Tag Archives: Home Secretary

Obama at the No 10 Barbecue

Large men wearing shades, wires dangling from cauliflower ears and overcoats neatly folded in front of them stand very still. They are watching a little man running about putting the last touches to the seating arrangements. Sweat is pouring down his pink face. He looked quite neat when he arrived with the milk at 4.00 a.m. Now he looks like a sweating anaemic blood orange in a crumpled grey suit. 

At last his master summons him.  “Clegg!” 

The Prime Minister, looking very casual in his white shirt, navy blue suit trousers, black brogues, pulls off his tie and hands it to the hapless Clegg. “Get rid of this. Don’t lose it. When my bestest chums Barack and Michelle arrive, take their coats and put them somewhere safe. Can you manage that? I don’t want any more fuck-ups. Speaking of fuck ups, how’s the Huhne thing going?”

“Well, your Highness……….”stammers Clegg, “I…..I…..I. Sorry your Eminent and Serene…..Highness….”

“Just shut the fuck up and get rid of the tie, Make sure that you fold it properly.”

Clegg scuttles off pausing only to be searched and for the tenth time, have a metal detector waved over him by a gorilla in RayBans.

He runs into No 10, through the French windows, up a short flight of stairs, into the lavatory. He decides to have a quick pee but in his blind haste, he wets the Prime Minister’s tie. “Fuck!”  he mutters. Another bollocking.

Imperceptibly, the mood in the Rose Garden changes. The Special Service psychos suddenly stand a bit straighter whilst the biggest one – the one with shoulders like an overstuffed sofa speaks into his sleeve. They’re here! 

An immaculate and very cool Obama sweeps through into the garden . Michelle, looking casual yet expensively glamorous follows discreetly.

The “Mwwwah! Mwwwah” ceremony between the Camerons and the Obamas is quickly concluded as the rest of the Cabinet lines up for the handshakes. Hague is looking especially resplendent in his New York Yankees baseball hat, multi-coloured Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and Argos trainers. Cameron looks across at Hague, just as the Foreign Secretary says to Michelle ” Hello, Nice day”.

“Twat!” thinks Cameron as he watches Sam fuss over the pre-cooked, pre-tasted,  Texan burgers on the grill .

” Would you like a burger, Barack?”  he shouts over to the President who at that moment stands shaking hands with the Home Secretary who once again is wearing her leopard print “Fuck me” shoes.

The President is relieved to have finished the gladhanding , grabs Michelle by the hand and returns to the comparative sanctuary of the blazing-hot barbecue.

Cameron repeats: ” Burger Barack?”

Barack pulls a sheet of paper from his trouser pocket.

“As the white-hot fingers of the London sun caress the pale face of this momentous day in this Rose Garden, I would ask something of you – my fellow  human being and servant of the people…Mr Prime Minister………..something that I am not just asking of you. It is something that I would ask of anyone. Take your wooden tongs , and reach…………yes, reach for that burger bun ( Yes we can!) and having split it with the ice-sharp steel of your artisan knife – thrust into it one , just one  onion-laced beef patty and hand it to me –  for I am like you . I am your brother and I know that you also feel my hunger and the hunger of the people, your people, my people……OUR PEOPLE!  The people of the world! We are the people!  And when you have handed it to me, I will endeavour to accomplish what has been instituted by families up and down this great land of Ingerland since the mists of time parted.  They parted to reveal our forebear – the common man ( Yes we can!). I am not asking for anything more that a bite – or if it pleases you, my dear and gracious Prime Minister Cameroon –  just the opportunity of a bite. Now if that bite seems unpleasant or offensive in any way – we neither make nor demand apology  – we simply ask the one question that matters – ketchup or none? Cheeze or no cheeze I do not yet know the answer but…..we shall begin our journey, this barbecue journey together and  we shall find out! It will be our quest! We may not get it right first time but one day soon  we will know! Maybe even before the end of this great day! God Bless the County of Ingerland and  the United States of America!”

