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2016 Election Fiddling Probe: Boss To Be Interviewed

2016 Election Fiddling Probe: Boss To Be Interviewed

Letter from Llanaber

...Global politics seen through life in this strange tiny village in West Wales...

Things are getting hotter for the boss of Llanaber parish council, Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim, regarding the on-going investigation into voting ‘irregularities’ during the 2016 election race for parish council leader. There is a lot going on and I will try to bring you up to speed as accurately as I can on each aspect of this multi-faceted tale that twists and turns.

Firstly, there is the matter of Mrs. Trim’s dumb-assed brat, Lennie Jnr. He is in hot water with the village top-cop (Robert ‘Robbie the Bobbie’ Muller) for being a ratbag and trying to get ‘the goods’ on old Mrs. Clinton, the lady that runs the card shop in the high street, from a husky Rufflotian villain called Svetlana Vilalwaysputnitsinya.
Lennie’s attempt to shaft the card shop queen failed, and the argument rumbles on about who knew what and when. This will probably continue until Robbie the Bobbie finally agrees a figure with Mrs. Trim and accepts the bribe. 

Mrs. T. herself has muddied the water somewhat by flip-flopping her position on the story, claiming: 

a) She didn’t know about the meeting and still doesn’t, then; 

b) She knew about it but the meeting was a harmless chinwag with the shady-lady to discuss selling ‘discontinued line’ babies on the internet (a selection from last season’s stock of ages, sizes, genders and colours at discount prices), then; 

c) It was mainly about the end of season discounted kids promotion but there may possibly have been some mention of (I quote Mrs. Trim directly here):

‘… that crooked traitor, Mrs. ‘lock her up’ Clinton,’ and irrefutable evidence that she had been ‘having it off’ with an underage trainee circus clown and a Benedictine monk, neither of whom is in a position to ‘spill the beans.’ The clown is under-aged and the monk has taken a vow of silence and is also, unfortunately, illiterate, so can’t even ‘dob her in’ by scribbling a note.’ 

Robbie the Bobbie is looking very closely at the above to see if there’s a case for indicting Mrs. T. for obstruction of justice due to the ‘shifting sands’ nature of her absurd mouth-fart of blatant lies.


Next there’s the world of dottle surrounding Mrs. Trim herself. 

She has been subject to a considerable amount of controversy since taking office. There is her refusal to condemn Putin Lotzadosh for illegally annexing the swamp town of Bogbourne, and for smearing ‘unknown substances’ on the front doors of the old codgers living there. Putin has also been accused of ‘doing one’ on poor Mr. Alexei Smirnoff, the ex-Rufflotian drunk* Mrs. Trim has steadfastly refused to condemn Putin for this.

*For the avoidance of doubt the ‘ex’ above refers to Smirnoff being an ‘ex Rufflotian’ only, not the drunk part. He still remains very much 24/7 blotto.

Back to Mrs. Trim…

In addition to the above, in a news conference following her ‘one-on-one’ meeting with the ‘slot machine Soviet’ she openly sided with Putin, saying that Putin was a great, great, great, great, did I say he was great? Guy. Then, staggeringly, she went on to add that her own top-cop, Robert ‘Robbie the Bobbie’ Muller, was ‘a two faced ratbag that didn’t know a good bribe when it was staring him in the face.’

Finally there’s the on-going saga of Mrs. Trim and her proclivity for male ‘escorts.’ She reputedly benefitted from ‘night manoeuvres’ with two gentlemen of the night (‘Big Boy’ and ‘Wanger’) when her husband (Lord Justice Arbuthnot Trim – formerly known as fat Leonard) was laid low with haemorrhoid troubles. There is a secret dossier which we have all enjoyed reading, giving details of their shenanigans in a Rufflotian hotel bedroom playing the golden shower game on the previous parish boss’ bed.

There is also the matter of her ex-lawyer, Solly Weinstein (no relation), ‘taping’ Mrs. T and himself organising a bung to a male professional cabaret artist and sausage hider, Spanky Dambuster.


But this is old news you’re just repeating to fill the page! (I hear you cry). Where’s  all this leading? 

It is this.

