Dear God, CF goes away for five minutes (well, three days) and look what happens.

Just when you thought that MP's as a species could sink no lower, that they were irretrievably sunk in the mire of their own filthy ways, the greedy, self-serving bastards prove you wrong.

Stephen Byers, Patricia Hewitt and Geoff Hoon - not exactly the most glorious trio in the history of modern politics - were all apparently thick enough - and greedy enough, and desperate enough - to fall for a sting by a fake US lobbying firm. Really? Yes, really. For fuck's sake.

In the kind of pathetically obvious trap usually used to get dimwitted models to offer ten grand shags, or even more dimwitted footballers to offer Cup Final tickets in exchange for a couple of lines of coke, these grasping MP's were easily tripped by their own own greed.

Asked whether they'd be interested in whoring influence for cash, all three fell flat on their backs, legs apart, pound signs flashing in their piggy little eyes, not hearing the whirr of the tape recorder.

Byers was particularly boasftful of his connections and influence. He told an undercover reporter he had secured secret deals with ministers, could get confidential information from Number 10 and was able to help firms involved in price fixing get around the law.

He even offered access to Tony Blair for Christ's sake, although why anyone would want that - other than to smash his stupid, grinning face in - is hard to imagine.

And he offered all this for mere five grand a day, the grasping bastard.

It's all gone down about as well as a glass of cold sick at Labour HQ, and the handful of Labour MP's who actually have some hopes of having a seat after the upcoming election have scurried to distance themselves from this lastest fiasco.

"Ridiculous", says Alistair Darling; the boy Milliband is "..appalled". In a sinister statement, that should have Byers looking over his shoulder, Archduke Mandleson says that he has "no recollection" of any meeting with Byers.

Politicians from other parties, grinning with relief, have also weighed in: "..very, very sleazy" says Nick Clegg. First thing he's got right this year.

"Shocking", says CallMeDave Cameron, pinching his own thigh under the table to stop himself smiling.

And as for Gordon Brown, well, he's ... he's ... what? Yes, what?

What does the Leader of the party from which all these greedy sleazebags came think?

What does the Prime Minister of the Government enmired in this scandal have to say?

As ever, no-one knows. Not a fucking word.

Macavity 'Courage' Broon has vanished.


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Much excitement in the CF household yesterday. CF's middle daughter - CFette #2 - had planned to go to the V Festival, with some of her little chums.The weekend tickets were priced at an eye-watering 140 quid, but CFette #2 was keen enough to take on multiple summer jobs to pay for one.

For reasons more to do with generating fake hysteria than running a fair and efficient process, the organisers elected to put the tickets on sale at 9:00am. On a Friday morning. When the majority of buyers would be at school, college or work. Genius.

So, CF and Mrs CF duly fired up their computers, grabbed their 'phones and dived in.

What a total waste of fucking time that was. Pathetic.

Every one of the 'official' websites selling tickets ground to a complete halt under the load. Screens timed out, queue positions changed at random, and key pages disappeared. The 'phones, of course, were perpetually engaged.

Clearly some people were getting tickets, but there seemed no way through this impenetrable wall of fuck-up.

Then, by 9:30, the screens began to refresh a little more quickly. Why? Because the fucking tickets had sold out. Without even getting as far as being able to enter credit card details, CF had missed the boat.

But then, what's this? A few minutes later, not even 10 o'clock yet, Google finds a load of tickets, newly available. Just not through the official sites. No. Through ebay, Seatwave and all the other ticket re-selling services.

Only funnily enough, they were no longer available at 140 quid. Oh no. Suddenly, the cheapest weekend ticket was being resold at nearly 250 quid. Way beyond CFette #2's budget.

So, a whole shitload of the people swamping the websites and blocking the 'phone lines were not doing so to get tickets to see their favourite bands, to enjoy a day of music. No. They were hoping to make an easy 50 quid (yeah, the re-selling sites take the rest) for a morning of 'phoning or surfing.

Thanks very much, guys.

While he should probably take a more mature attitude, and recognise that everyone has a right to indulge in this kind of speculation, in reality CF hopes the money fucking chokes you.

Bastards.
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