome, unless I had the specific and unconditional blessing and exhortation of my  darling wife Pauline, who currently has no intentions of turning to Rome either (I do believe).

I hope that this is an appropriate clarification of my current situation herein and thereof.

Yours, Baron Prescott. May the Lord be with you."

News in Brief

Thousands of gormless teenagers catch Malaria

Following news that singer-celebrity Cheryl Cole has malaria, it's been revealed that thousands of adoring fans have been clogging accident and emergency wards complaining of the symptoms of malaria. A Doctor Livingstone said: "We have quite literally been inundated with sweaty, self-pitying, whingeing teenagers muttering the words "I've been  bitten." Of course we've sent them all home and told them: It's called being a teenager.

Megrahi could live for ten years

The Doctor who claimed the Libyan accused of the Lockerbie bombing was on his deathbed has now admitted he might in fact live for another ten years. He added however: "This appalling error of judgement regarding Al-Megrahi says more about the quality of the NHS under the last government than it does about dodgy oil deals with Libya."

Russian Spy to play Jennifer Aniston

It has been confirmed that the Russian spy Anna Chapman, a widely-reported Jennifer Aniston impersonator, is to play the actress in a film about her life and career. Hollywood insiders say that Chapman is perfect for the part of Aniston who has taken on a variety of roles and who has left audiences asking: who is the real Jennifer?

Said one insider: "The actress is very versatile and has played everything from an assassin and femme fatale through to the sweet and delectable Rachel in the long running TV series Friends.

"Similarly Chapman is someone as comfortable in the role of a suburban housewife or metrosexual thirty-something as she is in that of a ruthless undercover agent.

Penetration

(The ghosts of Chairman Mao and Josef Stalin sit and chat. They compare the success of Russia and of China in penetrating the West and its institutions since their deaths. The conversation gets heated - they become increasingly competitive.)

Stalin:   (Raises glass) Here's to another thousand years, Comrade.

Mao:  (Raises glass) Here's to another ten thousand years, Comrade.

Stalin:  (Looking slightly suspicious) Ten thousand years of the Marxist-Leninist struggle against the bloody oppressor, I assume you mean?

Mao: Comrade... I mean, ten thousand years of spreading the message - spreading our message... I mean, of maintaining our influence over the more ignorant nations of this world. I mean... of convincing the Western powers that in the long term it is our formula for power, our formula for government that will win through and that will bring long term stability to this planet.

Stalin:  When you say our message, our influence, our formula... you mean Russian-Chinese influence indeed, do you not?

Mao: No, Brother... Just Chinese influence. That is what counts these days. For your country is no longer the power it once was. Nor has it the influence it once had.

Stalin:  (Red-faced - Suppressing his incipient anger) How can you claim this Comrade? My country is indeed a force to be reckoned with. You need only see how the businessmen, how the oligarchs have managed in the space of just a few years to build world class organisations that can take on the best companies that the West has to offer. Russia dominates the oil and gas markets,  it is buying into Western multinationals... and a Russian even owns one of the top British football teams - Football is like an opiate to the people of the West. They are gripped by the game, they venerate their football stars. But there is more still - the media! One of our leading lights now owns the only London newspaper still in existence.  You must accept that our influence in the West has grown and, more to the point, is growing stronger by the day.

Mao: But what is that compared to the Chinese influence over everything from food...

Stalin: (Angrily interrupts) Food? Food? What like, Chop Suey? Spare Ribs?

Mao:   Sure beat potato dumplings.

Stalin:  Outrageous! To think... Egg Fried Rice!What about our Russian Vodka? One of the most popular drinks in the Western world! You export nothing that so sozzles the heads of these lazy Westerners!

Mao: But anyway, Comrade... As I was saying before you rudely interrupt me... Our influence is from food - and not just food - through to the very tools utilised by the Western economies. From among our number there indeed came the mathematician that generated the models and formulae that the Western bankers used to bring upon themselves the now legendary credit crunch.

Stalin: Indeed?

Mao: Indeed. A Chinaman produced the model that priced those fateful credit derivatives.

Stalin: I had no idea, Comrade.

Mao: And what is more... We dominate production of the computers on which the Westerners work and the mobile phones upon which they speak...  And in leisure too, we are ahead also. We make the televisions on which they can idolise their celebrities, we produce the games consoles on which they play their shoot 'em up games. And even those computers serve a dual purpose - for leisure as well. Effectively, through technology, we control  the means of production and the distribution of their pornography by which they can indulge their endless adoration of tits and bums and blow-jobs and sado-masochistic sex.

Stalin: Hardly something to shout about, Comrade.

Mao: No, Comrade. But it is simply what they choose to use these computers for, not what we choose to make them for. It is their problem not ours if we have even penetrated their sexual pursuits!

