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As regular readers will know, each year Fanny writes the same story from a prison cell in Nice, awaiting sentence for truffle smuggling. Despite the ongoing advances of Le Prison Gouveneur, she remains in good spirits (100% proof vodka).

Dear Fanny,

My wife left me this week because she found out I’m quite fond of dressing up as a quiche. This didn’t go down too well at our daughter’s nativity play and wifey chose to leave me.

Anyway, the problem is I’ve got a 32lb turkey defrosting for the big day and I’m at a loss as to what to do with the leftovers.

I’ve decided to wear a crabstick on New Years Eve!

Paul, Upper Ramsbottom.

Dear Paul.

As I write from my cell I can’t help but think of you in your quiche and what a fine sight that would be.

Unfortunately I’m resigned to spending my Yuletide in the company of miscreants. Alas all is not lost as my cell mate, Marcledreuxleix, has brewed a rather fine batch of hooch made from fermented snail urine, scrotum shavings and leftover hard boiled eggs. Mmmmmmm…………..

Boxing day Turkey, Ham, Leek and Tarragon Pie.

Combine cooked leeks, a splash of white wine, half a cup of chicken stock.

Add your leftover turkey and ham, simmer then add creme fraiche and chopped tarragon. Heat and serve topped with a (shop bought puff pastry) crispy, golden brown pie lid.

Scrummy

Merry Noel!

Le Rougecrack

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Recently we enquired about the cost of a Safari to Kenya. “Just for two mate, not the entire cast of Hair!” I replied to the quote the sweaty travel agent provided.

As we left, we bumped into our old friend and economy traveller supreme Contour D. Klepto.

“Sell me your teeth Fightback” was his opening gambit.

I explained my predicament. He handed me a copy of his latest book “Drug Trotting – Round The World On A Stuffed Rectum”.

Chapter 7 outlined his trip to Kenya’s Masai Mara game reserve!

Day 1 – Hyde Park London – London Balloon Festival – pinch dirigible shaped like Princess Anne’s head – float towards Kent Coast. Faisal, a Moroccan shoeshine, awoke in balloon’s basket with a start.

Day 1 – The Channel – Losing height – throw Faisal out – he lands in briny – his sturdy Fez takes most of the impact.

Day 3 – France – Shot down over Marseille by scrambled French fighter jets – a balloon the shape of Princess Anne’s head is easy meat for a Dassault 125. Land in Hummus factory on outskirts of City.

Day 3 – France – Find employment in hummus factory as chick pea skinner. My naturally powerful buttocks very handy.

Day 17 France – Cadge a lift on articulated lorry carrying three thousand hummus cartons bound for Italy. My rucksack contains thirty tubs.

Day 18 Italy – Hitchhiking – picked up by former German International Footballer – Gerhard Spanker. It was Spanker who won the last gasp moustache grow off with Gary Mackerel that sent England crashing out of the 1985 World Cup.

Day 18 Italy – Arrive at Silvio Berlusconi’s Lake Como villa – Silvio having a new head stapled to his neck – Spanker falls into arms of an 18 year old busty beauty who describes herself as a wannabee lab technician seeking a cure for Alzheimer’s. She answers the phone by speaking to a fridge door.

Day 19 Italy – Bribe a policeman, with three tubs of hummus to drive me to port of Brindisi. Policeman wants to meet a girl who is lab technician seeking a cure for Alzheimer’s. I know just the girl. Kind of.

Day 20 – Stowaway on the “SS Catenaccio” which is carrying a cargo of pita breads and pre-chopped dipping vegetables to Alexandria!

Day 22 – Alexandria, Egypt – use empty hummus pots to build false camel hump – lash myself to a Dromedary which is part of a Caravan bound for Ethiopia. Surprised nobody notices me.

Day 68 – Egypt/Sudan Border – Bad breathed male camel takes a shine to me. Worrying.

Day 75 – Northern Sudan – Male camel buys me Jim Reeves CD in bizarre courtship ritual. Very worrying.

Day 308 – Ethiopian Border – Bump into Bob Geldof and Bono – they are making ham and tomato sandwiches for (presumably) starving locals – Bono is a natural spreader – great wrist action. I tell them my tale – Geldof to set up Hump Hummus Aid.

Day 309 – Geldof tells me that Huey Lewis and The News have signed up to “Hump Hummus Aid” – Bono asks me to nip to his private jet and pick up a bottle of Mayonnaise as he is running low.

