Lies? Not Tony

CF has only just picked this one up, thanks to the eagle-eyed Mike Smithson over at

During the litany of lies from good ol' Tony B-Liar on Friday, the Telegraph was among many providing live (well, nearly-live) coverage of all the fibbing.

And, in a just-a-bit-of-fun, Snow-esque way, they added a little 'have your say meter', so that the admirinhg public could vote - in a way we never got to for the war itself - regarding whether or not Teflon Tone was telling porkies.

Here's a screenshot, taken at around 10:30 in the morning:

But, what's this? By 11:45, the meter was still there, but had undergone a bit of a change of name:

What a fucking surprise. From Lie Detector to Credibility Meter, in just over an hour. And this in spite of the fact that the public vote was clearly swinging toward 'False'.

Someone little spin-doctor in the Labour party earned their money that morning, eh?

Tip of the hat to Mike - a very good spot!
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A lot of Honeyballs on race

Dear God, Mary Honeyball is an annoying woman. On her infuriatingly smug and sanctimonious blog, the Labour MEP for London drivels on about an event she recently attended, where the even-more-infuriating Hattie Harman was sharing her wisdom. And, of course, Mary just loved her speech:

"One passage from her speech is worth highlighting. Harriet talked warmly about Dawn Butler’s ... Harriet mentioned that there are two million black women in the UK. With only Diane Abbott and Dawn that means they represent 1 million black women each"

Of course, no Labour speech, policy or soundbite can go without a dig at the opposition:

"It is a sad failing of the opposition parties that only Labour has black women MPs. The Liberal Democrats have a shockingly bad record on this and there is not even a hint of any black or ethnic minority candidate getting a sniff of a safe or currently held seat."

So black women are only represented by 2 MP's, are they? Both Labour. Hurrah for Labour. Boo to the other parties, who obviously don't represent wimmin of colour at all.

Why the fuck do you, Mary, think that black women can only be fairly represented in Government - or indeed anywhere - by other black women? What's that all about?

Why could it only be a black, female MP who could understand and convey the needs of this part of the population?

Are you saying that an Asian man just could not understand what it is that a black woman might want, need or demand from the Government? Are you?

Do you think that a white woman would not be able to speak up on a behalf of a black one? Are you implying that you, yourself, Mary - a hideously white woman - can't really get a grip on the issues that black women in Britain face in 2010?

What is it, Mary? Are you unconciously racist youself?

Or are you just thick?


ON your bike, OFF the roads

Last year, Katie Hart, 19, was making the 15-minute drive to her boyfriend's house. She'd only driven around 2,000ft on the Southbound A1 before crashing into the rear of Gareth Rhys-Evans, who was on a bicycle.

Major Rhys-Evans was catapulted across the road, and died almost instantly. CF wrote about this last year, but the case has only just come to trial.

Earlier this week,a jury took five and a half hours to return a unanimous verdict, finding Katie Hart guilty of causing death by dangerous driving. She faces between 2 and 5 years in prison.

Judge Nicholas Coleman was very clear on this, and told Hart:

"You face a prison sentence. The only question is how long."

A moment of carelessness, and two families' lives are ruined.

But hang on a minute. When Ms Hart struck the unfortunate Major, he was - wait for it - in the middle of a 'time trial'. Yup. A race. A game, played on bicycles. On the dual-carriageway, 70 miles per hour, A1. On a Bank Holiday.

Yes, Katie was careless, and foolish, but isn't it pretty fucking careless and absolutely the height of foolishness to hold a cycle race on the A1, for Christ's sake?

And take a look at the picture. That's the late Major, on his carbon fibre toy. Notice that he's wearing black, on a bicycle that's also largely black.

Of course Ms. Nash should have been more attentive, and should have seen him, but how easy is it to spot a bloke, dressed all in black, on a black bike, in a place where you wouldn't fucking expect them to be?  8:30 on a Bank Holiday morning on a major road, for fucks sake.

In an age where elf 'n' safety rules, and conkers are banned, how the fuck do grown men get to hold a bike race on a road that's only a couple of roundabouts away from being a fully fledged motorway?

That's something for Katie to think about for the next five years.

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Jumping on the Apple bandwagon

Normally when The Great Lord Jobs of the Mighty Apple is kind enough to announce a new product for us mere mortals to aspire to, there is universal praise.

Usually followed by massive sales, as every single adult in the Western world leaps onto the bandwagon.

This time, however, with the launch of the woeful, pointless and cumbersome iPad, the general response has been to take the piss. Now that's a bandwagon CF is happy to jump on. Take this, which has gone viral today:

Love the dancing. And this was made before King Steve even thought of the name iPad. Ha!


Justice for Blair? Don't get your hopes up

The media - both the old part and the new 'n' improved online part - are as excited as a puppy at feeding time about Tiny Blur's appearance at the Chilcot enquiry. Oooh! Oooh!

Excitable commentators would have us believe that Tone will go in bright-eyed and enthusiastic, but be led out in handcuffs, a broken man.

We all know that there wasn't a legal case for the war. That there was no thought given to whether this was the right thing to do, or to what would happen if it was done.

We also know that this was really America's - well, Dubya's - idea, and we all know that Tony only joined in because his tongue was jammed so far up Bush's arse that he had no choice but to follow him wherever he went.

We also know that the press were more than happy to go along with the whole fucking charade. To faithfully reprint - on the front page, in huge letters - every single lie and distortion that Blair and Campbell cooked up.

We all know - even without this ridiculously expensive show trial - that we were misled, lied to and ignored, while politicians abused their power to do just whatever the fuck they wanted to.

So it would be great if Tony - and all the others - acknowledged that. Made some form of apology. Suggested some ways in which redress could be made.

But - much as we might fancy that idea - that's not gonna happen, is it?

No. Tony will squirm uncomfortably for a few hours. His every word, gesture and nervous blink will be relayed in real time to the waiting world. Then, at the end of it, he'll saunter out, past the cameras, onto an aeroplane, and resume his obscenely lucrative world tour.

This time next week, he'll be evangelising to some Christians, or some Capitalists, or a combination of the two, as if nothing had happened.

It would be lovely to see Blair whip out an onion, dab at his eyes, tearfully confess to having done wrong, and announce that he's prepared to take his punishment like a man, and that he'll do whatever it takes to make thing right.

But don't get your hopes up.


