The Robert Swipe Show

Bobcast #76 - Featuring Exclusive David Bowie Interview!!

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 09:50:19 PST

Bobcast #75

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 07:25:40 PST

Fall in love with Europe all over again with Bobcast #75...

xxx
Bob

Bad, bad people on the rise...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 02:22:25 PST

There's a knock at the door. It's our neighbour's son, Harry. Hardly recognised him. He used to be such a nice polite young man; you know, just your ordinary, run of the mill angsty teenage kid - skinhead haircut, swastika neck tattoos, bovver boots and a dog-eared copy of 'Mein Kampf' and Skrewdriver LP under each arm. Seems he's fallen in with a bad crowd of late though, or something. Probably just a phase, but unless I'm very much mistaken he's been flirting with extremism - and, judging by the Jesus boots, chunky sweater and ginger sideburns - he seems to have embraced a particularly poisonous brand. Poor parents. Must fair break their hearts. Imagine putting in all that hard work and effort, raising a kid as best you can only to see them grow up to become a liberal democrat.

Indeed, the kindle edition of the Guardian he repeatedly waves under my nose during our fractious exchange, jabbing a grimy-nailed finger at it occasionally for emphasis, is a dead give away - as is the decidedly macro-biotic aroma emanating from his pullover. Sure enough, once he's spent a good quarter of an hour castigating the previous administration for bankrupting the Treasury and embarking on a Churchillian soliloquy about serving the national interest, it becomes evident that he's not only gone lib dem but seems to have headed straight over to the most mentalist margins of the hardest of the hardline deficit reductionistas. I just let him rant on, shuffling nervously in a vain attempt to hide from his vision the antiquated 'Don't blame me, I voted Liberal Democrat' sticker I keep forgetting to scrape off the porch window. In the end, I'm left hoping that the elaborations of a luminous marker on the nearby 'Justice for Blair Peach' poster will provide sufficient distraction - indeed, I find I'm particularly drawn to a rather buxom looking, pink (I'm assuming) peach myself. Tragic case that. Wonder if he's out yet?

After a lengthy deliberation on Nick Clegg's current initiatives to put an end to century's of racism and the difficulties of getting the banks to lend to small black businesses "...frankly, they just don't *want* to work, some of them..." he finally gets to the point. Which is, basically, you know, am I interested in joining in on any of the Big Society initiatives that are going to be starting up in the neighbourhood shortly? And can he consider me to be sufficiently won over as to be one of his Champions?

It's hard to know what to do in these situations, isn't it? I mean, part of me just wants to nut him one and ask him to bring his pal Vince over for some of the same. Incidentally, and straying from the point at hand briefly if I may, is ours the only home in the United Kingdom in which 'laying a Vince' is a long-acknowledged euphemism for a particularly extensive bowel movement? I sincerely hope not. Anyway, as I say, the initial response is the desire to deploy blood curdling violence, but then the fruits of all those hours of zen meditation and mindfulness mantras kick in and I am able to take a more enlightened and karmically beneficial position. So, in the end it was all agreed. I start on Tuesday. A full weekly wash, polish and valet service for Vince Cable's government limo. Four hours a week, with time off for good behaviour. Still, could have been worse; Danny Alexander has a pathological fear of body hair, apparently...

xxx
Bob

Bobcast #73: Robot...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Wed, 15 Jun 2011 02:21:23 PDT

Listen to/download Bobcast #73, an exclusive preview of the new Swipe LP, "Robot", in its entirety. To download the individual tracks and donate, visit the SwipeCore site...

xxx
Swipe

Betjeman's Banana Blush...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 03:25:25 PDT

This is lovely and, according to this piece in The Grauniad, quite hip too. I picked this up in the Shooting Star Hospice place in Hampton Hill on Wednesday. What a lovely way to spend a morning; trotting from shop to shop in brilliant sunshine, idly flicking through the Mantovani and Mathis in the hope of finding a gem. That's about as close to the England Betjeman eulogises that it's possible to get nowadays, I guess; the smell of old things and decay, and the merest sliver of hope and redemption of time lost that can only be found in the forgotten and discarded. And this was it; a little ray of sunlight - from opulently textured sleeve, to gleaming, dust-free grooves - a precious English gem...

(It's so nice, I've posted up all the tracks. Enjoy...)

Side one:

Indoor games near Newbury

Business girls

Agricultural caress

Youth and age on Bielieu River Hants

The arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel

Side two:

Lenten thoughts

The Cockney amorist

Longfellow's visit to Venice

The flight from Bootle

A Shropshire lad

On a portrait of a deaf man

A child ill

Oh, and that lovely old Charisma label...:

xxx
Bob

"A loathesome spotted reptile..."

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Wed, 27 Apr 2011 05:08:54 PDT

Ah, Liberals, eh? You've gotta love 'em - although not in the biblical sense, obviously...unless of course you can stretch to a pretty decent lawyer. For those of you who thought their complete absence of any sense of morality began with the devil's pact they've just entered into with the Tories, think again.

Where better - or wierder? - to start another trawl through the Swipe Towers vinyl archives than this superb piece of satire from the much-missed Peter Cook. I can't remember where I picked this one up from - I have a feeling it may have been passed on to me by my Great Uncle Gweekington. I certainly remember seeing its memorable Gerald Scarfe illustrated sleeve at my grandmother's old pad in Hackney.

Regardless, this little piece of history dates from 1979, the year of the Jeremy Thorpe trial (if you're not aware of or can't remember it, the details are eloquently laid out here). Looking back, you can see why Cook's cultural currency would have been pretty high at that time - high enough to earn a release on a renowned 'punk' label, at any rate. Derek and Clive were an established illicit and foul-mouthed oral tradition spreading through most school playgrounds around this time. Cook had also recently hosted a marvellous pop programme called Revolver which featured many up and coming punk acts, including the Sex Pistols, and this release bears a suitably time-warped, cred-worthy 'pay-no-more-than' sticker. It's always been a pet theory of mine that Cook was a formative influence on Mr. Lydon - just check out his vocal on the theme tune of Pete & Dud's 'Bedazzled' movie; a wonderful and ahead of its time study in complete and utter anomie. And they have a similar look to them, don't they? Indeed, I can almost forgive him for supporting Spurs.

1979 was a joyous time for me - beginning to discover myself a bit more and journeying up to the West End for brilliant, sunshiney weekends. I seem constantly to be drawn back to that time in my mind but I probably wouldn't have really valued Cook's cynicism so much back then. His barbs still hit home today, over thirty years on - check out the riff on MPs expenses, for instance. But listen to the laughter - that sounds different too. Freer, pre-Thatcherite perhaps? Or is that just 'la nostalgie?' Anyway, enjoy...