Stalin: Okay, I grasp your point there Comrade. China does indeed control the means of production and penetration in that sense.

Mao: You could even say that China controls the means of penetration and ejaculation.

Stalin: Maybe, Comrade. But what about in other areas of sex... What about the legendary Russian 'Honey-Traps', these beautiful Russian spies who continue to ensnare the Western officials and the business men with their captivating looks. In that respect we still control the means of seduction, copulation and ejaculation. And many, many of these people that we have penetrated in that respect are high-ranking indeed.

Mao:  High-ranking?

Stalin: Oh, yes. There are none who rank higher than some of the officials that we have ensnared. They are truly men of rank!

Mao: But surely, Comrade. Why, in this computer age, do you need to ensnare men who are ranking the highest using these  'Honey-Traps'? Surely you can ensnare them by technological means, can you not? For surely they are still ranking as highly when they are using technology as when they are out socialising at Annabel's or at Bouji's?

Stalin: You do indeed have a point there Comrade. A rank is as good in front of a computer screen as it is at Bouji's.

Mao: Indeed it is Comrade. And I believe that your beloved Russia has missed a trick there. If you truly wish to control the means of penetration of men of rank then you should invest more heavily in technology than you currently do.

Stalin:  Okay for now, Chairman Comrade. I will take your point. More penetration through digitalisation.

Mao: Indeed and more penetration of high ranking men no less.

Stalin: Yes, you are wise in that respect, Comrade.

Mao: Thank you for your support, Comrade.

Stalin: (Looks sombre) Even if it is grudgingly offered.

Mao:  (Shrugs) Hmm... no surprise there!

Stalin:  (Standing up) Now if you'll excuse me, I am just off to haunt Comrade Putin.

Mao: Yes, Comrade?

Stalin:  Yes, Comrade. He is clearly asleep at the wheel.... I need to inform him that technology...

Mao: Technology?

Stalin: Yes, that technology is the opiate of the people.

Mao:  Indeed, Comrade. Maybe you should inform him of that point.

Stalin: Yes... and that he ignores it at his peril.

Mao: Yes... Comrade. He does indeed.

Stalin: So... Dos vedanya, Comrade Mao

Mao: Ciao, Comrade Stalin.

The BBC - The argument in favour of those massive salaries (and expenses... and pensions).

Here is the viewing guide for next Saturday July 10. It provides conclusive proof that the BBC is worth every penny it gets. Remember: There might be a lot of repeats, but (most of) the shows were good first time round. And when it comes to sport, it requires enormous imagination to leave a camera running then to broadcast the footage for up to three hours at any one time. As for cookery shows and gameshows, it could be worse. The alternative might be some so-called Doctor examining someone's stools - as happens on Channel Four (which also receives public money).

BBC1

10.00 - 11.30 - Saturday Kitchen (Some whacky people doing some cooking)

11.30 - 12.00 - Delicious Miss Dahl (A celeb doing some cooking)

2.30 - 5.15 - Golf (Men in pink sweaters hitting their balls around the countryside)

5.30 - 5.30 - Total Wipeout (Gameshow)

6.30 - 7.30 - 101 Ways to leave a Gameshow (Quiz show about gameshows)

7.30 - 8.25 - National Lottery (Includes quizzes and gameshows)

10.20 - 10.50 - Question of Sport Uncensored (Repeat of whacky 'out-takes')

01.45 - 01.50 - Friday Night with Jonathan Ross (Repeat of interviewer asking famous people whacky questions.)


BBC2

1.00 - 2.30 - Golf (Men in pink sweaters etc.)

4.30 - 7.30 - Athletics (Camera follows people running around a field)

10.00 - 10.40 - Have I Got a Little Bit More News for You. (No you haven't! This is the tenth repeat of the show)


BBC3

7.30 - 11.00 - T in the Park - (Camera left running whilst pop stars do their concert acts.)


BBC4

8.00 - 9.00 - Century of Fatherhood (Programme that no fathers actually bother watching)

Swine before Pearls (of Wisdom)

A government scientist called Deirdre has identified four hundred and ninety two ways in which ordinary members of the public might die next year and is urging the government to insure against each and every one of them.

Following on from the last Labour government's purchase of ninety million doses of Tamiflu that will never be used, Dame Deirdre, as she is known to her friends, suggested that governments around the world should buy every quack remedy known to man because "even if they save one life, they are worth 850 Million pounds at the very least."

"Remember, we are talking about insurance policies here. And as with all good insurance policies you pay a massive amount of money for something that might never happen. The great advantage of these policies is that someone else gets very rich off the back of your stupidity."

She continued: "And the real upside is that the companies that produce these worthless drugs give politicans and apparatchiks like myself lucrative jobs after we have left government and none of you suckers are any the wiser."

"As the legendary Meerkat in that insurance advert says: "Simples".