It takes a lot more than 2 to Quango

One of the many ways in which this hopeless Government has managed to piss us all off, and create thousands more public sector jobs (two birds, one stone), is the creation of endless Quango's.

Almost all Quango's are a monumentally pointless waste of taxpayers' money. But what about a Quango that doesn't do anything at all?

Back in October last year, the latest insult to our intelligence, the Infrastructure Planning Commission was hastily flung together.

Its original purpose was to speed up the process for approving controversial infrastructure projects, such as nuclear power plants. This in itself is a bit sinister - the whole purpose of the IPC seems to be to strip those pesky local authorities of the ability to block or delay projects considered to be of 'high national priority'. For which, read '..that Mandy really wants'.

In other words, this Quango is to make sure that, if central government suddenly decides it's politically expedient to build a nuclear power station on your village green, there'll be precisely fuck all you or your local authority can do about. Centralisation by stealth, anyone?

But not to worry - the IPC hasn't actually done any approving yet. In fact, it hasn't actually done anything at all, yet.

Apparently, the woefully inept, easily distracted, oh-so-busy-with-trivia Government has yet to even agree the legal criteria on which to evaluate such projects. Oh, for fucks sake.

Would anyone in the private sector set up a factory to make, say, washing machines, without actually knowing how washing machine were made, what they were made out of or where to get those materials from? Well of course they fucking wouldn't.

Yet, even though this bunch of fuckwits are not doing anything, the drain on our pockets continues.

There are offices to rent, around 40 salaries (and - of course - pension contributions) to pay, stationary to print, computers to run and doubtless a hundred other items.

This do-nothing Quango is costing nearly a million pounds a month. Christ knows what it would cost if they actually did something.

The Quango's chairman, Sir Michael Pitt, is already happily pocketing his pay, even though nothing has been fucking done yet. For this total inactivity, Sir Mike receives 900 quid of our money - per day. Dear god.  A lot of people would be very happy with 900 pounds a month to toddle in to luxurious offices, check the post ('still nothing? Oh well..') and then fuck off home again.

And there's not just one fat cat here. There are at least seven more senior staff, 'commissioners', who oversee the execution of .. err .. fuck all and for doing so take home salaries of over 100,000 pounds.

So, are these well paid Quango-ites, in their lovely offices, about to spring into action and amaze us all with their work rate? Well, no. According to insiders, the 'criteria', the 'what-do-we-do?', are unlikely to be approved before the General Election.

The Government's very busy, you see. Lies and smears don't make themselves up, and jetting around the world to appear at endless overseas press conferences takes days and days out of everyone's schedules.

The Tories have already said they will scrap the whole fucking shambles if they win the election. Sir Michael and his staff must be terrified: where else can 40 people sit in freshly appointed offices all day, on a handsome wage, with their final salary pension ticking away nicely, doing bugger all?

And people wonder why there are still Labour voters out there...

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iS that iT?

The Apple fan-boys finally got to find out exactly what their Messiah has been doing for the last few months.

For almost a year, they've been hunched over their blurred firsts, endlessly muttering 'Steve, the tablet, Steve ... the taaaaaablet', to the consternation of all around them.

And now, here it is. The iPad. Gosh, it looks like an iPhone, but a whole lot bigger.

There's a lot more screen to scratch, and a lot fewer places to put the fucking thing when it starts to rain, or when a mugger begins to eye your new 'must-have' toy.

While, of course, the iPad will change the way we .. err ... tap shiny things in exasperation, there are some things it can't do:

* it can't be read in the bath, like a paperback;
* it can't be whipped out of a pocket to jot a quick note, like a notepad;
* it can't be folded up and read in one hand on a crowded train, like a newspaper;
* it can't take quick pictures, like every other mobile phone made since 2007
* it can't be replaced for 50 pence when you leave it on a bus, like an exercise book;
* it can't be held to your ear so you can speak to a loved one, like a phone;

and, naturally,

* it can't help but make you look a total twat, the very first time you whip it out in a bar;

What an ant-iClimax.
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The bitch is back

A sharp intake of breath across the land this morning, from those of every political persuasion, with the news that Labour's election campaign will be joined by Mr Anthony Charles Lynton Blair.

What? What the fuck? Tony Blair?

Would this be the same Tony Blair who, at the height of the frenzied bashing of the banks, when financial institutions are being scapegoated for everything from the melting glaciers to the loss of the Titanic, has decided to take on a job with one of the hedge funds that profited enormously from the crash? That Tony Blair?

Is this the same Tony Blair who, in spite of owning properties all over the world and being worth millions following a career in which he achieved, built or created precisely fuck all  has negotiated a deal with that hedge fund that pays him £2,000 per minute? That greedy, greedy Tony Blair?

Are we talking about the same Tony Blair who was widely believed to be the weakest, most self-serving Prime Minister this country had ever had, until his grotesquely incompetent successor proved that it was possible to do even worse?

The Blair who dragged the entire political class down into the mire of spin, smear, evasion and outright lies? That Tony B-liar?

Would it, perhaps, be the Tony Blair who is - later this week - due to appear in front of the latest enquiry into the war in Iraq, a war which we are repeatedly informed was entirely his decision, and which was very probably totally illegal? A man who thousands of bereaved families have to blame for their losses, in an unnecessary and unauthorised invasion??

Apparently, yes, it is him. The very same. The Lord High Mandelson has confirmed it.

Lord Mandelson has decided that Teflon Tony is to be among several high-profile figures who will..

"..join Gordon Brown on the campaign trail. They know as well as everyone what is at stake for the country.

Everyone will get stuck in. Everyone will campaign: Tony Blair, John Prescott, David Blunkett. We need the support of these well-known faces."

No, Manders, you need a fucking miracle of beyond Biblical proportions, love.

But Mandlebum doesn't see it that way: he believes (or says he believes, which with him is totally different) that the election could be similar to the 1992 vote, when then Prime Minister John Major clung to power despite polls' predictions of a Labour win. Yeah, yeah.

Do you really, really believe this bollocks, Foy Boy? And do you really think we're going to swallow it?

The B-liar is going to come back, we're going to welcome him with open arms and then Labour are going to cling on to power, eh?

Just how fucking stupid do you think we are, Mandy?



There's a little tool on the interwebs, ideal for those with unquenchable curiosity who may well spend hours wondering 'How many people share my name?'  Or, in fact, to be more accurate 'How many people in the US of A, which is after all the centre of the universe and the only country that really exists, share my name?'

