...previously on It's a Wonderful Blog!!
Bob gets short shrift from Old Man Pooter when he asks for a loan to tide him over until a major global publishing house stumps up a 30k advance for his highly derivative pornographic novel. Unable to convince Rowan Pelling that a) she should leave her husband and children to indulge in a lifetime of legume and costume drama-based pornographic interludes with him or that b) his masterpiece chronicling the sexual misadventures of a Siberian herring pickling dynasty in Tsarist Russia - Who needs a gusset when the wodka flows like wine? - could be the Belle de Jour of 2006, Bob sets off to Martini's in the hope of getting laid and/or seriously stoned on carpet-cleaner based cocktails and class A correction fluids. Once there, he is buggered senseless by Zu-zu's teacher, Mr. Welch. Horrified at the prospect of having to press charges of GBH against a 17 year-old female Geography teacher with one arm, Bob heads for the Old Footbridge. He is just about to end his life by plunging into the freezing cold waters weighed down by a copy of the Christmas Radio Times when his Grauniad Angle, in the shape of The UN Security Council intervenes....
Pelling on Bob: "The novel's shit and you're not coming near me with that courgette..."
...we sit shivering, the seven of us, in the lock keeper's cottage - me, The UN Security Council and the lock-keeper himself. Why did you try to end it all, Bob? You have so much to live for, asks the UNSC - there's Kaplinsky Watch, Harrison Birtwistle's indispensable guide to contemporary music, Morton Shadows World of Pop, Melle de Jour, all the great satire stuff - oh, and don't forget Roberta Swipe's Entertainment U.S.A. You really have a wonderful blog, Bob. Gee shucks, I say, but I can't keep coming up with quality stuff like that every day (and by the way, can I just say you all look very fetching in that nightgown - is it Agent Provocateur? No? Oh, but it does have moisture wicking.....hmm, cool!) And besides, this narrative needs a bit more friction before we can resolve it with the happy ending so not only do I wish I didn't have a blog, but further, I wish that I'd never blogged at all!! So there, ner-ner-ni-ner-ner!!
Sexy? No. But does it have moisture wicking? You bet!!
And with that, The UN Security Council raised their skirts and, one flash of light and several very theatrical thunderclaps and saw-generated wind sound effects later, all was still. There, said the UN Security Council, as your Gruaniad Angle, we have the power to grant you your wish - although, sadly we can't do very much about resolving conflicts around the world unless the big powers can be arsed to do anything about it - it's crap, I know - but that's the realpolitik...) Anyway, this is no time for political grandstanding (...but can we just put it on record that we quite fancy That Nice Mr. Cameron and he's welcome to injest as many class A substances from our collective belly-button as he wishes...) So, Bob, you have your wish - you never blogged. Have a look around and see how different the world is without your puerile daily ramblings and warped sexual fantasies put up on the interweb for all to see....
The Rock Mother: "One 6 figure crack cocaine habit, 2 kids and an East European au pair to support..."
And sure enough, I wandered around what I thought was Rothergavenny Falls - only all the signs read 'Pooterville'. There was no Swipe Brothers Building and Loan - just hundreds of Pooter National, Pooter and Bingley and Pooterwide Building Societies - although, I have to say that they really do offer a lot of very appealing packages for homebuyers and savers alike... Disheartened, I trudged back to the Old Swipe Family home. I knocked on the door and there she was, just as I remembered her from childhood - fag in mouth, the contents of half a bottle of Baileys staining her blouse, quibbling over the babysitting fee with her east European au pair, staring blankly at me is if I didn't exist - Who the fuck are you? she inquired politely. And why are you wearing my snakeskin boobtube? Get out of here you pervy tosspot or I'll get the Neighbourhood Watch onto yer. What kind of hell is this? I asked myself - rhetorically, you understand - where, even my own Rock Mother doesn't recognise me!!??
Spinny: "...if only she hadn't let Bob's deformed penis and poor dismount technique put her off..."
I strode on through the snow grabbing passersby at random and asking them "How did the Arsenal get on last night? And where's my wife? She'll kill me if she sees me in another woman's snakeskin boobtube.... Finally, after several hours of torture (well, those Frank Ferdinand CDs have to be good for something...) one of them finally cracked ...she's....she's ...she's (yes...yes.....yes....) she's just about to close up the library!
The End.
(....But you can't leave it there Mr. Roy!!) Oh, alright then....So I rushed to the Amish Institute for Information Technology Library and there she was, a hunched, crabby, listless wreck of a woman - still, she's good with the kids. She just stood there, provocatively gargling with a tub of Haagen Das ice cream, hitching up her skirt at the passing Stevedores only to be bombarded with a blizzard of pieces of card with their phone numbers on. My God, I thought. It's come to this, has it? My own wife turned into a Professional Spinster!! I yelled out into the cold Pooterville night:
UN Security Council, Clarence, anybody - get me back my old life I want to go back - I WANT TO BLLLLLOOOOOOGGGGGGGG!!!!!
I come to in a room full of friends and family warmed by a roaring hearth - which reminds me, I really must put some coal and kindling in there and light it one day.... There's a huge basket on the side filled with stolen credit card details, compromising photographs of celebrity weather girls, a signed catalogue of Michal Hussein modelling her new range of exotic lingerie and all manner of other highly saleable smut. Still no photos of Zoe Telford, but what the heck? Allan's Ranting like a good 'un, A.Radiographer is schmoozing the room, impressing all the ladies by telling them what colour underwear they're wearing (....how in dang nation does he do that??) MIKE DA HAT has his guitar in a thousand pieces all over the living room - steady with those Zen arrows, Mike - we've only just laid that parque flooring. Todd Blogney and the guys in Grand Union are scaring everybody witless on the dance floor with their bizarre new Robert Fripp/zydeco/flanged marimba hybrid. Woody Goldstein just swizzled me out of another ten bucks at hide the lady (...I knew I should have checked inside the washing machine this time....) And then, just when I think the day can't get any better, who should stride through the door, a pair of asylum seekers in fancy dress Traffic Warden costumes on each arm, fresh from her lunch with the First Lady of Burkino Faso? Why, my old Building and Loan chum Roberta, showing off her expensively assembled breasts for all to see!! To Bob Swipe! she says, somehow managing to clasp Dirty Gary's neck with her ankles whilst simultaneously raising her glass - the biggest man in town!!
Well, Roberta - you're not so bad yourself!!
And as I hold little Lydia in my arms (...Jeez, how many dang kids do I got, already??) and she dangles the shiny Christmas bells in her tiny hand, the pretty little thing looks up at me and says, Daddy, teacher says - every time a bell rings, an Angle gets its wings...
Atta girls UN Security Council!!!
A very Merry Christmas and a Peaceful and fulfilling New Year to all our readers!!!
Love on y'all
All at Swipe Towers!!
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