I had the morning off waiting for Curry’s to deliver the new flat screen TV with surround sound, radar and sonar and a missile launching system. Naturally they didn’t turn up.
The curly Kale diet was working its magic and I was on the pot reading The Sun. One story grabbed my attention. Andrew Mitchell. For those of you who don’t know him you are lucky.
He is an arse wipe of a Tory politician who swore at some coppers outside Downing Street.
Well actually he called them “Fucking Plebs”. Earlier in the week two young coppers had been killed up north by some psycho.
Why can’t Mitchell just apologise? If I lose my rag after a few pints in the Ineffectual Pilchard all I have to do is pop in the next day apologise to whoever it was I offended and then get my mate Nosebag to rub them out in Grays.
But not this posh boy. Too grand you see. Not like us. Different rules apply. He needs to be brought down a peg or two. I didn’t have any toilet roll. Andrew’s smug features came in handy.