"Entirely a matter for you" (320 mbps MP3) - from the mini LP, 'Here comes the judge'.

How to make a theft-proof Kindle case in a few simple steps...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 06:49:37 PDT

First you'll need one of these:

You can either nip over here and pick one up for £111 (free delivery) or you can wait like I did and get one as an early birthday present/late inheritence from a deceased relative... or should that be a deceased inheritence from a late aunt? Either way, once you've got one, you'll need some of this 'very useful stuff':

...one of these (or similar):

...and one of these:

Now, making sure you've disabled the safety catch and that you're holding the blade *away* from your body, take the Stanley knife to the crease of the inside of the book like so:

Having completely removed the soft centre of the book leaving only the hard exterior shell, apply two strips from the same roll of the hook and loop tape like so:

Now cut two slightly smaller strips from the other roll of hook and loop tape and apply them to the back (that's the side without the screen for those of you who are new to your Kindle) of the reading device like so, being careful not to obscure the rather nifty little speakers at the top:

Now all that's left is for you to mount the Kindle onto the inside back of the gutted book and you have your very own durable and lightweight protective case for the princely sum of £1 (plus one secondhand hardback book):

And just in case you don't believe me, here's one in action - and yes, before you all write in, I know there's nothing on the screen. I just happen to be a very big fan of blank verse:

Of course, you might not like the sight of frayed paper everytime you open up your Kindle reader, but fear not! The electrician's tape is never far from hand here at Swipe Towers. Indeed, we dread the day he comes 'round asking for it back. In the meantime, it's just the johnny for tidying up the inner spine:

Of course, I can't swear for certain that it's theft proof. But I'd think the odds are fairly slender on something like this being whipped from your tote bag:

Happy reading!

xxx
Bob

Coe fury at fresh Olympic cuts...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Tue, 12 Apr 2011 00:16:53 PDT

Coe: "..I *hate* Sebastian Coe..."

Lord Coe has publicly blasted the Coalition's austerity programme saying it will ruin the 2012 Olympics and make Britain the laughing stock of the world. In an astonishing outburst the Tory peer spoke of gathering anger within the organising committee at the cuts they're being forced to make ahead of the prestigious games set to take place in London next year.

'I'm fecking livid!' yelled the former middle distance running legend who has played such a prominent role in bringing the games to the capital. 'Some of these money saving measures are simply ridiculous. It's bad enough that we've had to compromise on the stadium - the current meccano and Tupperware structure is a mere shadow of the wonderful arena we had planned. But now the events themselves are going to be compromised and it makes me want to puke. Cuts?? Schmuts!!'

The efficiency measures being considered look set to dramatically affect the global spectacle of sport. Despite an offer from London Mayor to loan out some of his famous 'Boris bikes' the cycling is set to be one of the worst hit events. 'We've got a lovely velodrome and yet the spectators will have to sit and watch competitors ambling past on unicycles. I don't know why they don't give them all comedy trousers to throw water down and oversized shoes, it'll be enough like an effing circus already, already!' Cried a clearly distraught Coe in between sticking pins into an effigy of his former competitor Steve Ovett.

Ovett: "I *hate* Sebastian Coe!"

The economy measures will be evident from the opening ceremony onwards. The Olympic torch design was put out to tender some time ago and the winning submission by a Chinese company was by far the cheapest and can also double as a screwdriver and general purpose DIY kit and rawplug holder. The eternal Olympic flame will only be lit at weekends and on alternate weekday evenings, although it is hoped that, with enough support from sponsors, this may be extended depending upon how many 50p pieces to feed the meter have been donated in the run up to the games. Other areas affected include Three day eventing which will also suffer with organisers left to ponder how on earth they're going to squeeze the highly popular horse trials into a day and a half, never mind dispose of all the pony droppings.

The 2012 Olympic torch: "I *hate* Sebastian Coe too!"

But it's the proposed cutbacks in the blue riband track and field events that will cause most alarm for sports fans. In order to reduce wear and tear on the track, the 200 metres will become the 100 metres, the 400 metres will become the 200 metres, the 10,000 metres will become the 5,000 metres and the Marathon will become the Snickers. Track events will suffer similarly as the hop, skip and jump reverts to being simply the hop and skip, although optimists suggest that this may significantly enhance British hopes of gold in the event. Elsewhere, planners are considering combining events in order to make funds stretch further which could lead to bizarre outcomes such as Ussain Bolt taking on the Ghana hockey team in the women's shot put final or England winning the football.

There are further concerns that the Paralympics will be even further compromised than the able bodied events. It has already been suggested that the events featuring blind competitors be held at night, in the dark in a desperate attempt to meet the Games' much-heralded green agenda. There are however concerns that the parallel games will be adversely affected by controversial and stringent government quotas aimed at reducing the numbers of incapacity benefit claimants. This could mean many wheelchair users are simply unable to afford to compete. The Department for Work & Pensions has however denied any political motivation behind the move saying, 'look, if these people are fit enough to take part in a highly competitive global sports event, they're Bally well fit enough to work. Arbeit macht frei!!! Schnell!! Schnell!! Schnell!!!'

Wheelchair Basketball ladies: "..I like him..."

The London Olympics commence in summer 2012.

xxx
Bob

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Lib-Dems force through last minute AV vote change...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 00:30:58 PDT

Panicked Yes Vote campaigners in the forthcoming Additional Vote referendum have successfully engineered a last minute change to the rules of the contest in a desperate attempt to secure electoral reform despite growing public indifference to their cause. A jubilant Nick Clegg announced that he'd sneakily managed to add a new paragraph and some additional boxes to the master copy of the ballot paper when David Cameron had briefly left the keys to the Cabinet xerox machine unattended.

The new voting papers will now read as follows;

Do you want Parliament to be elected using the Additional Vote system?

Answer:

Yes

No

Probably Yes

Oh, go on then - Yes dammit!

Please rate your response in order of preference by giving each box a number from 1 to 4, 4 being the option you most agree with, 1 the lowest. Your ballot paper may be recorded for training purposes.

A tearstained Clegg, fresh from a lengthy Stephen Sondheim session said, "this is a marvellous moment for totalitarianism - I mean democracy. This change to the rules will be a big step towards the kind of voting system we've long argued for and will mean that future elections will no longer be decided by a few swing voters in some shithole in the east midlands. No, in future, the second and third preferences of a handful of nazi sympathisers and fruitarians against the bomb will make all the difference - and this has to be good news for us Liberal Democrats. With this reform, we'll be able to look forward to a Lib-Dem/Tory coalition in perpetuity - I'm delighted. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and set fire to a Reichstag building before settling down for the evening with a Susan Boyle CD and a box of kleenex...no, they're for the *tears* silly!"

