Are we all sitting comfortably? Good then let’s begin. Do you mind at the back, those crisp wrappers are making an awful lot of rustling. What flavour are they by the way? What do you mean cellophane? Oh trying to be clever are we, you’re looking for a thick ear, let me tell you. Alright, we all know that you’re not actually on some huge expedition to find a thick ear so stop being so flipping pedantic and give me one of those crisps. Hmm, ready salted, my favourite. Does anyone have some Ketchup, very tasty on ready salted crisps. Honest, would we tell you pork pies or even steak and kidney pies. Ooh I love a potato and ponion pie. With gravy. What? Oh yes, let’s begin. Well you see, back in the day, a very long time ago, when the Internet meant popping round your ppneighbours for a cup of tea and Social Media meant sharing your paper with Tony in the pub, there was a thing. A huge thing it was, bigger than Eric Pickles, that big! And it was all arranged by a wee Scottish flying thing called Midge (who along with his pals Mary and Mungo had played in a group called Vauxhall Nova, or something like that) and another scruffy chap called Bob. His mate used to wear pyjamas and wasn’t right fussed about Mondays. Clearly Bob hadn’t met Shaun Ryder, he was more than happy with Mondays but that’s another tale.
So this big thing kicked off with the status quo. Now quite how you can start with the status quo is way beyond me given that it means to carry on in the same fashion but it did. So, yes, all very odd. Then there were some more people singing songs and intermittently Scruffy Bob would stick his unkempt locks into the telly cameras and screech “people are dying, give us the money”. He may of said a naughty word as well however that’s an urban myth. Sorry, all you rural dwellers, it seems you’ve got to find your own myths such is the nature of myths, rural, urban or otherwise.
Any road, all manner of singers were there, singing and dancing and dancing and singing and some of them at the same time. Her Majesty Freddie Mercury even strutted about, long before Brian May ( Professor) knew any badgers or badger ways. And then Scruffy Bob popped up again to tell you to go to the Post Office or your bank or your Building Society and give him some more money. Now, this, as we’ve already discussed (that’s a cracking word, that is, talk among yourselves) was back in the day. And you see, banks and post offices and building societies used to close at dinner time on a Saturday so quite what Bob (the Scruffy one) wanted you to do when you got there was something of an unasked question. Kind of summed him up really, not thinking things through too their logical conclusion. But there you go.
Because this here thing was way back, the memory has faded but Paul Mull of Kintore might have been there and maybe even the nascent fish farmer, Roger Fig Tree, him of the who? There’s an obvious joke here but we’re big and grown up and adult so we won’t use that one. Talking of fish farms though, where does one purchase the seeds for fish? There’s a thought and Sea Monkeys, what were they all about. Case for the old Trading Standards if you want our opinion, Sea Monkeys indeed. Where were we going at this particular juncture, Paul Mull of Kintyre.
Y’see, Scruffy Bob is from Ireland and when he was but a young ‘un, he probably bopped about rwith a tune or two by Mr Mull of Kintyre and his sausage creating former Missus, Missus Mull of Kintyre and her swimming wings. Maybe our Bob rocked about to the one banned by the Radio One types, you know the one, about the ownership of that Island over the Irish Sea in Ireland. And then that there who fellow hoping he dies before he gets old. What a load of old cobblers, he’s well happy now he’s raking it in with his fish fingers and fish seeds and flat cap and green wellies. Bloody liar.
Now if we’re talking about bloody liars, what about that Katie Melba? Has she counted all the push bikes in Beijing, of course not. So it’s not a fact Katie, its an estimation, that’s a thing we can’t deny. Which brings us to Ed Hairband. No doubt, Ed and his squeeze would have whooped it up to many of these here numbers: Katie, Roger, Scruffy Bob, the Mull of Kintyre so and even wee Midge from Vienna. Perhaps Rockin’ Ed used to stick his thumbs in his belt loops and shake his head about finding the status quo, who knows? We don’t, but it’s not a pretty image. Good Lord. Let’s move swiftly on.
Moving on, swiftly, let’s remind ourselves of Scruffy Bob and his MoneyGrabAthon way back when: “People are dying”. Yes Bob, people are dying in this country too: starving, cold, homeless, poor people and yet when some folks try to do something about it, by showing the legislators the door, you get on your scruffy pony and wag your Independent Irish finger. You can’t even speak the language, old son, when you mix up your us’s and your yourselves’s. So what was it that Lord Bob said about independence: ‘This argument needs to be had amongst us all. You can’t selfishly resolve it amongst yourselves by taking an easy opt-out clause”. Whatever you say Bob, you’re the voice of the Establishment, along with all the other Lackies. Oh, and while we’re on, Mr Who’s got a fish farm, Mr Hairband and all the Establishment, “We won’t get fooled again” (Daltrey).