Category Archives: Around Harold
“Time seems to have come to a complete standstill,” said long-retired local horologist Mike Winterbourne, watching the Indoor Bowling. “It seems a very long time ago now, but I was a fit, young working man when I put the Christmas Tree away.”
Politically, the electorate are beginning to feel there is some sort of sleight of hand going on.
“We’ve been hoodwinked,” said Harold Brexiteer, Gavin Williams. “Boris said he’d get it done by the end of the month, but he never told us January would last longer than the whole of the previous four years added together.”
ACT 1. The guests arrive.
Sussex, entering left, courtseying : “You sent for me, Ma’am?”
Cornwall, whispering to HM: “See how he removes the Royal Cloak and hangs it on the peg? No son of mine…”
Cambridge: “Welcome, let us hug so that we may be Brothers in Arms.”
Sussex pushing him aside: “Fuck’st off, thou unchin-nosed fustelarian.”
ACT 2. The Queen’s Drawing Room.
HM: “So tell me Sussex – I’ll call you Harry – let’s speak of Meghan, whom thou didst marry.”
Sussex: “I love her Ma’am, with all my heart; I hear sweet music, tho’ she doth loudly fart.”
HM: “’Tis love for sure; I used to feel the same to hear my Edi snore.”
Edinburgh, aside to Cornwall: “It’s those Swan Down pillows, mate; they me do nightly suffocate.”
Cambridge, earwigging: “Suffolk Kate? Yet it is sworn by certificate: she’s Pangbourne born and no mistake.”
Edinburgh: “Sir Tiffy Kate? Is that her dad?”
Cornwall: “The hour – ’tis late – the sun glows red. Come on, father, let us get thee back a-bed.”
HM: “To business, Harry, now, in verse, how willst thou manage without my Purse?”
Sussex: “I’ve thirty million in my account. I may not be Rees-Mogg, but ’tis still a good amount.”
HM: “But, in America, ’tis no wealth! Illness there comes free, one has to pay for health.”
Cambridge: “Bro, you married a beauty; but where’s thy sense of Royal Duty? Hast thou lost it?”
Sussex: “Go away, you pompous git.”
ACT 3. In the hallway.
A knock on the front door is heard. (‘Tis Andrew, delivering pizzas.)
HM: “Quick, let us in the garden walk. I know that knock. It’s that dork, York.”
ACT 4: At the back garden gate.
HM: “Oh bugger, there’s the Press! Butler, fetch one’s crown – one’s hair is such a mess!”
HM (to the assembled reporters): ”Summit’s aborted. Come back Wednesday.”
Sussex (to camera): “Sorted.”
[photo credit: By USDAgov – https://www.flickr.com/photos/usdagov/8674435033/sizes/o/in/photostream/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25727555]
“They said Austerity was over. Didn’t see anybody celebrating. They thought it was going to be like a War Is Over Lennon Ono anthem blaring out of the wireless and everybody dancing in the streets. Turned out damper than a squid that’s been dunked in a jar of tepid ale. Another pint?”
“But PPI, though. Nobody saw that coming and nobody saw it coming to an end either. And coinciding with a Bank Holiday. Last week, we had a couple of tourists in the Lickers. Spoke with a funny accent like that. I said ‘Who are you?’ and the bloke goes ‘Tourists’. I said ‘We don’t serve terrorists. Oh, you’re tourists. Are you both Taurus?’ Gin and tonic?”
“I’m putting on a Special on Thursday, which is when PPI ends, at midnight. Bit of a knees-up, Vera Lynn on the box. Miserable old git in the corner, going on about how he forgot to send his coupon in. He thinks it’s like the football pools. Then, when we get to midnight, it dawns on us – no more PPI phone calls! No more Angie’s Advice.”
“Boris up there, going ‘Oy, hold your horses, chaps, we haven’t finished Brexit yet.’ It’s not Brexit dividing the country, mate, it’s PPI. It’s those who claimed and those who didn’t. We all put up with the phone calls, but only 52% bothered to claim. The other 48% said, ‘No, we’re alright as we are, thanks.’ Now it’s over and nobody gives a toss one way or the other. Top up?”
“Anyway, you know what’s coming next, don’t you. Have you been mis-charged fees on your PPI claim?”
“A bit more aviation fuel pollution isn’t going to do any harm,” said local climatologist Mike Fairchild. “Compared to the amount of puke and poos she’s going to drop in the ocean, it would be a drop in the ocean. It wouldn’t even be in the ocean.”
“Birds have evolved to keep out of the way of planes. Now we have to start thinking about the whales and sharks who are traumatised when a massive shit comes their way after a ship passes.”
