THE MAN ABOUT TOWN WITH ODD SHAPED BALLS

“What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little”.

I think it was Baden Powell, or perhaps Lord Byron, who offered the above mutterings, and never could such a quote explain my current crest of a wave.

Judging by the number of telephone calls I have received today, I, David Posh, am now officially famous!

On the camels back of two consecutive appearances in the Shields Gazette, I have been asked to open village fates, judge home made jams and appear as a double for Sid Little at a local gentlemen’s club (could it be Roxanne’s dear reader?).

I have also been asked to model some clothes for a well known “man about town” magazine. Whilst the thought of several free pairs of “Farah Action Slacks” is tempting, I do have my dignity to protect and a decision has been taken not to pursue this exercise in sartorial elegance. However, for those of you who like to be hip and happening, the current Gazette article has me modelling a retro “rugger” top, available from any second hand charity shop. Rugby tops, together with a set of odd shaped balls, are essential elements to any gentleman's wardrobe.

I have all three.

Whilst the publicity only enhances my chances of being served at the bar in The Red Lion before DJ MC Diddy, there is a very serious element to this plethora of press coverage in The Gazette. It means that Stinker Milburn, McWoody and I will not have to distribute a newsletter in the ward for at least another 12 months.

The people of Cleawood are now well aware that when it comes to Christmas trees, water towers and getting bigger signs for those with poor eye sight, there is nobody better than your three Conservative councillors’.

http://www.shieldsgazette.com/news/New-signs-gets-speed-message.5689366.jp


PS

As to the people of East Bilburn, we may get round to your problems next year, but don’t quote me on that.

LISTEN VERY CAREFULLY, I WILL SAY THIS ONLY WENCE

LETTER TO THE EDITOR
SHIELDS GAZETTE

FOR PUBLICATION

Dear John

Thank you for the free publicity in The Gazette yesterday.

It is always jolly rewarding to read the words “David Posh, leader of the Conservative party on South Tyneside Council”. In these times of scull duggery and "Et tu Brute" type scenarios, one never knows how long the title may last.

However, I wish you wouldn’t use that photo of me you persist in plastering all over your organ. As you well know, the offending snap was taken whilst I was employed as a “stunt double” for “Herr Flick” during the 3rd series of “Allo Allo”.

I have enclosed a recent passport photo with this letter, and would ask that you use this portrait re any future reference to the Borough’s old relics.

Pip pip Jonty, and see you at the next peasant (sorry, that should read pheasant) shoot.

Yours ever so sincerely

David Posh

http://www.shieldsgazette.com/news/Tory-win-would-boost-endangered.5685735.jp

THE CONSERVATIVE PARTY AND PRESERVING OLD RELICS

Good morrow dear readers, I hope you are all feeling suitably haughty.

I have of late been catching up on my public duties, and I don’t mean attending those dreadful council meetings. No chaps and chapettes, I have been waxing lyrical in the local rag about the state of the wards old sites (and I don’t mean Aunt Fanny, though her thatch could do with being raised a foot or two).

As my nearest and dearest chums well know, I have a particular penchant for the old relics of this Borough. My own dacha, situated in the “Margaret Thatcher Nature Reserve” (located behind Stinker Milburn’s house and pictured above) is a jolly expensive affair to maintain. Only last week I had to spend £12.80 to get an unemployed man to evict some pigeons who had taken up illegal residence in the belfry.

That is why I have been giving some though to Cleawood Water Tower. Not only is the Tower an international landmark (McWoody also assures me it is visible from space) but it is essential to the local economy, providing employment and also somewhere for the local youths to do their underage drinking and what nots.

Stinker Milburn, McWoody and myself, if re-elected, have therefore formulated a “policy” to protect the Tower from public destruction and intrusion. Under a Conservative government, National Lottery money will be diverted from such unworthy causes as community centres, children’s parks and disabled activities, and instead channelled towards those buildings that over look Stinker’s house and are an eyesore.

However dear voter, you make rest assured that we will not neglect our commitment to “the initiative and enthusiasm of heritage, arts, sport and voluntary organisation – the very groups the lottery was meant to support”. Under the guidance of your local Conservative councillors, cribbage, back gammon, bridge, chess, the Women’s Institute and the national sport of peasant (sorry, that should read pheasant) shooting are all safe!

Raise the Union Jack, and stick in proudly on top of Cleawood Water Tower where it rightly belongs!

SURGERY DETAILS

CONSERVATIVE COUNCILLORS:CLEAWOOD AND EAST BILBURN WARD

SURGERY DETAILS

DATE: 29 SEPT 2009

TIME: 2.00 AM.

VENUE: PHONE BOX OUTSIDE OF THE RED LION

Unfortunately, neither Stinker Milburn, McWoody nor I will be able to attend the surgery. Please leave any messages on the paper provided, and one of us will get back to you before the next surgery.

DATE OF NEXT SURGERY: POST 2010 ELECTIONS

THE DICTIONARY ACCORDING TO THE QUEEN

Due to the numbers of calls I have received of late, it is clear that some of you, particularly those who live on council estates, have been having problems understanding my lingo.