Day 309 – Land stolen Bono Boeing in Nairobi Airport. Bribe Kenyan officials with three thousand rounds of ham, cheese and crab paste sandwiches – and four hand finished Cornish Pasties.

Day 310 – Hire Masai Mara warrior to guide me on last leg of journey. The narrow Kenyan roads make manoeuvring Bono’s Jumbo awkward. Pick up a speeding ticket.

Day 312 – Make it! Watch Pride of Lions eat a Tzatziki magnate. Thank my lucky stars. Discover two other things. Lions love Cornish Pasties but struggle with the music of U2.

“Give us me fookin’ Jumbo back!” Bono cries from his spare jet.

Price Comparison

British Airways

Flights; London to Nairobi – Time 10 hrs 30 minutes

2 Week Safari Package – £2,650 per person

Tight Fisted Traveller

Time Taken 7,488 Hours

Travel Costs – Nil!

You Decide!

This is an old TFT tale. He is venturing to the Antarctic at the moment and will soon relive his tale in his new book “Fuck Me It’s Cold.”

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Ponder away me laddio…………

thinker

 

 

 

 

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Hello,

I was in Tesco’s rummaging amongst the mangoes with a view to buying one for pudding later that evening.  As I popped a fruit into my trolley, I felt a tad woozy and a touch fey.

I had an insatiable desire to free my people from English tyranny!

The spirit of Joan of Arc, Maid of Orleans had entered me! 

Within minutes I was scurrying down the World Foods aisle in a hastily applied armour of Nan bread and fresh vegetables (some well beyond their best before date) with a baguette lance in my hand.

On I charged, scything down the enemy (Broad beans are handy in a fight).

I screamed, nay ululated,  invoking God to rid France of these English pigs.  I sped through the automatic doors, into the sunlight and trundled toward freedom, shattering their yoke of tyranny.

Sadly the trolley wheel locking device was activated and the lardy security guard, bearing his epaulettes proudly, ended my uprising.

The Magistrate deferred the sentence of burning at the stake to 120 hours of litter picking on the A13. I did get my pound back for the trolley though.

You may think I am a fantasist ………..I would beg to differ.

Mango anyone?

Sacre Bleu!

Agnes

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suarez copy

Luis Suarez has signed a major sponsorship agreement with denture fixing giant Fixodont.

Suarez ,who recently took a bite out of big conked Italian defender, Giorgio Chiellini, was delighted with the tie up telling Gfb’s Dental Correpsondent, Geoff Gingivitis, “I is a very happi to announce theeeese sponshooreship agreeeeeeement with Fixshodont. Dey geeeevveeee meeee the greeeeep I neeeeed to ‘ave a da confidents to a byte da fuck outta any hoponent ooh geta in ma way. I love a neeeeble on flesh. Good for da soul no?”

Meanwhile, Suarez’s dentist in Montevideo, Mr Gustavo Cuspid told our reporter, “Luis is a lovely lad, with great teeth  – not a filling in his gob! He has found a use for his pronounced overbite, so leave our national hero alone.”

Chomp, chomp.

 

 

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fence2charlessausage

The World Cup Is Here!

Brazil is hosting the tournament.

Prince Charles provides his rounded view of the 32 Nations taking part. Here is his take on the Groups E and F.

charles chinstrap copy

Group E

Switzerland – Neutral, Heidi worshipping Nazi gold hoarders who like cheese with holes in – Bastards to a man.

Ecuador – Bandy legged coca leaf chewers and purveyors of silly hats – belching is a national obsession.

France – Shoulder shrugging arseholes who we had to save in World Wars 1 and 2. They still try to shaft us at every opportunity.  Mama still refers to De Gaulle as “That Big Conked French Wanker.” They don’t wash and all smell of garlic. Brigit Bardot though – PHWOARRR!

Honduras – A country with the highest murder rate in the world. Nothing else to do apparently. Apart from sweat. The country only has 7 dentists.

 

Group F

Argentina – Tangoing, cheating Barrio dwellers who have tried to con us out of every World Cup since 1875. The Falklands are British and even speccy Pope Argy won’t get his hands on them!

Bosnia and Herzegovina – Their name takes longer to say than the length of time they will be in the competition. Because of them we have to suffer James Blunt. 

Iran – A land of hairy arsed Yank baiters who hide nuclear waste material down their trousers.Lovely carpets though. Can I have one?

Nigeria – Email scamming juju obsessed con artists who have a problem with educating girls. Bring back the Empire!