Naturally, CF was unable to resist:

Totally unique! Hardly a huge surprise.

Pleasing that 113 people seem to have the surname 'Furious', and just a little fucking bizarre that over 1,500 hundred people would look up if you were to shout 'Oi, Constantly' in a MacDonalds on a Saturday afternoon.

(hat tip to many, via DK)

Blair to be arrested..

..over and over and over again, with a bit of luck.

Many would love to see the rictus-grinning Blair bought to justice for his part in the illegal war in Iraq.

None more so than the good citizens who have set up a website dedicated to the arrest of Anthony Blair. And they're prepared to offer a reward for his arrest. They freely admit:

"The intention is to encourage repeated attempts to arrest the former prime minister. We have four purposes:
- To remind people that justice has not yet been done.
- To show Mr Blair that, despite his requests for people to “move on” from Iraq, the mass murder he committed will not be forgotten.
- To put pressure on the authorities of the United Kingdom and the countries he travels through to prosecute him for a crime against peace, or to deliver him for prosecution to the International Criminal Court.
- To discourage other people from repeating his crime."

And to encourage a large number of arrests, wherever the Bliar goes, the site offers..

"..a reward to people attempting a peaceful citizen’s arrest of the former British prime minister, Tony Blair, for crimes against peace. Anyone attempting an arrest which meets the rules laid down here will be entitled to one quarter of the money collected at the time of his or her application"

Obviously, they don't want - or they must pretend not to want - Blair injured or endangered by any arrest attempt, but the site carefully describes how to make a peaceful citizens' arrest:

"..calmly to approach Mr Blair and in a gentle fashion to lay a hand on his shoulder or elbow, in such a way that he cannot have any cause to complain of being hurt or trapped by you, and announce loudly, “Mr Blair, this is a citizens’ arrest for a crime against peace, namely your decision to launch an unprovoked war against Iraq. I am inviting you to accompany me to a police station to answer the charge.”

No longer will T. Blair be able to claim he can feel the 'hand of destiny' on his shoulder - it'll be the hand of the public. Wherever he goes, whatever he does.

If you don't think you can get your hands on the slippery bastard personally, why not chip in and top the pot up?

If you do think you can get yourself to somewhere the lying, gurning bastard might be, then why not give it a go? The pot is currently just over six grand.

The satisfaction of a job well done, the discomfiture of a loathsome shit, and some cash in hand?

What are you waiting for?

(tip of the hat to Old Holborn)
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A Very Big House, in the Country

Our soon-to-be-former Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, is off on his travels again. This time, he's taking a short break from saving the world, in order to save Northern Ireland. As the Guardian breathlessly reports, their little eyes shining with excitement:

"..the prime minister flew to Belfast tonight with his Irish counterpart, Brian Cowen, to try to rescue the power-sharing executive..

Brown is attempting to broker a deal between Sinn Féin and the Democratic Unionist party to devolve policing and criminal justice powers to Northern Ireland."

Oh wow. Is it a bird? Is it a 'plane? No, its a fucking showboating politician, with a million other more important things to do.

But as we all know, Gordon absolutely fucking loves this kind of thing. Never happier than when he's grabbing the controls, bossing everuone about, and striding manfully from meeting to pointless meeting, as far away from Westminster as possible.  If Blair hadn't nicked it already, in a similar context. Gordon would doubtless have solemnly informed us that he 'felt the hand of history' on his shoulder.

And, as we all also know, if there's one thing he loves more than that, in fact more than anything, it's bashing those eeevil Tories. McDoom considers a day in which he hasn't attacked or misrepresented the Conservative party as a day completely wasted.

So he must be abso-lewtly, as he would say, delighted at the chance to do both of his favourite things at once. A wank and a Mars Bar? Ohh, yes please.

So Gordo' has taken time out of his busy 'saving everything' schedule to let it be known that, in spite of his heroism, the peace process is in danger, because them Tories are .. err .. talking to Unionists

Hang on, Broon. Hang on a fucking minute. Did you forget that The Tories have already formed a pact with the Ulster Unionist party? Remember? They're going to put up joint candidates in Northern Ireland's parliamentary seats.

But no. Gordon has apparently told aides of his 'astonishment' at this. He believes:

"..the Conservatives are endangering the Northern Ireland peace process by adopting a pro-unionist stance in breach of the bipartisan approach which dates back nearly 20 years"

And that's not all.  The main part of the smear is yet to come. Oh yes.

According to Gordon and his spinmieisters, the worst of this tawdry episode is - and you might want to sit down here - these talks are taking place 'at an English Country Estate'. Oh no! Look everybody, the class war is on again.

What on earth could the Conservatives be doing on an 'English Country Estate'? Perhaps they're all drinking port from peasants' skulls. Perhaps later they'll hunt down a fox and beat it to death with copies of the Koran. Don't hold back Gordon: if you're going to smear, go large, mate.

What a lot of fucking bollocks. You lying fucking spin-doctors. You gullible, lazy fucking media.

Hatfield House may once have been a private 'Country Estate', but now it's just one of the hundreds Golf 'n' Corporate Hospitality venues that litter the landscape.

It's just an upmarket Holiday Inn. You can go and get married there, for fuck's sake, or go for a weekend in the spa with your Diary Secretary.

But why acknowledge that, McDoom, when you can re-re-re-ignite the class war, accusing those Tory toffs of lurking in a Country Estate, undermining all your heroic last ditch efforts?

Why, Gordon, can you not just ever get on with the job at hand. Bend your efforts toward solving the hundreds of enormous issues that face you (and us) and fucking forget about smearing the opposition. Just for five fucking minutes?

You useless bastard.

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Poor old sods

The Equality and Human Rights Commission are bleating on again. What is it now?

Oh. Apparently, older workers should "not be forced to retire at 65 and should be free to demand request flexible conditions including shorter hours or working from home".

What? What the fuck? 'Free to demand..'?  What that means in our brave new world is 'Employers should be forced, by law, to give whinging employees exactly what they want, even if it is to the detriment of the business'.

Baroness Margaret Prosser, Deputy Chair of the Equality and Human Rights Commission, knows that the cash-strapped government have got far more important things to worry about than this load of old toss, so she tries to appeal by using an angle she knows they'll like: 

“Keeping older Britons healthy and in the workforce also benefits the economy more broadly by decreasing welfare costs"

Fucking brilliant. Let's keep all the old codgers at the coal face for longer, so they don't start greedily, selfishly, sucking up the pensions they've spent their whole working lives paying for, eh?