What is evident is the fact that attending finishing schools or elocution lessons were not top of your parent’s list of priorities when it came to providing you with a sound education.

Whilst it is not my fault that your “Mar” and your “Dar” had a tendency to put crime, fags, bingo, black pudding and The Sun before your emotional needs, I have decided to provide you with a list of definitions and explanations. I have also provided you, at no further expense, with the correct Queen’s English usage of said lingo.

For those of you snotty little oinks who can’t actually read, get your butler to translate the definitions for you….if not, engage your social worker.

Fop

A man who is preoccupied with and often vain about his clothes and manners; a dandy or a fool.

“McWoody, you’re a work shy fop”

Bounder
A man whose behaviour is ungentlemanly.
“Biffa Branley, I am not a leper, and to insinuate that I am makes you a bounder”


Cad

A man whose behaviour is unprincipled or dishonourable.
“Elsom, you may love horses and you may try to muffle your words, but your behaviour in the chamber is worthy of a racist cad”

A Bounder and a Cad

A professional rapscallion.
“Harrison, where is my cab you Bounder and Cad? You can't leave me outside Roxanne's. I'm a Tory. Don’t you know who I am?”

Scoundrel

A rascal and a villain.
“Hide the ballot boxes Scott and do as your told you scoundrel”.

Body Pop

The art of “body popping” is free break dancing, pioneered in South Tyneside by Cheesy Muldoon, Marmaduke, Squifey Chufnel and myself. Collectively we are known as “The Roxanne Crew”.
“Hello baby, fancy a body pop” – Chufnel’s favourite chat up line.

Squifey

Slightly drunk, a state of perpetual eternal happiness. Two dry Martini’s away from being totally “crocked”.
“Rigg, I’m feeling a bit squifey. Put me to bed”

Crocked

Two dry Martinis later.
“I’m afraid your more than squifey m’lord, you’re crocked”

Oinks

Those members of the electorate who think that actually voting for you equates to some form of reciprocated representation.
“I wonder if the oinks will fall for it again and re elect me in 2010?”

TIME IS NEVER WASTED WHEN YOUR WASTED ALL THE TIME

Lately there seems to have been a lot of idle tittle-tattle about the corpus mentis state of yours truly.

For the record, market trading in second hand Sky Remotes (batteries not included) is a risky business and requires 100% sobriety, commitment and attention. Their value can fluctuate at the drop of a bowler hat. Only last week stallholders in Darlington were left virtually destitute and on their honkers when a drunken rogue trader actually offered to include batteries with his remotes! What a cad. I can tell you his alcohol fuelled frolics nearly led to several stately homes being repossessed by the Council. Personally, I lost all my reserves. I was forced to sell my collection of Cliff Richard coloured vinyl LP’s in order to underpin my portfolio. Stability only returned to trading conditions when it emerged that the bounder’s batteries were all flat………

Let me assure you, I don’t have a drink problem; I’ve never spilt one, I never forget to put them on council expenses and I never drink anything less than 40% proof. There was however, an unfortunate experience at Stinker Milburn’s recent peasant (sorry pheasant) shoot. I am sure readers will agree, in the haze of a darkened bathroom, apricot scented “Toilet Duck” could easily be mistaken for peach flavoured Schnapps. Luckily, no long lasting internal damage was done, though the old breath did have the slight aroma of a tarts boudoir!

Recent accusations and insinuations are therefore nothing more than an attempt to slur my words (sorry, that should read “character”. I must get a new keyboard; all the letters on mine are blurred.)

I digress from the trodden path dear ramblers. The moral here is that a little bit of drink does you no harm, especially when someone else is paying.

Must dash, the admirable Rigg has just entered the library with the first of my “five a day” vitamin intakes; Vimto and Vodka!

Ching ching campers, ching ching!

GETTING YOUR PRIORITIES RIGHT

Don’t you just love the working classes; they do the jobs us educated and posh people cannot be bothered to get up in the morning for. Take for instance Rigg, my butler, who has just brought me a steaming cup of Lapsang Souchong, together with the afternoons post.

The usual drivel prevails; begging letters, council attendance allowance cheques, Netto coupons. The only thing of any note is my invitation to the annual Market Traders Week Europe Congress. This year’s bash will be held at London’s Victoria Park Plaza YMCA on 17th November. At a cost of £6.99, the daylong event will look at issues affecting us market traders, particularly the thorny matter of counterfeit TV remotes. The guest list looks pretty impressive, with Sir Rodney Trotter rumoured to be making an appearance. I have been asked to give a talk on the subject of “Sky Remotes and the problems associated with rain damage”. Spiffing.

The only fly in this succulent ointment is that the bash clashes with one of my council romps (The Overview and Scrutiny Coordinating and Call In Committee).

What to do dear reader, what to do?

Who shall have the pleasure of the “Presence of the Posh”?