But there has been some disquiet among Lib Dem backbenchers that even this electoral shillyshallying will not be enough to spare the party from the wrath of voters angry at having seen their anti-tory votes for the party helping to secure a Conservative-led administration. "I still think things could be tricky for us" said Simon Hughes from the depths of a rather cumbersome tree costume on Clapham Common. "I 've had letters from some of my constituents which have been quite alarming in tone, and that's even after I've removed the razor blades. Several of them have mentioned a new kind of tactical voting in which people will vote for any party ahead of us. Not only is this very spiteful but it could also mean that cranky extremist parties could experience huge surges in popularity - and surely that's *our* job. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must dash. There's a rather hateful Airdale approaching and I can't go home reeking of piss again or the Missus will think I've been out on the lash all day with Chas Kennedy again..."

In an unrelated development, Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt has been arrested and charged with tearing the legs off a live pitbull terrier. In a statement, Hunt defended himself, saying "It just looked at me sort of funny, see..."

The case continues...

Download/listen to Bobcast #72

xxx
Bob
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

That Nick Clegg New Stitesman Interview in full!...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 12:25:18 PDT

Clegg: "...you started it, no we didn't...yes you did you invaded Poland!"

Poor old Nick Clegg. The deputy prime minister has exposed his vulnerable side in an interview in which he says he regularly cries to music like a lickle gurl, his children wonder why students are being so hard on him, and the only time he played tennis with David Cameron he lost, but only, he claims, because the Conservative leader had tied his legs together and super-glued his racquet to a nearby public convenience, forcing the Deputy Prime Minister to hop pointlessly about the court and play with a cupped hand while his so-called Coalition partner yelled out 'hard cheese' every time he scored a point at the expense of the hapless Liberal Democrat leader.

"I'm a human being, I'm not a total shitbag – I've got some feelings," Nick Clegg tells Jemima Khan in a revealing interview in the latest edition of the New Stitesman. "The curious thing is that the more you become a subject of admiration or loathing, the distance seems to open up between who you really are and the portrayals that people impose on you … I increasingly see these images of me, cardboard cutouts that get ever more outlandish. They make me look like some ghastly caricature of a fat, toffy-nosed oaf - the sort you can imagine being tied up in a sack with chicken wire and kicked about the quadrant at Eton for not having toasted a crumpet crispily enough or some equally trivial fagging faux-pas. No, hang on - I think I'm getting mixed up with the cardboard cut-outs of Cameron. Dashed difficult to tell really - well, mine are usually on fire and it gets dashed difficult to see through the billowing smoke sometimes, to be honest."

At home in the evenings, Clegg likes to read novels while dressed up as his idol Judy Garland - "what a dame! and so *tragic*! - and says that he cries regularly to her music, although this is not, strictly speaking, breaking news: Clegg did make similar remarks in an interview with Radio 4 last year before breaking into an outrageously off-key rendition of 'Thar's no buzznezz like show buzznezz' in an outrageous Ulster accent before being reminded that this was Ethel Merman, not Garland's signature tune. He was later revealed to have consumed three bottles of neat gin and had to be forcibly separated from his feather boa and have the streaks of teary mascara removed from his cheeks with an industrial sander.

Talking about his family, he tells Khan: "What I am doing in my work impacts on them emotionally, because my nine-year-old is starting to sense things and I'm having to explain things. Like why all their friends from the park are being shunted across to the outskirts of London because we've capped the amount of housing benefit their parents can claim so they've had to move somewhere shitty they can afford to live, like Hillingdon or somewhere ghastly like that. Or he asks: 'Why are the students angry with you, Papa?' - obviously he got *my* brains and not his mother's! I just tell him, be grateful that your father can afford to shell out the £9 grand a year it'll cost to get you through Oxbridge, you brainless little oik! Now, get back to your sums before I take my belt off to you!"

Clegg insists that his relationship with David Cameron – whom he calls "Davina" – is not particularly close. "We don't regard each other as mates and actually I don't think it would be a particularly healthy thing if we tried to become personal mates - taking our clothes off and wrestling in front of a roaring fire then going off to look at photos of bodybuilders with the soundtrack of Cabaret playing in the background. No, we should definitely stop doing that..." When Khan mentions talk that the two men play tennis together naked, Clegg squirms. "No, no – well, er, I think we've played one game of tennis. Of course we meet from time to time but it's always basically to talk about what we're doing in government." Who won? "Ah no, that's a state secret," Clegg jokes, not particularly funnily. (Cameron won, Khan reveals. And Clegg's racquet is still clinging like a limpet to those public conveniences since you ask.)

Khan also asks Clegg what he thinks about News International chief executive, Rebekah Brooks, being a regular guest at David Camerons' dinner parties. "I don't know anything about Oxfordshire dinner parties. I'm assuming that they weren't sitting there talking about News International issues," says Clegg. "Indeed, if I know David, he'd have been trying to get her to supply some more Page 3 shoot contact sheets for him to bribe wayward backbenchers with. All perfectly legal and above board, I can assure you!"

Clegg also signals a changed identity for the Lib Dems. He said: "I don't even pretend we can occupy the Lib Dem holier-than-thou, hands-entirely-clean-and-entirely-empty-type stance that we've been bullshitting all those silly sods who voted for precisely that all these years with," Clegg says. "No, we are getting our hands dirty, and inevitably and totally understandably we are being accused of being just like any other politicians - which is a bit rich if you think about it, because most other parties do in fact stick to at least one or two of their election pledges when they get into power. So we've decided to cut the crap and not be ashamed of our incredible lurch to the right. We're going to go the whole hog next, just you watch. We'll have really smart uniforms made up amd a fancy sort of squared off helicopter blade logo that you can wear on an arm patch and lots of flags and book burnings - well, the students won't be able to afford them anyway, and it'll keep the OAPs warm when we axe their winter fuel allowance...might even have to start throwing afew of them on at this rate. Once we've annexed the Sudetanland and demilitarized the Ruhr it'll be no sleep 'til Moscow! There'll be an annual rally somewhere really exciting like...oh, I dunno - yes, that's it - Nuremburg! See all this democracy stuff is like *so* yesterday's politics. If you hadn't already figured that out when the party with the third largest share of the votes decided who should form the government, then you must be as thick as my little ...erm, whatever his name is. You know, the kid we were just talking about. My...you know..offspring."