Mrs. Trim is soon to be interviewed about the matters above directly by ‘Robbie the Bobbie!’ Negotiations are on-going as to when, where, and how?

Before Mrs. Trim’s new lawyer, the courtroom brawler, Mrs. Ruby ‘Rottweiler Rube’ Guillotini, became involved, my understanding was that all this had already been agreed. I know this for a fact because I was in Mrs. Trim’s office when ‘Robbie the Bobbie’ popped his head round her office door and asked her if she was free later for a chinwag about the 2016 election fiddling. Admittedly Mrs. Trim’s face went sheet white, but she said, “Yep.”

However, when ‘Robbie the Bobbie’ turned up it wasn’t Mrs. Trim behind her desk, it was ‘The Rot’ and the nonsense started from then. This I know because I was summoned to take minutes from their meeting. I reproduce them for you below:

Robbie the Bobbie: Good afternoon.

The Rot: I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it may incriminate me, and where’s the evidence? I have witnesses that for a nominal fee will swear on oath that it’s a bad afternoon. Also define ‘good.’ You can’t, can you? It’s a relevant term, isn’t it? One man’s good is another man’s bad and vice versa backwards because it goes for women too! It’s not a gender specific term. See! You’re line of questioning is vague and confused, if indeed it was a question and not just a derogatory mark meant to blacken the character of my client. I know what you’re implying, and any jury would see through your black lies in a heartbeat. By subtle innuendo and smears you are implying my client has had, is having or is about to have a ‘good’ afternoon. Filth! Your honour, I call for a mis-trial! (Turning to me)… I will not stay in this room a moment longer with this freakoid! Obviously the only ‘good afternoon’ for the likes of him is an afternoon spent in drug dens or in the arms of harlots (turning back to RtB)…  Or is ‘your favourite tipple’ little choirboys… or sheep, perhaps?... You disgusting pervert! (Turning back to me) Now, you! Butt-face! Where’s the free bar Mrs. T. promised me?

The meeting ended at that point when Ruby Guillotini put her hands over her ears, eyes and mouth alternatively mumbling to herself repeatedly, “Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil” before running out of the office.

The latest news on the matter of Mrs. Trim’s interview on the 2016 election fiddling etc. is that, after much negotiation, a final ‘take it or leave it’ proposal from ‘The Rot’ has been sent to Robbie the Bobbie for his consideration.

It is this.

Mrs. Trim is a person of the highest office in the village. There are constitutional issues at stake. There are no precedents and we would be ‘through the looking glass’ should any interview take place under the normal conditions for a police interview.

Therefore, for any interview the following preconditions will apply:

The interview will not be recorded and no notes or records will be kept. All participants will be hypnotized afterwards and have all memories of the event erased forever.

Mrs. Trim will not be interviewed under caution and lying is permitted for the interviewee only.
Mrs. Trim will not be spoken to directly, but through an interpreter. All questions will be asked in English, and then interpreted into Cantonese to avoid any chance of Mrs. Trim understanding the question.  

Throughout the interview Mrs. Trim will be inside a sound proof box so she cannot hear the question and you cannot hear any answer she may inadvertently give.

On its conclusion Mrs. Trim has the right to pardon herself and all her cronies of any wrongdoing, and lock you buggers up for life for being ratbags and turning her cushy little number ‘cash cow’ job into a pile of dottle.

Somehow I can’t see Robbie the Bobbie accepting any of this… unless he’s finally agreed a figure with Mrs. T. the size of his bribe.

That’s it for now.



And we've uncovered a bonus Letter from Llanaber!

‘Do Not Attempt To Interfere With Our Internal Affairs’ Threat from Rich Backward Blanket-Wearers

We’ve had a spell of rain. Yesterday it came down by the bucket full. This is unusual for Llanaber, the weather being mainly thick fog apart from the three weeks of bad weather in the summer. The rain doesn’t really cause us much trouble. We just stay indoors for the four minutes the down pour lasts, and then carry on as normal. However, this is not the case for one particular village in the county, Sadli Bakwardia.