Why don't you go the whole way, you cynical bastards, like the pigs in 'Animal Farm' and have the poor sods work until they die, then sell their shrivelled corpses for glue?

And here she is! Never far away when there's the chance to dictate to employers what they should and shouldn't do. Always willing to help with the ongoing efforts to drag absolutely everyone down to the same base level in the name of 'fairness'. Yes, heeeeere's .... Hattie.

Of course, Ms Harperson is absolutely bang up for this:

"Harriet Harman, the Minister for Women and Equality, has announced that she supports calls to scrap the default retirement age and allow older workers to request flexible working."

Well, naturally. You would, wouldn't you Hattie? Why should we be allowed to choose younger, ambitious, more energetic workers when we can be forced - by law - to retain some toothless old git who can then 'demand' to go home after lunch for his nap?

Oh, but they've got a survey. Of course they fucking have. They always do.  In this survey, 62 per cent of women and 59 per cent of men aged between 50 and 75 said they want to continue working beyond the default retirement age.

What the survey conveniently forgot to ask these people is whether they want to carry on working until they drop because they love the cut 'n' thrust of the workplace, or - more likely - whether they fucking well have to carry on working because they can't afford to live on a meagre pension in the coming world of hyperinflation.

They don't all get MP's pensions, you know.

But Hattie and the Baroness aren't going to give up. Mizzzz Prosser goes on:

“Britain has experienced a skills exodus during the recession and as the economy recovers we face a very real threat of not having enough workers”

What? 'Not enough workers'? When has this country ever had 'not enough workers'?

We've got about 5 million fucking people sitting on their fat, shell suit-clad arses on benefits, many of whom could actually be converted into 'workers' (or better, burnt in power stations, but that's a different argument).

The turnstiles at Luton Airport are glowing red-hot from the endless in-flow of immigrants, some of whom could possibly be persuaded to take a break from the hate-preaching and turn in a day's work.

Why the fuck do we need to tell Grandad that he can't have his carriage clock and a nice sit-down by a sunny window?

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Does no-one want...

... the last whitebait? No?

With thanks to the Jolly Sailors' inn, Brancaster for this alternative seafood surprise, lurking right at the bottom of a heap of boring ordinary whitebait.

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Cereal Fraudsters

There's a lot going wrong with this once-great nation in 2010: the apparently total inability to manage the cold white stuff that kept falling from the sky a few days ago, the bunch of fuckwits who are supposed to be running the country, the debts that will never, ever go away.

However, CF's rage this morning was directed at a more personal, a more domestic, issue.

Would you just take a look at that fucking breakfast cereal in the picture? Bear in mind that the bag hasn't even been opened yet.

Yeah, yeah, contents may "settle in transit" but for fuck's sake, where are the rest of the fucking 'contents'?

This bloody box of ridiculously expensive, oh-so-good for-you breakfast cereal is half fucking empty.

Thieving bastards.

Nanny comes on holiday too

Now is the time of year when those lucky enough to be able to afford it slip off to the slopes.

Yes, a few days up in the mountains, skiing, snowboarding and sledging can be a great antidote to the general shitiness of life in modern Britain.

An escape from the nannying and hectoring of the Righteous, and the chance to eat, drink and even smoke without receiving a lecture from Nanny about... but no, wait ...

It's no good, we are going to get a lecture after all.

According to some fucking infuriating survey we are drinking too much on our skiing holidays. Why ..

"As many as 45 per cent planned to drink every night during a winter sports' trip"

Well, duh. Of course we will. We're on fucking holiday, with family or friends, and we're likely to be eating in restaurants or in the hotel.

Why the fuck would we not have a fucking glass or two? Or a Jagartee on a cold morning? Or a Bombardino after a lunch up the mountain?

In fact, thinking about it, 45% seems suspiciously bloody low.

But not to those who would caution us, dictate to us and control us. Oh no.

A spokesman for insurance pimps MoreThan, who carried out the survey, bleated:

''The findings of the research are extremely concerning. Brits abroad have a reputation for drinking to excess but throw a high-speed downhill sport into the mix and you have a very nasty combination.

''Drink-driving is severely frowned upon and drink-skiing should be too. It can be just as dangerous.''

So, should we all ignore the offers of local wines, ice cold beers and exotic schnapps and just get a nice early night, stone cold sober?

Oh, do fuck off.


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We're all going to snap

Those bloody anti-terror laws; how did we come to let them in? It seems that every day they're abused and deliberately misinterpreted, by the state and by plod, to keep the sheep under control.

One of the most egregious abuses is the recent idea that anyone taking a photo of anything must be doing so not because they want a memento, but because they plan to blow it up at some later date.

Therefore, they are potential terrorists. Oh no! Therefore, under section 44 of the Terrorism Act, they must be stopped, arrested and their cameras confiscated.

What a load of hectoring, controlling, fascist state bollocks that is. What happened to the simple concept of a 'free country' for fuck's sake?

If CF wants to take a photo of something, he'll fucking well take a photo of it, and the police - or more often, the pretendy police, the PCSO - can fuck right off.

A group has been created to kick back against this insane over-empowerment of Plod, under the catchy name of "I’m a Photographer, Not a Terrorist!"

As PHNAT (yeah,  that's what they call themselves) say on their website :

"Photography is under attack. Across the country it that seems anyone with a camera is being targeted as a potential terrorist, whether amateur or professional, whether landscape, architectural or street photographer"

Fucking right. They also point the glaring failure of logic underlying this stupidity:

"creation of the collective visual history of our country is extinguished by anti-terrorist legislation designed to protect the heritage it prevents us recording"

But more fundamentally, why the fuck can't we take a photo of anything we can see without the heavy hand of the state falling onto our shoulders?

But that's just not happening in the real world: a  press photographer covering - gawd 'elp us - 'campaigning Santas' at City Airport was arrested. 

A BBC photographer was stopped and searched for pointing his camera - along with several hundred tourists - at St Paul's Cathedral.

And in one of the most outstanding pieces of fuckwittery yet, seven - seven? - armed - fucking armed? - police grabbed an architectural photographer in the City of London, for the crime of photographing a steeple at the ruined Christ church in Newgate. Dear God.

Well, PHNAT aren't going to take this shit anymore. They've planned a demonstration for tomorrow. Saturday January 23rd, on Trafalgar Square at noon. "In defence of street photography". Jesus H. Christ, that it should come to this - defending our right to use a camera outdoors.