On one hand I have the tedious prospect of sitting in a room with a group of Labour councillors, who frankly smell of pease pudding, whippets and fish and chips (and that’s just Gussy Gibson). On the other side of the coin I could have a day in the metropolis, lashings of Bollinger and more free Space Raiders and pickled onion flavoured Monster Munch than is humanly possible to eat, and all for £6.99!

Now that’s what I call an investment.

Money well spent dear boy, money well spent.

♫♫♫ USE IT UP……WEAR IT OUT♫♫♫

I’m on a bit of a dickey downer today chums. The cad who circulated the “kiss me quick” post card during Biffa Branley’s election campaign is proving difficult to pin down. This type of jiggery pokery really does ruffle the old gander. For flips sake, why me? Its not as if I’m a troublemaker. To minimise the chance of getting into any bother, I go to as few meetings as possible and always follow the orders handed down from the Captain’s table.

Jeepers, life’s pretty tough when you’re at the forefront of local politics.

In order to perk myself up, I’m going to venture out tonight for a spot of tiffin washed down with a bit of a jig.

Pongo Khan recently “invited” me to Aneesas. Sorry Pongo, but deli belly is not for me. It’s not that I’m racist (though the Scots do bring me out in a rash). Indeed, I am regarded by the chaps at the Market as something of an “internationalist”, due in no small part to the fact that I once went to Birmingham. No readers, you shall find me in full formal dress seated in that chic but eloquent troughing hole “The Vietnam Dong” on Ocean Road. After a couple of snifters, several bowls of the chef’s best Pot Noodle, it’s onwards and upwards to Roxanne’s with Cheesy Muldoon, Marmaduke and Squifey Chufnel. The boys and I have been listening to Rick Astley on the old gramophone, and have worked out a new dance routine.

Tonight we let it loose on the public!

Ready….steady….body pop!

See you on the dance floor party pop pickers!

THE VALUE OF SECOND HAND SKY REMOTES (BATTERIES NOT INCLUDED) CAN GO UP AS WELL AS DOWN

Despite a decent start to the day, the rain ruined any good trading prospects at the Market.

What the average bod on the street doesn’t realize is that Market trading is a very specialist subject. It requires nerves of steel and an attitude to adversity not dissimilar to that shown by Gordon at Khartoum. That is why I was quick of the mark when trading began and got all my second hand Sky Remotes into Asda carrier bags before they got wet. Not so Wolf Blitzer, who behaved like a work shy fop. His stall got soaked and all his Nazi memorabilia was ruined.

If only Blitzer had followed my line, his stocks would be holding level. Its no good checking the forecasts in Asia, Japan or New Zealand, it’s the weather in South Shields which dictates trading conditions and profit margins.

A wet SS necktie = no profit.
A dry Sky Remote (batteries not included) = bullish profits.

Pip pip punters!

DO YOU WANT TO BE IN MY GANG?

I have spent today reviewing my forthcoming council commitments. My views on the democratic process are most admirable and based on an old Greek proverb:

“One cannot show one's face too much when it comes to the public.”

We can’t have the work shy fops of my ward getting to used to yours truly's chiselled good looks on a regular basis, now can we? I have therefore decided to “limit” my public appearances to as few as possible, thereby creating an air of the old “Scarlet Pimpernel”.

However, some dates cannot be avoided and the 22nd October is giving me a right royal dose of the back door trots. Give that day a wide berth fellow punters, because that’s when Biffa Branley returns to the Chamber. Biffa and I have what Aunt Fanny refers to as “history”. Whilst the last time we met is something of a blur (the fog being mainly down to a few dry Martini’s) I do remember that the bounder acted like I was a leper!

Let me forewarn you readers, October will be different. For a start the weapon of choice will be Pimm’s No. 2 Cup. I will also have my “gang” with me. Stinker Milburn has promised that he might turn up, and McWoody has promised not to do his paper round that week. What a triumvirate we shall make, even if Stinker can’t make it.

As Shakespeare or somebody else once said, “Prepare ye for battle, and if all else fails, don’t turn up”.

The Posh family motto!

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Greetings fellow readers, and welcome to my new site. When you have a lot to say, Twitter is a bit too restrictive. What ho, 140 characters, that’s not enough for a man of my ramblings. I need page after page dear boy.

I could fill a note book with but a brief description of what I got up to at old Stinker Millburn’s nomination bash on Tuesday. Boy was I squiffy that night! Mind you, who wouldn’t have been? The gig had been promised to me, but some rotter let the cat out the bag re a certain "venture” I tried to set up in Scotland. (Those Jocks are a vindictive bunch, there was no need to avail my local Constituency of my “no show” policy).

Pipped at the post by Arthur Daley’s brother, scandalous! Not only that, he eats his peas off a knife!

When will Stinker Milburn realize politics isn’t about showing up? Other wise I wouldn’t be a Councillor. No, it’s about the money, the power, the fame and the glory.

Anyway, it’s pointless crying over lost seats. Must dash, the cummerbund has been ironed and the cravat is looking decidedly paisley. The Red Lion awaits!

Keep in touch punters.

Its time this Borough had a little bit of culture.