“Thunberg is famous for her green credentials,” he continued, “and it shows on her face the moment she steps on board a boat. Puke and diarrhoea are best stored in a sewer behind a fat-ball, not dumped on the seabed.”
“This whole eco-trip by boat malarkey is going to backfire and she’ll be left with egg on her face and ketchup running down her smock,” he added.
“It seems obvious that when we’re talking Sovereignty, the Monarch should be the final arbiter,” said landlord Eddie on behalf of Harold’s informal polling group IMHO.
The group meets regularly to discuss global issues while drinking alcohol. At last night’s meeting in the Squirrel Lickers Arms, chaired by landlord Eddie Grudgingly, IMHO voted overwhelmingly to back a motion in support of a Royal Prerogative on Brexit.
“After all, there’s a fair bit of German in her blood and the Duke’s quite Greek,” said Eddie, “so they have a better understanding of Europe than far-right loudmouths in parts of Lincolnshire and the Tory Party.”
It was decided that a People’s Vote would be a waste of time, because everyone’s changed their minds, so the result would be the same as last time.
The group also supported a motion of praise for Prince Philip’s ability to survive an actual car crash much better than the Prime Minister fared in her metaphorical one.
“And the Duke,” said Eddie, winding up the debate, “is now single-handedly saving hundreds of jobs at Jaguar Land Rover with his recent order for a weekly fleet of new cars. He’s doing more for the British motor industry than Greg Clark and that’s a fact.”
As the meeting adjourned, members of the political focus group thanked Eddie for another well-organised piss-up in his pub, which everyone agreed was a rare talent these days.
A séance held by the UK Brexit team has called upon Schrödinger’s ghost to help resolve the Irish border issue.
“What we need,” said Mrs May, “is a border that exists in the EU’s mind, but which is invisible to the DUP.”
The séance was delayed while HM Stationery Office searched their cupboard for an umlaut to go over the ‘o’ in Schrödinger. But the search was fruitless, despite a senior civil servant swearing blind he’d seen one in there only last week. Continue reading
A brand new Brexit Deal, drawn up by Banksy, will self-destruct as soon as it is signed.
The framework for the Deal is being kept a closely guarded secret, but insiders say it satisfies the demands of Leavers, Remainers and the EU.
“At first glance, the work lacks detail,” said Harold artist Beryl Blythe who was granted access to the piece, “but, when you step back, you see he has managed to stencil-in a solution to the Irish Border issue, draw up a workable plan for continuing trade and solve the question of free movement, all with lovely flowing lines and soft forms.”
With a no-deal exit from the EU looming, the BBC is preparing to switch back to analogue signals, broadcasting on a UHF channel in 625 lines, to help soften the harsh reality.
“We’ve still got a 1940s valve microphone which has a rich, warm tone. Coupled with the low image resolution of analogue broadcasting, we are ready to take the edge off the hardest of Brexits,” the BBC reassured Mrs May.
“You’ll need a Cathode Ray TV set and an X-shaped aerial,” says our media correspondent, “or you can download the app, Bygone Replicator, to turn your digital device off for you.” Continue reading
Boris Johnson’s wife Marina Wheeler has triggered Article 50. They have been in a union for 25 years but Marina now insists it’s time to take back control of her borders.
“He thinks he’s Big Daddy,”‘she said, “but in truth he’s just a Giant Haystack.”
Dubbed ‘Bojexit’, the divorce is already proving controversial, with Boris withdrawing his earlier complaint that Marina was costing him £350 million a week.
“Surely, marriage means marriage,” said Harold pensioner Doris Kettle. “How come they get another vote on it?”
When ‘A’ was rescued from a B&Q orphanage, he thought a loving family was taking him into their home and their hearts.
“The kids seemed very excited on the way home in the 4×4,” recalled A, “singing ‘Daddy got a ladder’ to the tune of ‘If I had a hammer’. I thought I would soon be enjoying a bowl of homemade soup in a warm kitchen and then the kids would show me where I was sleeping. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
To his horror, the jeep pulled up the gravel path to the detached double garage. While the children ran into the house to tell mummy about their outing with daddy, A was slid out of the tailgate, had his packaging stripped from him and was roughly shaken before being hung on a pair of hooks inside the garage.
“Yeah, reckon you’ll do,” said the man before switching off the light and shutting the garage door.
In the darkness, a large spider crawled and A heard the familiar creak of aluminium on aluminium.
“Who’s there?” asked A.
“I’m Triple Extension,” said a deep voice in reply, “and this is my wife, Roof. Get to sleep, Steps. There’s work to be done, first thing in the morning.”
“Don’t call me Steps,” cried A.”My name’s A. It’s short for A-Frame. You’re not my real ladder.”