Get down there tomorrow, if you're able. Exercise your rights; take some pictures.

And tell the Nanny State, and all her plastic plods, to fuck right off.

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The House of Comments

CF was honoured and touched to be invited to return to that den of iniquity, the House of Comments.

Now in its 11th great incarnation, we are reliably informed that the House of Comments podcast is the fastest production car of its kind the most popular politicial-but-not-from-the-BBC podcast in the world.

This particular sizzling roller coaster of political and current affairs comment featured famous media ho' Mark 'Reckons' Thompson,  Stu 'what are backups?' Sharpe and Darrell 'lurch to the left' Goodliffe of 'Moments of Clarity'.

The recording session started badly when Darrell revealed that he was attempting to connect using a ZX Spectrum. Via a 300 baud dial up line. From a small village in New Zealand. During a thunderstorm. With a 'Barbie Karaoke' microphone. While eating Cream Crackers.

The other particpants could only hear the first word of every sentence before of long bursts of static, and had to chat among themselves while Darrell repeatedly rebooted, upgraded and wired his own network cables.

Eventually he was connected to the almost Bang & Olufsen standards of clarity demanded by Mark, and was able to record the full ghastly story of how he came to move from being a avowed Lib Dem to a staunch Labour man. You'll have to listen to the podcast for details, but rest assured, it involves some bin men and was little, if anything, to do with Mark Oaten.

CF whinged for a while about his liver, and the bastards who would like to take control of his innards and his life, and that led into a conversation about whether we should expect the 'nanny state' to clear snow from our front paths or fucking well get off our arses and do it ourselves.

There was some chat about the Carnage at the Chocolate Factory, and CF had a long, rambling, rant about the difference between a Retail Bank and a Wholesale Bank - one that both Gordo and Barack choose not to understand.

Well worth a listen, the podcast can be heard directly on the website , downloaded directly (raw mp3 file here if you prefer).

Or, if you're a complete consumer, and have an iSummat, you can subscribe to the podcast via iTunes.

Get in!


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Barry bothers big banks

Barack 'one term Barry' Obama is in a mess. America has fallen out of love with him and his hot air.

They showed him what they thought of him earlier this week, by voting in a former nude beefcake instead of the chosen one's chosen one.

His deluded attempts to build a giant version of the NHS in 'merica have been quietly shelved. Guantanamo still welcomes careless terrorists.

And fuck all else - other that scooping up of the Nobel peace prize - has happened during Barry's watch.

An air of disillusionment hangs over the US of A. Mr President finds himself in a corner. And nobody puts Barry in a corner.

Bold new initiatives are needed. A new objective. A different hill to run up. As in Orwell's 1984, there must always be a war.

So Barry's going to pick a fight with those eeevil banks.

It's all so easy - just frown, look serious and make some bold-sounding statements about an industry that the vast majority of the public don't understand at all.

If this was all so, so important, Bazzer, why the fuck didn't you do it before? Because this is just political showboating, pure and simple, that's why.

Our own local showboater, G Brown esq., will doubtless be fucking delighted .

We can expect a gushing press release, stating that Gordon is delighted that his 'friend' is following Gordo's lead, just as soon as a certain tongue can be removed from a certain arse.

And in many ways, Barry is following Broon's lead: he's in a political crisis, his popularity is plummeting and he has failed to deliver anything since taking the reins.

So, as Broon does endlessly, he chooses to go for for a major distraction ploy, something that will achieve nothing other than a handful of headlines.

But that's all either of these idiots seems to want.

And will it make any difference? Of course it fucking won't.

The banks are a lot smarter than either set of politicians, and can afford a lot better advice.

An unnamed banker, quoted in the Telegraph, didn't even take his feet from his desk:

"This has been coming from the start of the financial crisis. We've all thought about it and we've worked out the impact already. If it's necessary, we'll sell off the prop divisions, or any others. We're ready."

Bad luck, Barry: they don't give a shit about you, or your re-election. Time for a re-re-re-think.

How about .. errr ... global warming? That always goes down well.


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There's an app for that: Labour needs your suggestions

"There's an app for that", as the irritating Apple adverts chirp.

And, it seems, there certainly is an app for anything and indeed anyone - even the terminally desperate and deluded.

Yes, Labour activists have created an iPhone application, or 'app' as the trendy call them.

Imagine that: a Labour supporter and a political techie. Is it possible to have less than no friends at all?

Apparently, the app will feature:

".. local Labour Party events, searchable by the user's postcode"

Well yippee. Also..

"A mobile version of the party's Virtual Phone Bank, which enables party die-hards to call potential voters and enter details into an online database"


"Updates from Labour's Facebook and Twitter feeds feature on the app as do contact details for local MPs as well as local Labour news."

Oh for fuck's sake. More @bevanitellie? That's all we need.

But there's one little problem - they don't know what to call it.

How about:  iWishBrownWouldFuckOff ?

or:              iLostMyJobAndMyHouse

or:              iThinkSomeoneElseShouldHaveATurn

CF feels sure that his readers will have many, many ideas. Fee free to leave them in the comments: the best will be placed into this post later. And might (might) win a prize.

Go for it!

++update++  aaanndd the winner is: "one of my i's is fucked".
The contributor was 'anonymous', so the fabulous prize will be given to charity. Or CF will drink it himself.

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Why so smug, Gordon?

Much glee and gloating in the Labour ranks yesterday, with the announcement that the overall unemployment figure had fallen by .. wait for it .. 7,000.

That a pretty fucking poxy percentage of nearly two and a half million, but was still enough to send the Government and its cheerleaders into paroxysms of delight.

Work and Pensions Secretary Yvette 'dude looks like a lady' Cooper emerged from wherever the fuck she's been hiding for the last year to profess herself delighted.

Gordon Brown's smug cockiness was alomost unbearable.

The Tories struggled to pretend that they were pleased too. Aides held the corners of Theresa May's mouth up. CallMeDave decided not to mention the economy in PMQ's at all, lest he be assailed with interminable tractor stats.

But as ever with NuLabour, with this bunch of spinners, twisters and fibbers, let's just dig a little deeper, eh?

Yes, 7,000 fewer people were unemployed, but as Jonathan Prynne in the Evening Standard pointed out, at the same time jobs in London, the capital and economic powerhouse, fell by 20,000.