On the manifesto pledge not to increase tuition fees, he insists that it was not one of his main manifesto priorities: "I didn't even spend that much time campaigning on tuition fees. I was already working on our new name - National Socialists..., even more ridiculous than Liberal; Democrats, isn't it! And what about my new slogan - Ein Volk, Ein Reich, Ein Fuhrer! Great, isn't it?? *Rauss!* *Rauss!" Look, I can even do the funny walk..."

Clegg has had trouble with interviews in magazines before. In 2008 he told Piers Morgan in GQ that he had slept with "no more than 30" women at any one time, a remark that sparked a thousand dyspeptic headlines - not to mention a considerable amount of chaffing down below....

xxx
Bob

With Gaddaffi downfall looming, the Hollywood offers start to roll in...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 02:02:24 PDT

Gaddaffi: "Duck... Soup! (Geddit??? Gaddaffi Duck. Please yourselves...)

As the world waits anxiously for the denouement of the crisis in Libya, Hollywood executives have lost no time in positioning themselves to secure the services of the country's embattled Colonel Muamumumumumwah! Gaddaffi. Fox and Miramax are currently involved in a frantic bidding war to land the controversial totalitarian dictator/unpleasant but ultimately necessary bulwark against Islamic fundamentalism for a new biopic based on the life of the much loved American comedy genius, Groucho Marx.

Groucho: "You'll be hearing from my lawyer just as soon as he's qualified..."

A spokesman for Miramax made it plain how highly coveted the hardman of North African politics is. "First up, it's the hair", Fox production assistant Benzedrine Cliffbalaster told our correspondent. "It's real cinema dynamite. Not many people can train it to do that unruly wavy-even-though-you've-smarmed-it-down-with-brylcreem-and-several-hours-worth-of-combing thing that made Groucho such a unique and iconic screen presence, but we really think we're onto something with Moo-moo-moo-mwah! But it's not just the hair; we reckon the kid can act too. He's funny too and had our emissary in stitches when during our first face to face with him - hell, he even got a few laughs out of the old fingernail pulling routine! If we can just coach him to walk as if he's trying to get under a three foot high pole whilst comically shaking his cigar, we'll have hit cemedy cinema paydirt!"

Gaddaffi Jr.: "Led Zeppo"

But Gaddaffi's son, Seif al-Islam - who, incidentally, is a strong contender to land the role of Zeppo, the legendary fourth Marx Brother in the same production - hinted that the Libyan Leader might be holding out for a higher offer than either of those currently tabled, which might open the way for a shock move into televison. "Dad is highly honoured to have been asked to play the role of Groucho Marx who, even though with a name like that he's almost certainly a Jew, has been a huge favourite of my father, and a very important influence on his life - particularly in the area of foreign policy and cigars. My father knows all the gags - 'I've had a wonderful evening, but this wasn't it'; 'There ain't no sanity clause'; 'Love goes out the door when money comes innuendo'; 'you can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be lead'....no, hang on - that's Laurel & Hardy. Whatever. He can do a great Stan too you know, that bit where he raises his bowler hat and teases the hair up and starts blubbing. Honestly, he's a real scream! But seriously; Dad's also a huge fan of contemporary American small screen dramas such as The Wire, Six Feet Under, The Sopranoes and Madman. You know, much as he'd love to have a crack at playing Groucho, I think deep down he sees himself as a bit more of a Don Draper and we think we're beginning to get the executives at HBO to see things that way too..."

Draper: "I'd rather stay here with all the madmen..."

Kate Bush to follow Director's Cut with album of duets...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Tue, 05 Apr 2011 01:02:06 PDT

Bush: "Still traumatised by swan incident..."

Kate Bush fans still revelling in the news of a new album of reworked classics from the diminutive pop genius have a further treat in store. Kate's website has just revealed that she'll be releasing another album hot on its heels; this time a collection of her old songs sung with an unlikely assortment of guest artistes. The most headline grabbing of these has to be the new version of 'Don't give up', the poignant tribute to those affected by mass unemployment she originally recorded with Peter Gabriel in the 1980s.

Never an artist to shy away from controversy, there will nevertheless be many an eyebrow raised by the prospect of the eccentric pop diva performing a heartrending song about the travails of the jobless with the current Business Secretary, Vince Cable. "I know a lot of people will be wondering what a divine chanteuse like Kate is doing warbling away about the homeless with a slimy Tory troll like me, but if they think that's bad, they've obviously not heard her version of 'The man with the child in his eyes' with Michael Gove", said a clearly exuberant, and possibly medicated Cable. "It's really clever of Kate to turn the song into a sly kind of gay anthem with a really astonishing performance from Michael. How a repressed, former public schoolboy like the Education Secretary is able to draw a deeply moving portrait in song of a man in love with another, younger chap I'll never know. He takes to a sequinned frock like a duck to water too - or should that be a ducky?' smirked the Twickenham MP whilst tucking heartily into a generous carving of braised swan.

Cable: "Day -oh..."

'Obviously, unlike many of my cabinet colleagues, I have a bit of previous show business experience to back me up. Last Christmas I appeared on a celebrity dance show and I've always seen myself as being as much a song and dance man as an expert on macro-economics policy and how to kick start the UK economy by depriving as many people as possible of work and reducing their disposable incomes. Why, after a hard day dismantling the welfare state and inflicting a package of unprecedentedly savage cuts that will disproportionately disadvantage the poor, the sick and those least able to defend themselves and set the cause of progressive politics back several generations, I like nothing better than to dress up as Leni Riefenstahl and belt out a few Harry Bellafonte numbers washed down with several crates of Mackesons. Day-oh...me say day mer say day me say day-oh....daylight come and me want come home..."

Gove: "Who? EMA..."

Other treats in store for the public include a new version of 'Them Heavy People' featuring tory grandee and gourmandising heavyweight Nicholas Soames. "We were hoping to use Cyril Smith, but sadly he passed away while I was still working on the backing track - it can take me decades just to get the drum sound right..." said a clearly distraught Kate. "Mind you, his rotting Liberal corpse could probably have held a tune better than old fatty Soames, anyday..." However, reports suggest that the sessions for the new LP didn't go completely smoothly. "Yes, Kate had a few problems when she was recording a new version of 'Wuthering Heights' with Nick Clegg", a studio technician was able to tell us. "Firstly he insisted on playing the part of Cathy, even though, to all intents and purposes, he's a man and the vocal part is well outside his range. Then he insisted on Kate incorporating a lengthy coda to the song which would give him a platform to spout off about why we should adopt the additional vote for several minutes over a really over the top prog rock guitar solo. When Kate refused, he threatened to leave and go and form a government with Stevie Nicks instead. It was terrible. Completely over the top and what's more, you'll never get strong, single party government again. Kate said it's a wonder she was able to stay in the same room as him without stamping his nuts off - although, I've heard that this is a common reaction from people who've spent any serious amount of time with the man..."