Cameron and Sam are now beginning to look quite ill-at-ease. Sam turns to her husband who appears to have gone into “shut-down”. “What the fuck was that all about. Does he want a fucking burger or not?”

Just  as President Obama pauses for applause an embarrassed Michelle steps in. The only person clapping, jumping up and down, waving an American flag  is Clegg. One of the Secret Service gorillas looks as if he is about to shoot the Limey faggot with the wet stains down the front of his trousers.

Michelle helps the Camerons ” He means ‘yes please’. Can you please give him a burger in a bun. Sorry about that but I’m always having to do this. He does get carried away”

Clegg approaches the great man. He is clutching a worn schoolboy autograph book.

“Can I have your autograph, please?”  He is barely managing to hold back the tears of joy.

” Of course, Clegg. Should I do it ‘to Nick’ ?” Clegg is so overcome, all that he can do is nod.

Cameron signs his name. “Now piss off and help with the washing up.”

ZZ stop.

“Islam4UK”

I am a great respecter of Islam – in the same sense that I am a respecter of Roman Catholic Priests, Jehovah’s Witnesses, FF bras, Gordon Brown and Disneyworld.

Wootton Bassett has become  a bit of a Lourdes-without-miracles but nevertheless,  is still a magnet for coachloads of  faux-mourners who know that an hour-or-two in the cold and rain may finally help them to achieve fame.  You never know, the odd local reporter may walk up the line with his fluffy microphone and ask them what they think of dead soldiers in shiny limos. “I think it’s disgusting.”   ” We should bring them back from   Afstani…nisst…gan.”

There is little chance of a question about dead Muslims – because we don’t fly coffins full of Muslims back to RAF Lyneham. They might blow up. You can’t be too careful.

Home Secretary Alan “Postman Pat” Johnson was wrong to prevent the procession in the Wiltshire town by Anjem Choudary and the ZZ-Top tribute band currently calling itself Islam4UK.  Gordon Brown managed to call the proposed march “abhorrent and offensive” – an opinion without an inquiry! May Allah be praised! (and God too, of course).

Now that senior politicians have had their 15 minutes of outrage- it’s time for them to come into the daylight and smell the Frappuccino: there was never going to be a march.

It shouldn’t take a Max Clifford to  work-out that the whole thing was a con, designed to position Islam4UK as a reasonable bunch of bearded guys in frocks and bandaged heads to whom free speech and their inalienable right to protest had been denied by their fascist oppressors – and they succeeded.

If the Prime Minister and his Cabinet don’t wake up, Islam4UK  (no-one had heard of them before last Tuesday) will once-again change their name and score yet another PR coup. Thanks to innocent and clueless politicians and  with a little help from the Daily Mirror, these Muslim prats are now mainstream. Well done, boys.

Tonight, they must all be sitting around, pissing themselves laughing into their Single Malts. (It’s OK, I have Muslim mates and I understand them).

Postman Pat should have allowed the march to go ahead and asked the media to ignore it. That would have been a “win-win”.

Anjem Choudary is leader of Islam4UK  but there’s more.

Enam Chowdhury (coincidence?) and his wife Jasmin own a restaurant is Wootton Bassett and by all accounts, their business is doing well. They have an eight-year-old son named  Tahlil who has declared that he wants to join the Army. Why would a nice young Muslim boy wish to join the killing profession?

He thinks that it would be cool that if he was shot or blown up, his body would be paraded through Wootton Bassett and people would pay their respects.

Let’s hope that he’s on our side.

Joint-up Government

Two executives at the Royal Bank of Scotland have been suspended after alleged corruption at its overseas mortgage operation.

The bankers were allegedly asking foreign estate agents for payments worth tens of thousands of pounds in return for referring customers. Many of the suspected practices have  taken place within the last 12 months and since the government bail-out.  Continue reading Joint-up Government