Oh fuck. So how come the national total has increased by 7,000?

Simples. What's really happening is that unemployment is still growing, but that more and more victims are being hidden, or sent elsewhere.

School-leaver are deciding that, since there are no jobs for them, they might just as well stay at school, or go to one of the many new faux-Universities Labour has created to hide them in.

So, 7,000 fewer people are unemployed, partly because 81,000 more young people have decided to wait in the classroom or lecture theatre until things improve.

And it's not just the school-leavers who aren't troubling the scorer.

Many of those who have lost their job have been unable to find another, and are reduced to part-time work.

Of course, this won't let them live as before, and they might not be able to survive for long like this, but the crucial thing for Yvette and friends is that they're not on the unemployment register.

And there's an additional 99,000 of them.

So, while it looks like the much-trumpeted 7,000 people managed to find jobs, thats only because during the same period 180,000 people either couldn't, or took one look round and didn't even try.

Couple that with the fact that private sector wages didn't increase at all - for the first time ever - and the picture looks even fucking less rosy.

George Buckley, UK economist at Deutsche Bank, said:

“Weaker earnings growth has meant that employers are in a lot better position to hold their labour force because they've essentially accepted lower wages to keep their jobs.”

And couple that with the fact that inflation has just jumped through the roof - thanks for that - meaning that the same pay is actually less pay, and quite clearly we remain firmly, unequivocally fucked.

Not much to be so fucking smug about, eh Gordon?

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Carnage and the Chocolate Factory

Well boo hoo. Poor little Cadbury has been swallowed up by the eeevil American purveyors of fake cheese, Kraft. Apparently, it's a 'tragedy'.

The plucky little British company, where chocolate is still handmade in cauldrons in cottages by kindly smiling grannies, has been completed devoured by the faceless corporation that uses robots to manufacture nasty confectionery in enormous factories on the moon.

Well, that's the somewhat tendentious conclusion the dead tree press would have us believe.

Gordon Brown, puffing and panting like the fat kid who nearly missed the bus because he couldn't leave the sweetie shop, arrives belatedly on the scene.

McDoom has 'warned' Kraft 'not to cut jobs' at Cadbury. For fuck's sake.

"We are determined that the levels of investment that take place in Cadbury in the United Kingdom are maintained and we are determined that, at a time when people are worried about their jobs, that jobs in Cadbury can be secure.”"

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Do you really believe, Gordy, that Kraft give a flying fuck what you think?

You're as utterly powerless here, Gordo, as you are in everything else.

And, of course, as the Evening Standard pointed out last night..

"..the sale of the company was in the end made inevitable by the Government's attitude towards such takeovers."

Well, yeah.

What happened to BAA? In spite of the 'B' standing for 'British', our major airports are in fact owned by a bunch of Spaniards. And shouldn't airports be just a tiny bit more important than Creme Eggs?

And what about 'our' water companies? And 'our' electricity companies? They provide services far more essential than consolation for fat birds, and yet they were snapped up by filthy foreigners with hardly a word from the Government.

So, The Lord High Mandelson can bleat about saving British jobs, but he knows deep in his flinty black heart that it's too late: the deal's done. Gordo knows it too. There's only showboating, now.

As soon as Kraft need to cut costs - and that'll be pretty fucking soon - some of those smiling grannies are going to be relieved of their cauldrons. And their income.

Still, at least Gordon can remind them that their misery "'started in America".

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The Tories biggest blunder

Oh dear. Fancy making a poster that easy to take the piss out of.

Did no-one think that a tool to make your own version wouldn't pop up in, oh, about 5 minutes flat?

Everyone else has had a go, so CF thought he should too:

Oh, what larks!


Come the revolution, we'll cap bankers' bonuses

Whining socialist Billy Bragg is giving us all the benefit of his opinions yet again.

Stephen William 'Billy' Bragg, senior figure in Leftie Luvvie circles, has threatened to stop paying taxes, and - revolution, Brothers! - called on others to follow suit, unless the government acts to limit bonuses paid by the Royal Bank of Scotland.

Of course, as you would expect, there's the fucking inevitable Facebook campaign, where Bragg whines..

"I understand that the Treasury had little choice but to use taxpayers' money to safeguard savings and stabilise and restore confidence in the financial system"

Oh, you 'understand' that, do you, Billy? It sounds more like you were fed that line by one of Gordon's little spin doctors.

'To safeguard savings and .. restore confidence': not exactly revolutionary talk, is it? Oh, and you forgot to mention 'hard working families': mind you, Gordo's handwriting is a bit flaky; perhaps you couldn't read that bit.

Bragg bleats on:

"What I don't understand is why, now that we taxpayers are the majority shareholders of these banks, we seem totally powerless to curb their excessive bonus culture?"

Well, Billy mate, without wishing to explain the whole of capitalism to you, it's usually the case that the shareholders want the companies they own to succeed.

One way to do this is to ensure that they have motivated staff, who are compensated at normal industry levels, do you see?

And generally, Bill, something shareholders - at least, those in their right minds, and without an overriding political agenda - would not normally do is to damage the company they have a stake in by pissing off key staff with some mindless political stunt to please blinkered lefties like you.

If you really want to drag politics into every aspect of a company's operations, and run it so it makes massive, crushing losses but ticks all of your Socialist Utopia boxes, then you have to nationalize it. And, thank Christ, even the Labour party aren't that stupid.

"I have written to the Chancellor of the Exchequer .. Alistair Darling, to inform him that I am no longer prepared to fund the excessive bonuses of RBS investment bankers.

You're not funding them, you fucking idiot. This isn't like your beloved public sector, where our money is directly funneled into the pockets of the employees.

"Unless he acts to limit them to 25,000 pounds, I shall be withholding my tax payment on 31st January."

Hang on. What? Why 25,000 pounds? Surely you're against bonuses in principle? Why is 25 OK, and, say, 30 not? You're just making this shit up as you fucking go along, aren't you?

Stick to the nasal dirges, Billy: you're good at those.

++UPDATE++: The Daily Mash, as ever, has nailed it:

"A spokesman for the Inland Revenue said: "I've actually got a copy of Talking With the Taxman About Poetry. Maybe he should do a new album called Talking With the Taxman About Spending 18 Months in Jail for Being a Marxist Twat."

The EU - NOT spending our money

CF has not yet blogged about the Haitian earthquake, tragedy though it is, as he has formed the opinion that blogging, tweeting and setting up endless mawkish Facebook groups will not help the poor bastards one tiny fucking bit.