Siffre: "Get back to ruining the country you Tory scumbags..."

But the new album has not been greeted with universal pleasure. Former pop star Labi Siffre was one of a large number of musicians to express incredulity at members of the Coalition taking time out from their parliamentary business to record with an airy-voiced songstress. "I know they've used the extreme economic circumstances to do pretty much as they damn well please regardless of any democratic mandate, but this is a step too far," opined the smooth-voiced seventies star. "Why can't they leave the showbiz alone for a minute and get on with bringing the country to its knees

??"

Hear hear!

xxx
Bob

2012 Games Hit by Savage Coalition Cuts...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 02:02:24 PDT

The prestigious London Olympics set to be staged in summer 2012 could become the latest high profile casualties of the ongoing cuts sanctioned by the Liberal Democrat and Conservative coalition. Seb Coe, himself a high profile tory supporter, was the first London 2012 official to break ranks and come out in public to condemn the government for extending its austerity programme to what had been hoped would be a joyous sporting occasion.

"I'm fecking livid!" Snapped former middle distance champion Coe, in between taking swipes at a punch bag with a photograph of Steve Ovett sellotaped to the top. "We're hoping to lure the word's finest athletes over here for a wonderful athletics tournament when all the time the rug is being pulled from under our feet by those cowardly politicians. First they let the anti-cuts protestors abscond with several thousand quid's worth of Boris Johnson's hire bikes (sponsored by Barclays) and now they've told us that the games won't be exempt from the cuts either. It's a rotten shame as we were hoping to use the bikes for the Cycling pursiut in our lovely new state of the art Velodrome - or flipping bike shed, as it'll no doubt be by the time Cameron and Clegg have had their way with it."

"And that's just the start of it", continued Lord Coe. "How's Hussein Bolt going to feel when he turns up and finds there's only enough cinder track laid for him to run the 50 metres?

Bobcast #71...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 00:13:21 PDT

...a Japanese pop special with your new hostess, the plasticiously wonderful Ms. Honor Garter.

Listen to/download Bobcast #71 here...

Bobcast #70

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 03:13:49 PDT

The Robert Swipe Show enters an exciting new era with the arrival of Bobcast #70. Please welcome into your hearts and wallets the show's new, genetically modified hostess, the very wonderful Ms. Honor Garter...

Listen to/Download Bobcast #70 here...

Enjoy!!

xxx
Bob

...And dream of (electric) sheep...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 00:29:23 PST

An interesting
piece in last
weekend's Observer.
We certainly seem
at some point in
the last few years
to have crossed
a rubicon of some
sort and are now
emerging, blinking,
disoriented and
slightly apprehensive
from one technological
era and into another. It's
probably too soon
to give it a name, but
one senses from the
overall thrust of the
Observer's predictions
that it will be one of
increasing plasticity;
of food, culture, environment
and, perhaps most unnervingly,
of the human form itself.

In short, to get a flavour
of the world we'll soon be
inhabiting if the Obs's
crystal ball gazers are
anywhere near being on
the money, you could do
worse than reacquaint
yourself with a few frames
of Ridley Scott's Bladerunner.
It all seems to be in there,
doesn't it? The increasing
confluence of eastern and
western technologies, high
tech, blaring-neon consumer
capitalism operating just
beyond the reach of an almost
medieval favella teeming with a
gene-bending peasantry.

Our only hope, perhaps,
in this world of nano-nurtured
replicants squabbling over their
allocation of protein pills is
that somewhere in its margins
some of the spirit of the little
man fighting against the odds that
the author of the original book
so often eulogised will somehow
have survived. A favoured technique
of the science fictition is to take
emerging trends and push them to
their (il)logical limits. But will it
much longer be possible to devise such
narratives when society itself
seems to be pursuing the very course
that was once the preserve of the
speculative imagination? It won't be long,
surely, before Philip K. Dick's Do
androids dream of electric sheep is
being taught as a classic example of the
proto-realist school pf literature?

xxx
Bob

Pick of the Bobs Take Two...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 00:50:02 PST

...It's a Wonderful Blog (Part 1) [...originally posted 21/12/2005...]
"...say Ernie - maybe I got a shot of some bad liquor or something....."

Christmas in Rothergavenny Falls: "...say, give me another brace of that mead, willya - and make it snappy!!"

...and yet everything had started so well. Roberta's homecoming was on the front of the newspaper and all of Rothergavenny Falls was itching to welcome back our heroine from the war. Gee, everyone was so proud of Roberta since she saved that entire troop carrier from the kamikaze pilot. Seems those Japs just can't resist a pair of badly shaved legs smeared in brake oil and piston lubricant doing the okey-cokey. Heck, even Old Man Pooter had to admit that just this once the boys from the old Swipe Building and Loan had him knocked into a cocked hat!

Old Man Pooter oversees another strip rummy evening at Martini's place...

Sonia and the kids were all fine - except for little Zu-zu who had somehow picked up a dose of the clap through running around in a skimpy blouse - in this weather! Kids, huh? Yes, it was all going smoothly until scatter-brianed Uncle Brian worked himself up into such a lather taunting Old Man Pooter about Roberta's exploits and her meeting the First Lady and the way the Old Swipe Building and Loan was in such fine fettle that he didn't realise he'd left the interest from the T4 Popworld Presenters Benevolent Fund in Pooter's lap instead of paying it into the high interest bank account. (And we were going to buy an I-pod for the office too...)

"...and while you're down there Violet..."

So, you can probably imagine how I felt when I got back to the Old Swipe Building and Loan to find an empty safe and a bank examiner hovering over my accounts. Then, as if I didn't have enough to worry about, the local lady of leisure, Violet Bick came in to have one of her Blonde Moments. Seems she wants to run off to New York to re-enact a Hubert Selby Jr. short story with a bunch of guys from the neighbourhood, and can I lend her 10 bucks for some knee pads and an industrial strength grit remover? Gee Violet, I tell her, we're all gonna miss you. Strip rummy nights at Martini's will never be the same again. And don't forget, I shout after her as she's just about to hit the street, you still owe me a peek of your garter belt from last Tuesday. Poor Violet - so accomodating. Still, she'll never be short of a cupped hand to collect her cigarette ash with abductor muscles like those...