Sadli Bakwardia is a village located on the vast sand plain in the estuary to the far south of Bogbourne. Its buildings are magnificent to behold, but are entirely constructed of sand mixed with a sticky tar-like substance called ‘slag.’ For those that have never heard of the stuff before, ‘slag’ is similar to coal but runny. Many of the villagers use it to heat their homes. Also, when squeezed through an apple press, the treacle-like exudate can be used for fuel in automobiles.  
Sadli Bakwardia is the only place where slag can be found, so as a consequence the tribal leaders there have become extremely rich. However, they are a backward looking people. By this I mean they wear long flowing blanket-like clothes that cover their entire bodies from head to toe. 

Their ancient tribal traditions prevent them from cutting eye holes in the blankets that cover their heads. As a consequence they can’t see what’s in front of them. However, they are permitted to have small mirrors glued to their foreheads, and slits in the head covering by the ears. The mirrors extend through the slits and thus allow the wearer to see what’s happening behind them. 

One result of this ancient risible tradition is that, blankets off, they all have very similar facial features, a broad flat nose, puffed up lips and a baffled expression, all brought about through constantly bumping their faces into walls. 

Both the men and women all sport long flowing beards as their laws do not permit them to shave under their blankets.

Sadli Bakwardia has a particularly harsh micro-climate. It rains literally all day every day. The elders of the village permit the males in the tribe the use of vast umbrellas to keep the rain off their blankets. The umbrellas need to be vast as the Sadli men are all fat gluttons. 

However, in their society, women do not have the same rights and privileges as the men.

Women are not permitted to either carry or use umbrellas. It is a criminal offence in Sadli for a woman to be caught using an umbrella, or even a library book to cover her head when she is out in the perpetual downpour.


The tribal elders recently appointed a new ‘boss,’ King Alibongo. He is a reformer and has recently slackening the rules for women and umbrellas, going as far as compelling women to carry the large, heavy and cumbersome umbrellas in public, but strictly forbidding the umbrellas to be opened, rendering them more of a burden than a benefit.

Personally, I think this is on the verge of barbaric. There is no sadder sight in my book that watching a Sadli woman leaving the supermarket with a gaggle of kids hanging off one arm and a massive umbrella tucked under the other, and her soaking wet shopping balanced on her toes as she bumps her way down the street from lamp post to lamp post in the piddling rain. 
I have always supported the women’s movement in their village, ‘#ME TOO WET,’ a reforming group led by a feisty young Sadli lady called Miss Samantha Badwig. 

Two weeks ago Miss Badwig metaphorically ‘put her middle finger up’ at the tribal elders when she knowingly and deliberately walked out in the downpour for the entire world to see wearing a Tesco ‘carrier bag for life’ over her head. This was her way of showing defiance against the oppressive rules of the ‘all male’ tribal elders that deny women equal status in their society. It was but a small step, a gesture of defiance, perhaps the front runner to a more forceful demand for parity of rights with the men. After all, in any civilized society anybody, including ladies, should be legally allowed to use an umbrella in public. 

There are much harsher restrictions to the rights of women in this male dominated tribe than the umbrella ban. I give you some examples below:

Women are not allowed to breathe whilst their men eat. Sadli men are notoriously gluttonous and slow eaters and this rule has led to many untimely female deaths.

Women are not allowed to ride on donkeys unless accompanied by an adult male and then only as a rear-saddle passenger. 

Sideways glancing by females is strictly verboten. Married women are forbidden on pain of death from ‘sideways glancing’ at ‘other’ men. (If US AG Jeff Sessions was a Sadli woman he would have been put to death years ago!)

Women must ‘remain standing’ until the men in their household are ‘no longer in the vertical.’ This is particularly cruel on Sadli households where there are many men, some of whom work night shifts. 


I was forewarned of this planned act of defiance. I have known and admired the members of the #ME TOO WET for many years and have over the years offered my support to their cause whenever I could. So I took the bus to Sadli Bakwardia on the ‘day of defiance,’ my pad and stubby pencil in my pocket, ready to cover the event for the Llanaber newsletter.

I was there, dear reader, I was there!

I witnessed it all.

