I have noticed that both Engine Room and Pete try to bury their mistakes in a way that would bring a round of applause from the King of Labour Spin Alastair Campbell (mmmmm – yet another jock name I notice, and even more sinister (which is as we all know latin for …..lefty)) much admired and copied by Pete!
However, no time here for rumination despite pensive chewing on my herb salad. No, I have just kissed goodbye to Mrs. Pete (beatically beautiful lady) but received a goodbye kiss from Pete. Phraaatttt. Tongues in my oregano! And not even boiled with Salsa Verde.
With the affected superior air and poise of a real statesman, Pete tells us all airily that the BBC have capitulated! He grandiosely announces this, in his new role as Diablog Chamber(lain)pot as he descends the steps of his tri engined Ikea Dornier at Croydon airport, that not only is there ‘peace in our time, the BBC have given us a piece of their time’ – and we believe him!
In addition, he commands me, nay chides me, whilst partying together earlier today, to clarify the roles of the Blind Dentist’s friends – Carpetmen 1 and 2 – mentioned in previous posts (zippos amongst them).
For once he is right, be clear my fading brain – lo what light yonder from the grimacing Pete shines.
Of course, diablog, I should have named them Doormat 1 and 2 to ensure you realised the level their abuse and exploitation by the Blind Dentist. Please note, diablog, I admit this in a full post, not lurking furtively in the comments of a previous one – nor in cosy chat ignoring the third, and most important, of the triumvirate – unlike some.
But it is not for this that I vote myself Idiot of the Day.
No, its ‘cos that cuddly coterie of Pete and Engine Room, rushing into each other’s arms and mutually sychophanting each other was foisted on you, diablog reader, by me, to my eternal shame and anguish.
‘Oh how clever you are Pete, ooo Engine Room I love you too, wow Pete how original, Love you too Engine Room, lets stitch up Glynsky Pete, what a great idea Engine Room’ – etc. etc. etc. – plus Pete is lying in his teeth!
Informants have told me that the BBC is planning a lightning strike at the International HQ in the early hours of Sunday morning which I might not survive. I know this because whenever they feel threatened they march East – like someone else but can’t remember who. However, Pete’s house is west of here, so I know it’s me who will get it in the neck. Its ok for those two to play ‘after you Claude’ whilst smirking at the thought me in suspenders dancing alone, but who is the real Patsie, or even Anne, here?
And why do the BBC feel threatened enough to lash out? Paso Doble; my patent pumps.
Pete sold out to them by swapping his copyright prosecution (by ITV) for the opportunity of snitching to Mr. Strictly about his activities this afternoon – which mostly involved simpering after a slim willowy Viennese blonde – again something remeniscent of days gone by as a precurser to other things.
I shall fight them off bravely single handed, waving a copy of Pete’s agreement in the other hand. Do either of them care, No. Do either of them offer help, No.
They are too involved in self congratulation, adulation and constipation to even imagine the impending catastrophe.
Tis I, diablog, who is idiot of the day’ for allowing us to be exposed to these two charlatans.
Diablog, I shall go down fighting