But anyhow, I try to buy time with the Bank Examiner, persuading him to take a tour of Uncle Brian's collection of spangly tights while I try to track down the missing money from the T4 Popworld Presenters Benevolent Fund. I run back to the house and Sonia and the kids are running riot. Good job I have two other wives to keep an eye on them, I ponder as I replace the knob on the bannister that always comes off in my hand when I (....ahhh, make up your own gags - it's Christmas....) Son's trying to teach young FredandFreds to Say Underpants. Heck, does he have to keep saying it over and over, I yell. Well, he's got to practice says Sonia as poor FredandFreds starts to cry - I've been standing on his finger for the past fifteen minutes, I now realise. I feel such a heel for shouting that I try to make amends. Here, let me help you sons, I say. Look, it's easy:

U-N-D-E-R-P...

But he storms off blubbing to his mother's arms. What kind of a cockamamey house is this anyway? I shout And where's Zu-zu I ask? She's upstairs with a fever. I run upstairs and sit by her bedside.

- How's you fever? I ask her gently
- Not a smitch of temperature, Daddy! She beams back
- And how about the clap?

She falls asleep and I steal a couple of her opium petals from the vase by the side of the bed in the hope that I can mix them up into some super-strength narcotic that might turn this horrible nightmare into merely a bad dream. I storm back down stairs and as I get to the bottom, the phone is ringing. Hello? Yes, this is Bob Swipe. Yeah she's fine but no thanks to you, you stupid dumb ass penis brained lump of a woman. Listen, lady, that's a fine way to look after our children when they're in your care. What is it, huh? Can't you teach them to keep their legs together when they go out in weather like this? Ah, Mister Welch is it? Now what kind of a name is that for a female Geography teacher called Jane. Oh, you will, will you....?

But before Mr. Welch had time to measure me up for an all-over colostemy bag and matching leotard, I was already on my way over - pride swallowed and cap in hand - to see the only man who could get me out of this goddamn pickle I'd gotten myself into......

Old Man Pooter himself!

To be continued..........

Love on y'all,

Bob

Robert Swipe: an appreciation...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 02:02:24 PDT

by Lucy Ellmann...

"WHAT?"

"Oh *PLEEEEAAAAASSSSEEEEEEE!!"

"No WAY mistah!"

"Aw - come ON"

"NO! *AND STOP SENDING ME FAN LETTERS!!!!!*"

That's pretty much how it goes with me and Bob - sorry, with Bob and *I*. I take it as a perverse proof of integrity - a kind of badge or honour, if you like - that I receive crazed fan mail from one source and one source only: Mr(s) Robert(a) Aloysius Tinkerbell(e) Swipe. I mean, I wouldn't MIND. I really could live with it in fact. If only there weren't so many. In fact, there would be a sense of acievement in having plumbed the depths - or, depending on your VIEWPOINT - scaled the heights of obscurity. Were it not for the smell. I like perfume. Wear it myself, indeed. I like SOME perfumes an AWFUL lot, if truth be told. On a woman, perfume is NICE. But used subtly. Not quite so OVERPOWERINGLY as certain male admirers of mine seem to like dispensing - DISPENSING? POURING the stuff on more like. And then there's the CONTENT...

I received my first letter from Robert Swipe in about 1990. It seemed fairly harmless at the time - so much so that....and I need hardly tell you that this if one of THE most rgretable things I've ever done...IN MY LIFE - I even sent him a reply. On nice purple paper, no less. With a photograph enclosed. Of me. And that seemed to do the trick; appeared to satiate the star-struck scribe. But then, one day almost 15 years later to the day, another envelope landed on the welcome mat of my then-publisher, bearing a familiar hand.

Robert Swipe: an appreciation...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 06:06:45 PST

by Mardin Antlers...

Regular readers will be familiar with my occasional stints deputising on these pages. I'm the go-to-guy around Swipe Towers when his nibs is too emotionally racked out to make it to the typewriter; a kind of bleeperised Boswell, perpetually left to dangle at the other end of the line, primed and loaded and ready to step up in the unlikely event that His Master's Voice croaks out. It was me, you'll recall, who filled his britches when Swipe's old man pegged out. I've stepped up to the plate on several other occasions when the jags got too much or if the guvnor had his head too far down the glue bag to achieve what passes for coherence around here; like the time the Gunners lost it big time in the European Cup or when Kaplinsky hitched it out of BBC Breakfast news.

Oh sure, we go *way* back, old Bob and me. I first became aware of the Swipe presence when we both had a sock each in the rough old bad old end of Queensway. We kept ourselves pretty much to our selves - you did back then in the 70s; you didn't know where people had been back then. Or rather, you had a *pretty* *good* idea where people had been back then - and it didn't wipe off quite as easily in those days, no matter what Elton John might tell you. Besides, I had my career to carve and Bob; well, you know all about Bob by now. It wasn't until a bit later that the suspicious nods and winks across a smoke-filled saloon bar gave way to a mutual liking and respect. Our first real connection came much, much later, in the 80s, around the time of the fatwah, when Bob and I were taking it in turns to hide Salman Rushdie. It was in those charged and feverish days that we first really got to know one another, at the hand over time when whichever of us had been concealing Salman in the specially enlarged, state-sponsored brown mackintosh we used for the purpose back in those early days of exile would carefully slip each arm out whilst the other simultaneously slid theirs in, all the while attempting to keep the large, balding, bearded man in glasses crouched between our legs out of public view; not easy to do in the middle of Notting Hill High Street, I can tell you...

Our friendship became formalised when Bob sang at my second wedding - at least, I *think* he was singing. This was about the time that Bob had sacrificed the patiently cultivated pop following he'd been building up since the late 1960s and was beginning to inhabit a far more provocative and outre space. Increasingly, the traditional certainties of the performer's identity were being dissolved; was that *singing*, or did he just have a poodle up his skirt? Was he even a man? And if he wasn't, how far would he let you go on a first date before you had to get the handcuffs out? Strange times.

But now we're both of an age where, no matter what we do, our work will always be overshadowed by that awesome initial promise we both showed. I believe that's what has sustained Bob and my friendship all these years. We both know how it feels to live in the shadow of our former greatness. And now, as we arrow towards that ever-dimishing singularity; that universe-consuming point, it behoves me to say one final thing; take care dear, gentle brother; take care...

A Christmassy Bob (slight return...)

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Sun, 19 Dec 2010 07:23:57 PST

Owing to the surprising popularity of this year's festive podcast, we seem to have used up all 25GB of our Jellycast allocation - this means, unfortunately, that anyone trying to access the show after the download limit had been reached was unable to. Consequently, as a temporary fix, we've posted the show at an alternative location so that anyone who wanted to listen to the show but couldn't access it, now can.

We've been completely taken aback by the demand for this week's episode - so please accept our sincere apologies if you've been affected by this issue - but hope that anyone who had trouble getting the show downloaded hasn't been too badly inconvenienced. We hope you enjoy the show despite the delays and wish all our listeners a very Merry Christmas and every happiness in the year ahead...

