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| Sir Stanley Bottomsley-Ffookes |
The Second Wave of the Global Economic Crisis
Yes, well, I should jolly well think so! A blog run by a female was bound to be utterly over-run with silly female nonsense and absolutely nothing in it for us chaps. Just as well the old girl (my second cousin’s youngest – decent enough looking filly when she was younger – not in quite such good form these days, I have to say… Gone rather to seed. Always did have a face like a bull-dog though. Still, if it wasn’t for the fact we’re cousins of some sort, I’d be more than willing to take the old girl for a bit of a canter) thought to reserve a bit of space for a sort of gent’s corner. Rather like my club up in London, really. All pipe smoke, tweed and a whiff of good whiskey in the air, what? No silly female nonsense there! Good Lord, no! Wouldn’t be able to discuss politics and current affairs with a bunch of silly females around! Indeed not. And that’s what this little corner of the blog is all about. I’ll be commenting on the world’s most important events – a bit of serious, no-nonsense writing about serious matters – such as today’s topic – the second wave of the global economic crisis. Can’t talk about such things with girlies around, can you? You see, this is the problem with today’s world – they let women in everywhere!!! They’ll be letting them into the Club next! Over my dead body, I say! Over my dead body!!! I fought like a Ghurkha attacked by a rabid tiger when old Blatherington-Bilge tried to get his daughter into the club last year. Had the damn cheek to say it was a man. Any fool could see it was a female! Long hair and a pink shirt!!! Even wore an earring, by Jove! Asked what she did for a living and it turned out she was a hairdresser! A hairdresser??? What sort of profession is that for a chap, I ask? I’ve nothing against females wearing trousers. Not at all! Perfectly sensible in the country (though they really do hold a chap up when he’s up for a jaunt in the saddle with a pretty member of the staff and he hasn’t much time, what?), but trying to pass a girlie off as a chap to get into the Club by getting her to wear trousers, that’s simply not cricket, what? Good God, Blatherington-Bilge, your son’s a girlie, any damn fool can see that, I said! Either that or one of them damn arse-prodders! So which is it? A gal or a bum-poker??? That’s what I said to him! And then the bounder grabbed his daughter Hilary by her arm, turned heel and headed for the door! Knew it all along, I said. Now get her out of here! We’ve had no females in the club since the day it opened back in 1790 and we’re not starting now! All that silly female nonsense! Rouge and silk stockings and perfume dabbed in places they want to be kissed! Black lace brassieres and garters and Lord knows what else! Their white flesh wobbling under a chiffon blouse….their thighs rubbing against one another as they bend over to pour you a snifter… letting their blouse tops fall forward, giving chaps an eyeful of their chest-pillows…
Good Lord! Is that the time? Well, I hope you now have a better understanding of the second wave of the global economic crisis. Now I really have to go speak to one of the staff about….uhm….her dusting.
Pip! Pip! What!
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