However, it's interesting to see how two of the world’s superpowers are helping out.

The earthquake in Haiti naturally provoked action from the US, and from the EU. But, as Christopher Booker points out in the Telegraph, those actions were slightly different.

When the world learned of the latest disaster, within hours the US had sent in an aircraft carrier with 19 helicopters. And hospital ships. And 3,500 troops. And hundreds of medical personnel.

While all that was on its way, President Obama pledged an initial $100 million dollars in emergency aid.

And what did that other great economic and political superpower, EU,  do?

Well, they ... organised a press conference.

The dynamic and glamorous Baroness Ashton, the EU's High Representative, addressed the world's media .. well, let Booker tell it:

"A scattering of bored-looking journalists in the Commission's lavishly appointed press room heard the former head of Hertfordshire Health Authority stumbling through a prepared statement, in which she said that she had conveyed her "condolences" to the UN Secretary-General, Ban Ki-Moon"

Really? 'Condolences'? Wow, she's putting things right, ain't she? Don't panic folks - everything's gonna be fine - The Baroness is here. And she's got Condolences.

And the EU is not afraid to put our money where its mouth is: The Baroness also pledged three million Euros in aid.

3 million? 3 fucking, poxy million? What did Saint Barack pledge again? Was it 100 million? Yes, it was.

Guys, we all know times have been a bit tough recently, but 3 million is pretty fucking pathetic, especialyl for an organisation fucking famous for sqyuandering cash.

In fact, it's about the same as the amount sucked up in salary, expenses and pension by The Lord High Mandelson when he temporarily dabbled in European politics, before returning to concentrate his particular brand of evil manipulation on the unfortunate UK.

For fuck's sake.

And lest you think that this is some sort of temporary aberration, Mr Booker is here to disabuse you. Back in 2004, when the Tsunami hit in the Indian Ocean..

".. within hours the US took the lead in forming an alliance with Australia, India and Japan, and had sent in two battle groups fully equipped to deal with such an emergency, including 20 ships led by two carriers with 90 helicopters. President Bush immediately pledged $35 million, later rising to $350 million.

The EU, by contrast, pledged three million Euros for the tsunami victims, called for a three-minute silence .. and proposed a "donors' conference" in Jakarta nearly two weeks later to discuss what might be done."

Thank Christ it's not (yet) mandatory to be proud to be a 'European'.


Compulsive viewing

What fun! The Iraq inquiry is set to have its busiest week yet:

Monday Jonathan Powell, Prime Minister’s chief of staff, 2001-07. Key involvement in planning for invasion and occupation

Tuesday Geoff Hoon, Defence Secretary, 2001-05. Accused of ordering military chiefs to delay preparations for invasion, and failing to secure funding

Wednesday Sir David Omand, Permanent Secretary Security and Intelligence Co-ordinator, 2002-05. Oversaw intelligence on Iraq’s weapons

Thursday Jack Straw. Foreign Secretary, 2001-06, now Justice Secretary. Key player in persuading MPs to send troops to support US-led invasion

Friday Sir Suma Chakrabarti, Permanent Secretary at the Department for International Development, 2002-07

Friday Sir Nicholas Macpherson, Permanent Secretary at Treasury, 2006-09. Did Government provide sufficient funds for operations in Iraq and Afghanistan?

A grand mix of those who'll be lying to protect their arses, and those who'll be telling the truth - for the first time - to protect their arses.

And a small chance - sadly a very small chance - that we'll finally hear some vital piece of evidence that will knock Saint Tony off his perch.

Make sure you've got plenty of popcorn.


Hypocrisy? That's Balls

CF is very busy today, so no time for a protracted rant.

However, an hour or so ago, CF caught a snatch of the news on Radio 4.

Apparently, Ed 'Blinky' Balls doesn't like CallMeDave's proposals around taxation for married couples and has accused him of "Social Engineering".

What the fuck?

Would that be Ed 'Bully' Balls of the NuLabour Party?

The most tinkering, interfering and - yes - engineering party ever to govern this unfortunate country?

Ed Balls of the party that always knows exactly how we should all live our lives, and has been ceaselessly legislating for 12 fucking years to ensure that we all do as we're told?

It is?

Now that's pretty fucking rich...


Supreme, or Super Supreme?

Much rejoicing across the blogosphere earlier this week, with the news that a highly dodgy, widely disliked piece of NuLab legislation had been overturned.

The UK's police powers to use terror laws to stop and search people without grounds for suspicion are illegal, the European Court of Human Rights has ruled.

This, on the face of it, is good news. This woeful government has misused legislation, especially the knee-jerk Terrorism legislation, to achieve its own warped ends on far too many occasions.

Old Holborn, among many others, was delighted:

"Oh joy. The harrassment of choice of our friendly Police "service" has just been found illegal under European Human Rights Legislation"

Well, yes, up to a point, Lord Copper.

But shouldn't we be more concerned about some distant European Court overturning the Laws of (what should be) our Land?

It's all very well having the much-derided and frequently abused terrorism laws overridden, but what happens when our European masters decide that a law of which we generally approve should no longer apply?

Doesn't Europe already have far too much say over 'our' legislation and its enforcement? Shouldn't our Government, who we vote in, set our laws?

As The Spectator points out, regarding the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom.

"We have, in Parliament Square, a new building entitled the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom. A lawyer looking for a wheeze should consider instigating an action under the Trade Description Act, because supreme it isn’t. England is not sovereign over its own law"

And isn't that a fuck sight more worrying?


It's my bloody liver

Day by day, the Nanny State creeps further and further our lives. Prying, poking and interfering.

CF no longer believes that his home is his castle - far too many new rules and regulations to allow that - but he used to believe that at least his body was his own, to do with as he pleased.

But no. As with everything else, we are not to be trusted. We need to be advised, directed, controlled.

Today we learn that even our internal organs are no longer 'our' internal organs. That's right: the news is, the Government is appointing a 'Liver Tsar'.

What the fuck? A 'Liver Tsar'?

Yup. Apparently we must be told how to look after our livers. Left to our own devices, we drink too much, eat fatty food and doubtless do other terribly naughty things to our poor innards.

This must stop.