The growing trend for Jeremy Corbyn being hired out so children can paint on him during birthday parties has come to Harold. Local parents Cassian and India Hagan-Beckett have come under heavy criticism for holding a Corbyn Daubin’ Crew themed bash for their seven year old son, Quail. Continue reading
UK citizens are being advised to stay indoors and not touch anything on Friday 13 July when President Trump visits the Kingdom.
“Bad Luck and Weird Coincidences are happening all the time,” explained super-meta-physicist Milton Keynes, “but compound that with the Friday the 13th phenomenon and a visit from a madman, then we could all be in big, big trouble.”
“My advice is, stay indoors lock everything and keep still. Above all, do not walk under any ladders or attempt to straighten the hall mirror. Or watch the news.”
Church leaders and soothsayers are urging Mrs May to Continue reading
Mrs May told parliament today she is perfectly within her rights to take a dump on Jeremy Corbyn’s head in the interests of protecting the nation.
“I have a much better speaking voice than the Leader of the Opposition,” she told the Commons, “and I’m far more mature than him, even though he’s a bit older than me. Not only that, but I’m Prime Minister, which he is not, so I can do what I like, including doing a poo-poo on his head if I choose.” Continue reading
HMRC’s accounts have come under scrutiny by EU tax officials, who allege jiggery-pokey and unpaid duties.
Clothing imports from China have been grossly undervalued in HMRC’s books, claims the EU, demanding £2.4bn in extra tax.
HMRC say they have a problem accessing the data just now, as unfortunately their dog ate the USB memory stick and the back-up drive has been mislaid in a snowdrift. They’re trying to get copies of their bank statements but the internet is a bit unreliable round their way and mail doesn’t always get through in bad weather.
Harold builder Herbert Fork, who’s been done for tax a few times, says he offers his sympathies to HMRC.
“I know what you go through when you get turned over by the VAT man,” he empathised.
“I just hope they don’t nearly have a heart attack during the investigation and that it can get sorted within a couple of years and not drag on and on until they’ve almost lost the will to live. You’ve got to feel for them.”
A villager is shocked by finding that a diet of cake, crisps, and chicken nuggets, washed down with full-sugar cola, has been linked to an increased risk of cancer.
“I feel a bit let down, to be frank.” said William McKean, Harold’s fattest man and star of the documentary Help! My Liver is the size of a Dog. “I was happy to risk heart attack, stroke, diabetes, amputation, and breathlessness, but other than that I was pretty sure Continue reading
Homeless people in Windsor say their livelihoods are under threat as rumours circulate of a street-level takeover by a ruthless gang of highly professional beggars.
“The gang all claim to be members of a single yet extraordinarily extended family,” said Windsor Vagrants’ spokesperson Lindsay Tarsal. “What we do know is they use various aliases, often chosen to sound like your local. The Duke of Kent, the Prince of Wales, the Pig and Whistle… oh, hang on, that last one was David Cameron.”
“So now they’re heading down our way and all of a sudden, who would’ve guessed it, lo and behold, what’s their name now, ah, The Windsors of course, poncing about as though they own the place.”
A booze war was brewing in Harold last night, after Viking, Nils Østergård, submitted an application to Harold’s Licensing and Planning departments for ‘pop-up, artisanal, mead Shoppes’
Mr Østergård told The Evening Harold, “We’ve been brewing our own mead at our micro-brewery site for a number of years now, and had been content with only supplying our product for Viking social events.” Looking ruggedly, and wistfully, out over the River Gluggle, he continued, “But as the trend for arsey, over-priced bottles of ale with twigs in has grown, so has our Viking desire to take over the world. In this case, it’s the world of poncy alcoholic drinks. Our selection of meads are available in both bottles and animal horns, and we’d like to remind our customers to rape and pillage responsibly.” Continue reading
Hedgehogs in Harold have vowed not to be the victims this weekend and will fire rockets at anyone stupid enough to light a bonfire without first checking that no hedgehogs are snoozing in it.
“We consistently top polls to find Britain’s most beloved creature – in your face badgers, you stripey no mates -” said Twitchy Pete, leader of Harold’s hedgehog community. “So it is not okay to cook us in bonfires like spiky baked potatoes and claim it was unavoidable.” Continue reading
A weekend IMHO poll has revealed that most people feel relaxed about our nuclear warheads being under the control of wide-awake clear-thinking coke-snorting top-flight gamers, and that this is way preferable to President Trump having his finger on the big button.
“These guys in the submarine are best in class when it comes to video war games,” said Harold teenager Kevin Ronsson. “They’ve got hand-eye coordination like you wouldn’t believe and they’re so sharp-brained they can beat you at chess with one hand while fending off incoming with the other. Whereas Trump is more like a thick dickhead, still stuck on level 1 in Hungry Horace.”