Listen to/download A Christmassy Bob here...

xxx
Bob

A Christmassy Bob...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Sat, 18 Dec 2010 03:33:25 PST

....well, seeing as it's snowing...

;)

Download/listen to A Christmassy Bob here...

...or take a snap of this...

A very Merry Christmas to *all* my reader...

xxx
Bob

My Amy's True...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 02:02:24 PDT

[...somewhere deep in darkest cyberspace, coffee is being drunk...]
"So Bob, who's the most famous person you've ever met then?"

"When you say *met*, would you include singing 'Oliver's Army' in the vague direction of someone in a near-empty cinema?"

"Erm, no - not really..."

"Oh well, that rules Elvis Costello out then. I was once given two pounds by Patti Boulaye whilst busking. I gave it back of course - thinking she could buy me off with the Tory dollar - the very cheek of it. Robert Wyatt's wife, Alfie, she threw some coins into the hat and said 'he liked 'Psycho Killer', but I'm not sure how much. Didn't have the heart to tell her I'd been singing 'Don't worry about the government..."

"Is that it? God almighty, you've led a sheltered life..."

"Nah, nah I was just trying to remember them, is all. There's Rufus, obviously. And Sally Margaret Joy out of Furniture - remember them? "You must be out of your brilliant mind..." Gerald Harper - he used to live in the house opposite hours around the time he was in Hadleigh. Sir Harrison Birtwistle; he taught me how to play the flute. At least I *think* it was a flute; anyway, I had to give it up after it got stuck up a nostril. He was great, old Harry. Completely round the twist, but a lovely lad. That bloke from the Lighning Seeds who wrote 'Three Lions on the Shirt' lives in their old house now. Can't tell you what it's done to the house prices... Steve Coppell once kicked a ball back to me during a charity 5-a-side tournament. I scored twice in a 3-1 group stage match before we were eliminated in the quarters. He declined to take up the option of a trial, unfortunately. I've also shared a car with Rodney Marsh. He had it at weekends and on Wednesdays and I had it the rest of the time. Economical, ethical and quite a bit of a goer when you put your foot down - the car wasn't bad either. I've had my photo taken with Stan Bowles too - he was a bit of a lad. You'd never believe he and Peter were brothers really, would you? How about you Ames?"

"Well, I don't know where to start - I've probably met everyone who is or has been anyone really. But it's not all it's cracked up to be, is it - fame?

Pond's Cold - Cream...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Tue, 14 Dec 2010 00:26:30 PST

[...somewhere deep in darkest cyberspace, a sneeze is heard...]

"...AAAAAASSHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"It's those miniscule skirts you will insist upon wearing regardless of the temperature. Did I or did I not warn you the other day to wrap up warm as it was minus four? And did you or did you not completely disregard my advice and proceed to go out in the snow wearing a microskirt and skimpy 5 deniers? Well, I'm waiting?"

"Yo dot helpig - cad yo stob havig a go ad be ad pass be sub tissued plead. By dode id streabig ad I'b feeding like shid warbed ub ad I'b really dot id der bood for a legtcher, thag you very buch..."

"Ah, poor Ames! You are bunged up, aren't you! Here, have some Lemsip. I've put a straw in there too. And some ice. Just how you like it."

"Thags."

"Excuse me young lady, but are those my tights you're wearing?"

"I hodesly dode doe Bob, I jud pigged up der firsd pair thad cabe do had. Why, id thad a probleb?"

"It is when you've laddered them darling. They were brand new too. Oh well, I suppose with a few specks of feck blood they'll do for MySpace..."

"I'b do soddy Bob; I probise I'll ged you aduther pair id the Dew Year. You doe wad id's like whed you're feedig a bid udder par ad oud of sords. I bead, loog ad be - I cad hardly keeb by eyed obed..."

"I know petal, I know. Here, you get back into bed and I'll do you some eggs and toast and put some nice soothing music on for you, how would you like that...?"

"Mmm, you're der tobs Bob - thag you doe buch for being do kide ad loogig afder be so well..."

[....sound of Cream's Disraeli Gears blaring out at full volume from the living room...]

"Bob, whad id dat derrible raget? I cad hardly hear byself dink...?"

"I thought you'd like this Ames - it's got Ginger Baker on it..."

"Whode Giger Bager...???"

"He was the drummer. By the way, how do you like your eggs Ames..."

"Udferdilized..."

xxx
Bob

On Golden Pond...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Mon, 13 Dec 2010 00:23:13 PST

[...somewhere in darkest cyberspace, a contented sigh, followed by a deep inhalation from a freshly lit cigarette...]

"...Mmmm..."

"Did the so-called Doctor know you were a smoker Ames?"

"He probably had an inkling. I mean, there's only so many times you can tell someone you're just popping out for a breath of fresh air in the darkest corners of deep space before you start arousing suspicion. [...pause...] ...Mmm... that was *so* nice...Didn't hurt anywhere near as much as I thought it would."

"You're not seriously trying to tell me that was your first time...??"

"No, I was talking about the calliper, actually."

"But you can still see why I'd want to get it sanded down?"

"Oh sure. I mean, personally I don't mind a bit of thigh grazing. But it's you that's got to wear it all day..."

"And you were OK with all the static?"

"Hmmm - I suppose I'd have to try it with one of us not wearing any tights, just for the comparison. But no, it was mildly hair-raising I suppose - but in a good way."

[Long pause...] "...so, did I...you know...live up to your expectations then?"

"Oh yes - definitely! In fact, it was *exactly* like being savaged by Tony Hancock in drag...in a good way, obviously."

[Even longer pause...] "...and how did I compare to....you know..."

"The Doctor? [pause] ...Look, I think we should just enjoy the moment and not rake over old coals. All I know is that we're here and it's now and I had a really, really lovely time. Honestly. [Whispering] Thank you..."

"So I make you happy then...?"

"Yes Bob. You do. Plus I get to catch up my reading, so yeah...It's good."

"How are you finding the B.S. Johnson?"

"Oh, it's a bit confusing, isn't it? I mean, I keep shuffling the pages and finding I'm re-reading the same section. But no, it's cool..."

"Right young lady; I'm going to get some shut eye. Can you just make sure you've stubbed your cigarette out before you turn the light out. Don't want to burn the attic down, do we?"

"Aye aye Cap'n! Night night Bob."

"Good night Amy. Sweet dreams..."

xxx
Bob

Pondland...

noreply@blogger.com (Robert Swipe) — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 09:13:45 PST

[...somewhere deep in cyber space, a trim phone rings...]

"Hello, Bob Swipe speaking..."

"Hi, Bob - it's me. Amy."

"Oh, hi Amy! How's you?"

