Last Cunt Standing

I see you, and you know what you are. Well done on the house, by the way. Sounds champion.

Enough already Eric. It’s nauseating. Here’s a tune to cheer you up.

There is something fundamentally a bit suspect about the sort of cheerleading moron who salivates at the prospect of police violence and who sounds positively erect at all this talk of baton rounds and tear gas. Some psychologists might conclude they are hugely overcompensating for their own inadequacy and long for a strong father figure to take control. They would in all probability shit themselves if ever they were required to tackle anything more demanding than the Countdown conundrum, and are most likely to be found in the darker corners of the internet perusing cuckold fantasies in a bedsit floor-to-ceiling with purloined lingerie and cheap women’s shoes. That you’d be among the first to lick the proverbial jackboot is rather surprising given that we all know you’re from a long line of military heroes and have your very own council approved badge to scare off anyone you don’t approve of. I for one am disappointed in you.

High praise from your good self. The time zone stuff won’t wash though, apparently it’s all bollocks and I’m living in Grimsby eeking out a living in a care home. Which is something of a shock, I can tell you.

I hate to intrude on this jolly meeting of the Friends of Nelson Mandela, but I can’t help but point out the SAS raided the Iranian Embassy in 1980, some years before WPC Fletcher was shot dead outside the Libyan Embassy in 1984. I realise the “Wogs start at Calais” for you chaps, but if you could at least try to be within a drop-kick of historical accuracy we wet liberals would appreciate it.

Just had a look at a few posts there Eric. Fuck me, what a wet bunch of angry incel arseholes. Have a look at the “normalisation of female obesity” or “scrapper birds on Tinder” threads and see if you can make ten minutes without wanting to hit something. There’s a worrying chap called Drew on there too. It couldn’t be, could it?

All that time you wasted brothelkeeping Bill, when clearly the UN would have benefitted from your wisdom. Tsk.

Bet your arse he’s done the correspondence course at the Al-Megrahi College for Protracted Disputes with Kaffir Justice, mind. He’ll spend the next few years at Belmarsh employing more silk than Anne Summers while various Tory Cucks wheeze into Kay Burley’s microphone about how terrible it all is. Lovely stuff.

Classic?. How about Holding knocking Geoffrey’s bails back to the Pavillion, or Walsh/Ambrose circa 1990? Cork really was a curate’s egg wasn’t he? Not helped in my mind by the fact I always for some reason confused him with Dermot Reeve, who always struck me as an overpromoted little shithouse.

I don’t disagree. Hell of a one day player, I don’t even care he’s an Oirish mercenary. Score prediction for the Windies Stubbs? I’ll be disappointed if it’s not 3-0 but you’re closer to the weather than me. Is it worth a bet? The Windies are a fuckin pub team these days, no?

The profanisaurus of workplace nonsense has more entries, my nephew informs me. The rather obvious “new normal” is something of a given, but having tasks described as “right in your wheelhouse” is right up there in the league table of Brentology. Apparently it’s a modern version of “right up your alley”, but presumably the vague nautical feel to the latest buzzphrase is designed to inspire notions of braided Naval Heroes venturing forth to new Worlds and firing cannon at the enemy. Or perhaps hints that the red braced idiot using it spends his weekends at Cowes or Chichester, without inviting open mockery for the use of boat shoes and a knotted shoulder jersey round the office on Fridays. Whatever the demonic etymology, I say it’s utter bollocks and yet more evidence of the triumph of style over content. I bet Dominic Cuntings uses it from his wheelhouse, the wanker.

Prime corruption opportunity on the back roads I’m sure. Expect an increase in new kitchens and conservatories along the border to rival the spending spree of 2005 after the Northern Bank was knocked over. I’m sure Gove has all bases covered and is playing nine chessboards at once, genius that he is. Buy gold, Panz. Winter is coming.

Agree, Root is a weak Captain, better left to his batting. Giving it to Stokes would be an error. Personally I’d like to see what Jos Buttler could do with it but he has the gloves to contend with. Maybe Broad or Bairstow?

I’ve no idea, but the guy on the left is a spud farmer.

I’d stock up on the popcorn if I were you Panz, the next six months are going to be astounding. What’s the latest plan on the Schrodingers border arrangements?

I tend to find the boot remains accessible.

Still better than having the painters in Neil.

Aw. I love you too Judith. I don’t even care it took nine days for you to reply, I know how busy you are, what with the fourteen needles of Lantus to get through a day, the tax to pay on your spagchariot, and all those yards of tinfoil you need to line your bedsit. That’s before we get to the hours you must spend on hold to LBC between visits to the Kebab shop. With only a few years left, I’m touched you’d find the time to engage me in yet more beautifully constructed prose, albeit a touch spittle-flecked and half-mad for my taste. You are at least usually consistent in your misanthropy and vitriol Judy, I’ll give you that. But don’t kid yourself, you know damn well Greek Restaurants and you go way back. I imagine as a younger man you’d often be found sniffing round Stavros’ back door hoping he’d slip you something. This bad experience with the Arabs - it didn’t involve you peeping out of an upstairs window by any chance did it?

Drop Bears are dangerous Eric. Never forget that. Little bastards’ll have yer eye out, even a rough chap like you.

Do you like Daaags?

Too right. The CQC are mobilising as we speak, ready to get Partners on the rack over their lack of a robust ladder policy or for not having a Scooby what goes in a Tigerstripe bag (it’s not tigers). And no doubt some desk wallah at the CCG is coming up with yet another contractual wheeze to keep them in HobNobs for another financial year. My sympathy Gyps. It could and should be so so different.

I thought QoF had been suspended this year for the ‘Rona? I don’t miss that shit. Phoning all the depressives on March 31st for a “review”. What a load of evidence-free bollocks. My favourite wheeze was the mass SMS to all registered smokers on New Years Eve asking them to give up tabs. Ker-Ching! “Smoking cessation advice” probably serviced my car for a few years.

On the other hand Gyps there’s nothing like a few DNAs to make your day. I mean, jabbing at some tubby guts’ sweaty trotters in the name of diabetic neuropathy screening can’t possibly compete with a cup of coffee, fondant fancy and a good long stare out of the window. And it’s about as useful, let’s be honest.

No, I’m afraid even at my age I’m wet enough to actually feel sorry for people sometimes. I didn’t buy the whole poverty is a choice thing. No one would choose to be poor and live in a council tower block. And if your life sucks, why would you want to extend it? Juggling a risk of a stroke thirty years hence seems pretty obscure when you dodge crackheads on the landing every day. Wealth brings choices and different priorities, which yes probably means if you are middle class you have a vested interest in living till 170 so you can fit in all those cruises. If anything they were the people who got my back up. Decrepit oldies hoarding six figures who would happily watch their children struggle from the comfort of a sun lounger on the SS Golden Generation. Nothing I loved more than packing them off with their antimalarials, orthogynest and viagra every January. Or the ones that would get arsey when told no I couldn’t post their free inhalers to them at their little pad in Majorca and no I didn’t care how long they’d paid their fucking stamp, whatever that was.

Venesection will do it. Perhaps 4 or 5 litres should make you feel much better. While you’re here, can I interest you in a flu jab / friends and family questionnaire / dementia screen / housing survey / depression self assessment? I’ve made you a follow up appointment with that nice Gypsy nurse, she’ll keep an eye on you, I’m afraid I’m in CCG meetings from tomorrow till Christmas about boosting capacity in primary care.