By Citizen Cuddis
Look out, philistines! Here she comes!
I loved the philistines. Fred, Betty and their toddler, Bam-Bam. It was based on a true story, I think.
I also have a print of ‘The Shriek’ by Edward Munch Blu-tacked to the back of my bedroom door. And only last week, the English Symphony Orchestra called to ask me what I thought of Wagner’s Ring. I said it could be uncomfortable, but try Anusol; Boots will have it in stock.
As you can see, I sit comfortably astride the entire speculum of the arts, from American cartoons to Norwegian painting. Yet still, the Lefty ne’er-do-wells on the opposition benches say I can’t tell Plato from Play-Doh. Well, yes, I can. One comes in a plastic tub and the other plays square leg for Real Madrid. As minister for sport, I ought to know.
Tory MPs work hard. They have to spend hours a week on Go Compare’s website trying to find the best tax haven. They agonise over the best transport strategy. Which car should they rent and pretend to drive — usually a Laurel and Hardy style jalopy to make the plebs think we’re all in this together. And which top-of-the-range Audi they should buy to go to and from lockdown parties and their second homes. That done, we’ve little time left over for Keith Starmer’s nonsense (Although I am grateful to him for drawing my attention, on April the first, to the controversial issue of unlicensed pantomime horses, a cause I am happy to embrace.)
Setting aside Keith’s insider tip about the cuddies, I want this blog to introduce a Bertrand Ruskoline quality discourse on what matters to the British people as a foil to Starmer’s nincompoopery. The idea came to me while I pondered where my lap went when I stood up.
Let me nail my colours to the crow’s nest from the off: I believe pantomime horses should not be allowed to roam hither and yon like free-range chickens — Keith told me that one actually managed to get on stage at Bournemouth last December. We don’t permit freedom of movement for rocking horses, milk horses, or clothes horses — or anyone holding a British passport, for that matter. So why should pantomime horses get a free ride?
Conspiracy theorists tell me that panto horses aren’t real horses at all. They contend that two people hide inside each horse ‘for tax purposes.’ But that’s absurd. Those at the rear would be condemned to forever stumble forward in the dark, blindly following the arse in front. I mean, you wouldn’t run a government along such lines, would you?
Anyway, by now, I think I have established my Bonio fidos (I’m fairly sure this is Latin for ‘dog biscuits,’ Cuddis. Ed.’)
I hope you think so too.
Gone, but not quite remembered
In this section, we take time out to remember artists of yesteryear who are sadly no longer with us. This week we have Dennis Roussos, the massive Macedonian whose ultra-sonic, tremolo-enhanced alto soprano singing voice could curdle a complete range of dairy products from 100 metres.
We also remember that female 60’s singer who always wore her hair up beehive style. You know the one. She must have been a significant shareholder in Silvikrin because she used so much hair lacquer they had to chisel her barnet off to get the lid down on her casket.
Anadin Doris’ Question Time
Every week I pose a mind-stretching question for my readers.
Question 348: If the long-handled sponge paint roller had been around in Michael Angelo’s day, might he have finished painting the Cystitis Chapel a week earlier, saving the pope a small fortune?
Quote of the week
I’m not one for self-promotion usually, but when you come out with a belter, why not crow about it? Here it is:
‘And..so..although it’s..and yeah, that’s—’
(Anadin Doris, Secretary of State for Digital, Culture, Media, and Sport to Damian Green of the Select Committee on the privatisation of Channel 4.)
Up yours, Greener!
Finally, in keeping with the erudite tone, let me leave you with this: give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Give him two fish, and you feed him for two days. It’s basic arithmetic, not rocket science.
Just before this article went to print — as a result of Pishy Rucksack’s wheeler-dealing, I suspect — the Met took a pantomime horse into custody in the ‘neigh lobby’ (see what I did there?) of the HOC, and the occupants charged with tax evasion.
According to the Met, both Tory MPs were US, green card holders. Next year, they planned to supplement their earnings by running in the Kentucky derby. Neither has paid income tax since the Battle of Hastings.
George Anderson is a comedy writer based in Turriff, Scotland specialising in political satire and cutting social commentary. This is a link to his writing website Heedrum Hodrum
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