 

jose

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Goose

 

Hello,

With the Soccerball World Cup in Brazil  starting next week and football fever building,  here is an old story from our friend  The Tight Fisted Traveller on how he managed to travel to Brazil for free last year.

This is taken from his handy reference book– “The Coke Smugglers Guide to Latin America”.

Chapter 23 – “Brazil It’s An Amazon Place!”

Day 1 – London – Steal bicycle – nip to French mens outfitter’s “Moi?” – purloin traditional French garb of beret, Breton shirt, moustache and string of onions – stare in shop window and practice nonplussed facial expression whilst shrugging shoulders – I am French!

Day 1 – London – Bike ride to Dover hampered by dangling onions – but I am French now so shrug shoulders and blockade motorway to protest.

Day 3 – Dover Harbour – Stowaway on French Minesweeper SS “Mai Oui”.

A Typical Frenchman - well if you're gonna do a cliche do it properly

Day 4 – English Channel – My disguise allows me to mingle with the crew who smoke continually, argue about the true meaning of Sartre and make vegetable soup which is slurped down with Gallic aplomb.

Day 5 – English Channel – The crew take me to heart after Je suis discovered akip in torpedo tube – sing the Edith Piaf classic – “A Citroen Backfires – Paris Surrenders” become overnight internet sensation on Vous Tube.

Day 6 – Cherbourg – no sign of Cher sadly – I am smuggled ashore by crew who wish to continue discussing Sartre and their nation’s affliction for permanent nonplussedness. After emotional farewells involving mass spontaneous shoulder shrugging – I cycle south for Spain.

Day 8 – Cherbourg (still) – Dangling onions still a problem and the false moustache causing further drag issues on Bike – c’est la vie – blockade service station toilets in protest.

Day 9 – Cherbourg (still) – Tour de France sweeps through – Stage 14 to Reims – I join the Peloton – miraculously win the stage and claim the Yellow Jersey. Cite Lance Armstrong and Amphetamine abuse as major factors in my success.

Day 10 Reims – I am uncovered when my dangling onions accidentally throttle leading French rider in Stage 15 – chased by baying mob of French onion loving cyclist philosophers who see this as ghastly “Les Rosbifs” attack on a French sporting institution (but the philosophers ask “is it?”) – Make good my escape by removing the onions from bike and take off false moustache – they’ll never spot me!

Day 10 – Reims- Arrested by French police. Blockade my cell in protest.

Day 13 – Reims – Released – am offered a lift by Heineken sozzled Dutch shykling fansh – Wim and Piet Mine Der Gap who are following the Tour – Their camper van roof sports a giant detachable clog and a windmill – “Krayshee Ja!” Wim and Piet keep saying – I am hidden in Windmill as we pass through the Pyrenees into Espana. Now I know what Anne Frank must have gone through.

Day 31 – The Spanish Pyrenees – Wim and Piet spin on blades of windmill for three days singing the back catalogue of well known Dutch Prog rock band Focus – they swear rotary turbine spinning cures any hangover – I decouple giant clog and slip quietly into the River Sangria and raft to Madrid.

clogboat

Day 33 – Somewhere in Iberia – Sailing by clog surprisingly comfortable – draw admiring glances from Spanish Environmentalists who are protesting about tomatoes being grown in greenhouses along riverbanks.

Day 37 – Madrid – How a Brit, disguised as a Frenchman arriving in a giant clog could be construed to be the famous bullfighter “El Flatulente” is beyond me – but I am – carried shoulder high to Las Ventas for a spot of “Death in the Afternoon”.

Day 37 –  Madrid – Bullfighting clothes very tight on the old knackers – mince my way into the ring – confronted by a livid Bull called “El Mangler” – my bowels loosen – prance like John Wayne with piles – realise my sword is actually a shop bought Star Wars light sabre without batteries – I have to make the droning noise myself – El Mangler sees the sword, recalls he is part Sith and then does a passable Darth Vader impression – becomes internet sensation on Tu Tube – I am carried shoulder high by adoring fans out of the arena – with only a wonky shop bought Star Wars light sabre without batteries as a trophy.

Day 38 – Madrid – I hitch a lift in a lorry driven by a reticent Serb war criminal, Goran – cargo is artificially grown tomatoes hidden in statues of Picasso.

oil-painting-tete-de-femme-by-spanish-painter-pablo-picasso-7433141 copy

Part 2 Tomorrow! To Lisbon and Beyond……..

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