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Unidentified Headline 117

A weekly column reproduced from the Bristol Evening Post


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You know my views on this. The only people who should have the right to vote are property owners of sound mind and body. And, in the vast majority of cases, that means the man of the house. It definitely doesn’t mean gippos, tramps, beggars, students, soap-dodgers, the homeless, the unemployed or the stupid.

That’s how we got into this mess in the first place.


Jamie Oliver might be a complete twonk, but what about that mate who’s helping him with the decorating in that appalling advert?

“Want anything from the shops, mate?”

“Yes, some pasta salad.”

Pasta salad? Has the world gone mad? Fish, chips, mushy peas, a can of Apple Ribena, 10 Bensons, a Twix and a copy of the Daily Sport I could understand. But pasta salad?

I should watch your back, Jamie me old china. I suspect your pal might be one of those chaps who pastes his wallpaper on the other side, if you know what I mean.


The barman at Tony Blah’s constituency Labour Club is the chairman of the local NHS Trust. Yes he is, honest.

Paul Trippett, in charge of the £94m budget of the South Durham Healthcare Trust, is paid £20,000 a year for the part-time post. He still pulls pints in the evening and at weekends.

It would be churlish of me to suggest that putting Mr Blah down as a reference on the application form helped Mr Trippett to get the job. I’m sure that the financial acumen he has acquired from adding up the cost of three bottles of Newcastle Brown, two pints of bitter and a snowball for the lady makes him an expert in the field of hospital management. And he’ll come in handy if the barrel in the doctors’ bar needs changing.

You know, sometimes the antics of Tony and his pals makes Jonathan Aitken look like Mother Theresa.BARRY BEELZEBUB

The views of Mr Beelzebub are purely personal and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Editor or staff of this newspaper, of Shaun Woodward’s butler’s butler, of people who buy houses next to airports and then complain about the noise, or of whoever thought it would be a good idea to introduce middle-aged pornography to the script of The Archer’s.

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