"Yeah, good thanks...well, you know..."

"Still off with that so-called Doctor boyfriend of yours...?"

"Don't be nasty Bob! He showed me the certificate and everything...."

"And could you understand a word of it...Ian Paisley claimed to be a Doctor but you wouldn't have let the mad fool within a hectare of your Impetigo, would you???"

"Och, you know languages were never my strong point Bob. And you show me a Doctor's handwriting that's legible and I'll show you an NHS safe in the hands of the Tories. Anyway, the language of Gallifrey is very, very beautiful once you get an ear for it and start to get used to the phlegm. And I suppose if I asked you where Gallifrey was you'd say it was about 8 miles up the M8 from Dumfries or something - although, to be fair, it does sound as if it should be, doesn't it? A bit like Kilmarnock. Or Falkirk. But no, that's kind of why I'm calling..."

"Oh, *Ames* - you're not going to tell me what I think you're going to tell me, are you? You haven't chucked him again have you?"

"Look, I know I'm always being a pain with this, but it *really* could be for good this time and I desperately need a friendly shoulder to cry on...I couldn't prevail on you to... obviously, only if you're not too busy. I just thought you might want to help an old friend out in her hour of need...it's just I really need to be with someone I can trust right now..."

"...Look Ames, it's not exactly the best time, actually...I'm, you know...sort of in the *middle* of something. Look, if you must know, I'm halfway through waxing my legs you know....is it really something that can't...you know, I won't always be here to mop after this so-called Lord of Time every time you get on the wrong side of the cold 2-hearted bastard..."

"At least can you give me some advice, now while we're on the phone. I mean, what should I do? I'm at my wit's end with him. I'm, like, just *so* sick and tired of coming back to the Tardis to *almost* find another girl's shoes under the table that have miraculously disappeared five minutes before she even got through the door in the first place. He thinks I can't tell, but I can still smell the perfume on him - at least I *hope* it's perfume... Acting all the innocent and making grandiose promises that one day he really will whisk me off to the third star on the left in the Andromeda zone only the Tardis has been playing up a bit of late and he can't seem to get it out of second and it's a bit too near the Bank Holiday build up to risk getting caught on the Intergalactic hard shoulder and how he couldn't have me spending hours shivering in some remote backwater just off the major A-route of a cold and lifeless universe wearing a skirt that barely covers my crack while he pokes around under the bonnet of his blinking blue police box with his stupid sonic screwdriver, the lanky, flop-haired Emo geek..."

"Well, I think you're being a bit harsh there actually Ames. I'd say he's more of a damp squib of a dress-down Friday Nu Metal Faux-Gothic fop personally - but yes, I take your point. Look, you know I'd never want to see anyone hurt you, but this has come at a bit of a bad time for me too you know. I'm at a bit of a low ebb meself, between you and me and I'm not sure that I'll be able to be much help to you. I mean, are you really 100% sure you can't patch things up and give things another go with old Doctor Whom?

"It's Who, actually Bob... Doctor *Who*"

"I think you'll find I'm right Ames. I didn't get a first class honours degree in the Post-Imperial Dynamics of Cross-Cultural Gender Instabilities without knowing a thing or two about grammar - even if the correct usage of English is little more than a capitalist tool of white patricarchal oppression. Look, supposing you do leave him - where will you go....?"

"...We-ll..."

"Now look, Ames...I'd love to help but you know how it is...[sighs] I mean, there's not really anywhere for you to *sleep*...and I'm having some work in the kitchen; making room for a new wardrobe; well, where else am I going to keep all those meat dresses? It's been like Smihfields in the boudoir since I bought that Lady Gaga LP. Honestly, I don't know...it *would* just be for a couple of days, wouldn't it?.."

"...we-ll...I *had* been thinking that it must be *awfully* lonely for you out there in cyberspace...all on your little lonesome..."

"..Oh come on Ames - we've been through all this before - before you legged it off to looney land with Marcus Wellby M.D. Ever since the Ariels, I've been a *strictly* solo act - no partner, no egos, no hassle. Just me and the ukulele and a trunk full of hold-ups; suits me fine - that's all I need and I'm not having some...*girl* muscling in on the act and detracting from my trenchant and edgy contemporary critique of the prevailing mores of a doomed and decadent society. Besides, there's only enough room on the layout for one scantily clad tart...no, that's beyond the pale, I couldn't dream of taking on you on as my companion..."

"...Oh but Bob - we'd be *so* good together!! Just think, my legs and your witty, edgy, surreal brand of absurdist humour - oh *pleeeaaaasse* say yes Bob, it really would be *fabulous*, don't you think...

"...Now, look here young lady - that's *precisely* the problem...you come in here with you skirts up to your eyeballs and your lovely amber eyes and gorgeous auburn tresses...I mean, I have as sexy a set of pins as it's possible for a partially handicapped man to have on the minimum wage, thank you very much - that's *all* *my* *own* hair too; apart from the the knees, obviously, where I had a bit of an Elton done thanks to the carpet burns. Not bad for a man of 57 who's had half a limb in a calliper for 35 years, eh? And don't think you'll be coming here and it'll be share and share alike in the underwear department either, young missy. Just you keep your thieving mitts off me new Pretty Pollys - they cost half me Winter Fuel Allowance they did."

"So you'll think about it..."

"...and I'm not having you stealing all me thunder. I wear the tights in this house, is that understood??"

"So, you'll take me on!??"

"On one condition.."

"Anything you say Bob - you're the boss..."

"I don't want you wearing anything that costs more than a pound, OK?"

"But why, Bob?? I mean I'm hardly Shirley Bassey in the satorial stakes as it is, am I? Why on earth would you want to ask me to do that?"

"Why? Well, how else am I going to get that post title to work, for starters...?"

"OK - it's a deal - I'll be your Poundland Princess; anything you say just so long as I can be your new companion....*plllleeeeeaaaaaaasssssseeee*..."

"And you realise it'll only be for about 14 more posts...I'm jacking it in after that to have me calliper sanded down. Bloody BUPA - they're robbers they are...."

"Of course Bob - anyway, I thought it would be nice for you to have someone there with you. You know, at the end..."

"OK - but I want *no* hanky panky from you, is that understood. I don't care what you and Brian Emo got up to in that Tardis of yours, but I've been doing this blog for far too long to see it descend into a puerile hotch-potch of second-rate innuendo and smutty soft porn-style titilation. Besides, I got all of that out of me system on Bedroom Burlesque...Well, *most* of it..."

"[smirking mischievously] Anything you say Bob. I'll keep my hands where you can see them at all times, I promise..."

"Right, well, I suppose I'd better get a spare key cut then..."

xxx
Bob