No sooner had Sammy Badwig stepped out into the rain with the Tesco bag covering her head than she was set upon by ‘heavies’ wearing military uniforms. She was immediately manhandled into the back of a ‘paddy wagon’ and whisked off to chokey. To be honest, the ‘whisking off’ was a little on the slow side due to the driver having to reverse all the way to the cop-shop, the primitive Sadli laws only permitting drivers of vehicles to look backwards.

What I witnessed was an outrage against the freedom of speech of the womenfolk in that ‘cash rich’ but ‘enlightenment poor’ village. 

I immediately rushed back to Llanaber and wrote a scathing, hard hitting article on the subject and published it in the newsletter, sending a copy by second class post to King Alibongo himself, not just to ‘stick it to the man’ but to prick his conscience. 

Below is a copy of my article:

‘Mouthy Sadli Bakwardian Female Equal Rights Moaner Banged Up Again’

Miss Samantha Badwig has been thrown in jail for, in fairness, deliberately and knowingly flaunting the law. Quite honestly, she should know better by now. She’s always in trouble that one. She’s a real mischief maker. Having said that, it is a tad on the harsh side, throwing the young lass into chokey just for wearing a Tesco ‘bag for life’ on her head. Come on, King Alibongo, let her off this time… Go on, be a sport!’

In my naivety I thought that would be the end of that.

Not so. There were dramatic developments and ‘consequences.’

When I got home last night I popped into the back yard to say hello to my faithful but smelly Bloodhound, Comey, and to see if he’d managed to chew his way through the life sized Trump-shaped doggie treat I gave him before I left for work. To my horror I found a note in the form of a memo superglued to his nose. I reproduce the note for you below:

‘To: The interfering ratbag, David Smith

From: His Almighty Richness King Alibongo of Sadli Bakwardia

Subject: Banging up the Mouthy Cow

… Listen here you little gobshite, any other attempt to interfere with our internal affairs from Llanaber means that we are allowed to interfere in Llanaber’s internal affairs.’

I immediately unchained Comey and took him to the council offices where I was lucky to find the boss of the Llanaber parish council, Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim, still at her desk fiddling her expenses. I showed her Comey’s nose-note.


There are moments in history when the evil and powerful try to intimidate right thinking people through threats, sometimes military, sometimes financial, but always to their own dark ends whatever they may be. In this case the King of Sadli Bakwardia was blatantly threatening Llanaber for simply speaking truth to power.

At these moments we look to strong leaders, right minded liberals, the good and the great, to face up to these bullying tyrants, to call them out, and, yes, even to bring them to book for their behavior.

In this case I was looking for just such a strong stance to be taken by my esteemed leader, Binky. 

This was not to be. In fact I was shocked and horrified by her reaction.

She hid under the desk.

I was befuddled.

Sadli Bakwardia has no great army. Yes, like us it has a catapult but they’re too scared to use it!
So why did Mrs. T. virtually dottle in her pants at the thought of reprisals from Sadli? When I asked her she mumbled this from under the desk.

“NEVER hack off the Sadlis,” she hissed, “They’re a nasty bunch of backward lookers with too much money. The buggers own everything that the Druids don’t!”

“But what they do to their women is…”

She finished my sentence, “… Their fecking business, dolt! Look the other way and keep your trap shut like everyone else does.”

“But where’s the justice? Surely, despite the influence of their wealth, those of us that live in the free world must speak out against this blatant oppression of Sadli women, 50% of the Sadli population?”

It took ten minutes before her laughter subsided.

I have been ordered by my esteemed leader to publicly apologize to King Alibongo for being an interfering twonk. 

It transpires that their ancient customs require anyone that offends their King to debase themselves before ‘the big K himself’ in line with a tradition known as a ‘Justin Trudeau.’
I am to be buried up to my neck in sand while a camel stands above my head, its rear end directly above my bonce, till it ‘relieves itself,’ from both its front and rear exits. For the purpose of this ceremony I am to be re-classified as a woman, i.e. no Tesco ‘bag for life’ or anything else to cover my head.

Oh dear!

That’s it for now.




Photo by Gage Skidmore from Peoria, AZ, United States of America  ||  CC-BY-SA-2.0

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