Professor Roger Williams says urgent action is needed. He told Sky News:

"It's the three As: advertising, affordability and access"

Oh for fuck's sake. The'three As'? You can just see the Powerpoint presentation, can't you? Hear the whirr of the overhead projector. Smell the cold, nasty coffee. See the greasy-haired, bespectacled heads nodding in unison at this wisdom.

Sensing imminent funding, the Prof' goes on:

"The more people drink the more people around them drink and so it goes on and you have to tackle those three areas if you are going to reduce alcohol consumption in this country."

And by 'tackle', you patronising bastard, you mean control. Tame. Legislate against. All for our benefit, supposedly.

As always, the Righteous have lined up a convert to their cause, a former victim who was 'saved', and now is desperate to evangelise.

Jeanette Shiret hit the bottle after losing her job. She drank a litre-and-a-half of vodka a day. Even though she is now teetotal, her liver is so badly damaged that she would die if turned to booze again.

"The pressures, the everyday stress and strain of life, you end up drinking as a way to hide from your problems"

Well, sorry to hear that, Jeanette. But that was your choice, love.

And do you really think - does anyone really think - that if the Prof' had his way, and booze was taxed to oblivion, and vodka was twice the price, you'd have picked yourself up, dusted yourself down and found another job?

Nah: you'd still have a fucked-up liver, but you'd be a lot poorer too, to compound your misery.

As you say, Jeanette, you started drinking because you lost your job. Not because you were hugely impressed by that oh-clever-and-sexy vodka advert on the telly. So how would the Prof's first 'A' have helped you? Well of course: it wouldn't have.

Listen, Nanny. We don't care how much you think we should be allowed to drink. We don't want you to tell us how to live our lives.

Just fuck off. Fuck right off.

++ update ++ : someone claiming to be Jeanette Shiret has appeared in the comments, and is taking on all comers. Have a look, make up your own mind.

PMQs : here's the real transcript

Yesterday's PMQs was an exciting affair, crammed with the cut and thrust rhetoric of some of the sharpest minds in the land, as the transcript shows.

We join the proceedings as the Leader of the Opposition, Mr David Cameron, hauls himself to his expensively-shod feet:

Mr. David Cameron (Witney) (Con): I'd like to join the Prime Minister in his display of mock sorrow, and emulate him in stumbling over the name of a young soldier who I have never met, and never will now.

But anyway. Will the Prime Minister admit, before this House, that snow is falling from the sky, and that this is in direct contradiction to his earlier statements, and is entirely a result of his failed policies?

The Prime Minister (Mr. Gordon Brown):: The right hon. Gentleman is right to say that we have winter weather, which - as he knows - started in America.  I can today announce an enquiry into the so-called snow, which will commence with extensive analysis of the snow on the ground in August of this year.

I am also able to announce that we will be investing 50 mill-yun pounds in an enormous salt cellar, which will be used to sprinkle salt onto snowbound marginal constituencies. This salt cellar will be available during the whole of July 2011.

[hear, hear]

[Mr Cameron, instead of asking his next question, winks, taps his nose, and sits down]

Mr. Nick Clegg (Sheffield, Hallam) (LD): I too would like to express my sorrow at the death of another soldier, and also the tragic death of a Mirror reporter, who as we are all aware was doing vital humanitarian work in dangerous territory. Many Afghans will doubtless sorely miss his enormous contributions to their well being.

But anyway. As the House will recall, mine was among those voices calling for the Chilcot enquiry into the Iraq war to be completely independent, and immune from political interference.

With a General Election coming up, I can sense substantial political advantage for my party in the Prime Minister being embarrassed by this enquiry.

I would, therefore, like to withdraw my demands for any political independence for this enquiry, and use my position as a senior politician to demand that the Prime Minister is hauled up before the committee as soon as possible.

The Prime Minister: The Chilcot inquiry has been given .. errr .... I mean drawn up a list of people whose fault .. err ... I mean who were involved and who they will wish to interview. My name is not on it, so you can't make me.

Mr. Clegg: The point is that this is a question for the Prime Minister’s own conscience.

[sustained, uproarious laughter from all sides]

Mr Clegg: He wrote the cheques, he paid for it, it was him, him, him

[Mr Clegg sits down, lip trembling]

The Prime Minister: Hard working families know that this war and this enquiry are abso-lewtly nothing to do with me. And I'm busy that day.

Mr. David Cameron (Witney) (Con): Last week, the Prime Minister was in in a sticky situation with his own party. Ahahahaha. Isn't that right?

The Prime Minister: I think that I should answer that question by saying that the right hon. Gentleman looks very different from the poster that we see out there.

[sycophantic laughter]

Mr. Cameron: Why don't we play a little game? Who in the Labour party think this Prime Minister looks good in a photograph? Come on, hands up. Come on.

[about 50 obedient Labour hands go up]

Mr Cameron: [squinting] anyone? No-one? Oh, there we are, four. Four people would like a photo of the Prime Minister.

[Tories rock with laughter]

Mr Cameron: But enough. When Britain went into recession with one of the largest deficits in the industrialised world, that was because this Prime Minister thought he had abolished boom and bust. That claim was wrong, wasn’t it?

The Prime Minister: The right hon. Gentleman needs three television election debates because he thinks three different things about the same thing.

[Labour backbenchers pause, glance up at Lord Mandelson on the balcony then, at his signal, begin to laugh]

Mr. Cameron: Well, the Prime Minister has three different people in charge of the election campaign. So there. And one of them is Mad Hattie, who hates boys. Isn't it?

[a Tory backbencher laughs so hard that he falls from his bench]

The Prime Minister: This is what the Leader of the Opposition said only a few days ago: “I messed up". Ha ha. Messed up. You said that. Didn't you?

Mr Cameron: The Chancellor now says that that cuts will be the deepest for 20 years. Will the Prime Minister repeat those words?

The Prime Minister: Well, the right hon. Gentleman is going red in the face. Look, he is. Much redder than on his poster.

[several Labour backbenchers laugh so much that they are sick] 

 Mr. Cameron: If the Prime Minister wants to know how people are going to vote, why does he not find some courage for once and call the election?

[A Tory backbenchers shouts "hear hear" so loudly that he suffers an embolism]

The Prime Minister: I must say that the right hon. Gentleman’s airbrushed poster - did I mention that? - had .. errr ...   lines on it. And they were .. err ... [squints to read script]  better than the lines that he is delivering today.

[Labour backbenchers are lead away, tears of laughter streaming down their cheeks]

The Mother of all Parliaments?

Dear God.