A Viscount Speaks

Three cheers for Prince Andrew!

What ho, oiks!

Honestly, what a lot of rot is being written about HRH Prince Andrew over this Wikileaks nonsense.  Is HRH supposed to be ashamed for taking a pop at the Frogs and the do-gooding busybodies who nearly killed our trade relationship with the Saudis?  The man comes out of it as a bloody hero in my eyes.  Consider this:

He railed at British anticorruption investigators, who had had the 'idiocy' of almost scuttling the al-Yamama deal with Saudi Arabia... His mother's subjects seated around the table roared their approval. He then went on to 'these (expletive) journalists, especially from the National [sic] Guardian, who poke their noses everywhere' and (presumably) make it harder for British businessmen to do business. The crowd practically clapped."

Prince Andrew is spot on.  I can well imagine the uptight American bitch wrinkling her nose in disapproval at encountering such unabashed British patriotism, but really, chaps, that's her bloody problem. 

And then this:

"He reacted with almost neuralgic patriotism whenever any comparison between the US and UK came up. For example, one British businessman noted that despite the 'overwhelming might of the American economy compared to ours' the amount of American and British investment in Kyrgyzstan was similar. Snapped the duke: 'No surprise there. The Americans don't understand geography. Never have. In the UK, we have the best geography teachers in the world!'"

Damn right!  The finest geography teachers in the world, and don't you forget it, you sour Yankee shrew!

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

Mr Strauss and Mr Cook prove their pluck

What ho, cricketers!

By jove, chaps, have you ever seen such a marvellous display of pluck, phlegm and sheer bottom as that put on by Messrs Strauss (Radley and Durham) and Cook (Bedford) in the colonies overnight?  Major Strauss lifted the siege of the Gabba by launching a cavalry charge at the colonial lines, superbly supported by the infantrymen Cook and Trott.  It was simply magnificent.  Those loud-mouthed Australians strolled out to bowl in the cocky expectation of rolling England up by tea but they hadn't reckoned on the reserves of courage and gumption instilled by a traditional English public school education.  Strauss and Cook played in precisely the manner one would expect of pukka English chaps under pressure.  Unflappable, elegant, cheery - it was a most heartening advertisement for the merits of traditional English schooling. 

Pity the poor oiks on the Australian team who have to bowl to our chaps.  Young Johnson, in particular, displays all the daffodil qualities for which the Australian is rightly scorned.  Muscles and a beefy arse to die for, but not an ounce of pluck in his entire body!  (And what a ghastly, rat-like face - straight out of the penal colony, that lad!)

The colonials know they are in a fight now.  I fully expect them to back down over the forthcoming tests.  Men possessed of the convict gene are quick to cower when they learn that the other man means business.  I look forward to the Adelaide test in the keen anticipation of a good beasting. 

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

Make this man PM!

What ho, chaps!

At last, a bit of Tory plain-speaking.  I was worried that the entire lot of them had turned into insipid, wishy washy call-me-Daves.  Step forward our hero du jour, Mr Howard Flight:

“We're going to have a system where the middle classes are discouraged from breeding because it's jolly expensive.  But for those on benefits, there is every incentive. Well, that's not very sensible".

Quite right, old bean!  "Not very sensible"!  Mr Flight's remarks are a classic example of a political gaffe: that is, to tell an uncomfortable and embarrassing truth. 

Personally, I don't object to the lower orders breeding.  What I object to is the current politically correct system which precludes a shire nobleman from rounding them up and putting them to some honest toil in the fields or in the kitchens.  I also object to a system which prevents the government of the day from breeding prole children specifically for the purposes of expanding the Empire.  If the urchins of Stoke-on-Trent and Burnley were to be trained from, say, the age of 12 to re-take Rhodesia and Kenya and Cape Colony, then I doubt that even Mr Flight would object.

Let's hope these remarks inspire the government to put our proles to better use.  Sitting around in their grotty council flats, eating sausages and drinking cider and masturbating like monkeys is no good for anyone, least of all themselves. 

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

 

New Stable Hand Required

Following a regrettable incident involving our previous stable hand, Adebayo, the position is now vacant.  I require someone who meets the following criteria:

• Male
• No older than 25 years old
• Six feet high at least
• Of good West African stock (no skinny Somalians please)
• In robust physical condition (every applicant will be expected to prove that he is strong enough to lever a grown man onto his thighs and support him there for fully twenty minutes)
• Free of infectious disease
• Of honest character

Applicants may be required to strip naked during the interview.  This is solely for the purposes of medical tests.  The successful applicant will receive the exceedingly generous sum of £75 per week, plus full board.  Interviews to commence week of 1st December.  Apply in writing to Lord Crouchback, Crouchback Castle, Sussex, England or leave a comment below.  No time wasters please!

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

So this Ashes malarkey. . .

What ho, gentlemen!

So the Ashes is upon us once again.  I must confess, I’ve never quite caught the cricket bug.  I enjoy a day in the sun drinking Pimms as much as the next man, but I do find it a rather bloodless sport.  My interest was piqued for a period during the 1980s when those beastly West Indians tried to knock our chaps’ blocks off, but then the authorities spoiled it all by introducing these silly helmets and padding and what not.  Let's face it, chums: if a game doesn’t carry the risk of serious, potentially life-threatening injury at any given moment, then it’s not worth pissing on!

Say what you like about rugger, but at least we know that the mind-numbing tedium of a passage of boring, Munster-style belly-flopping could be relieved at any moment by some big brute torpedoing himself through the air and cracking the ribs of the opposing centre.  Or better still, some psychotic Froggie farmer might get it into his head to get the old fork fingers out and have a good rummage in the skull of his opposite number.  Now that’s what I call entertainment!

The same sense of danger is present in all the best sports – racing, polo, even sailing.  And wasn’t F1 so much more interesting when all this silly safety nonsense was a mere twinkle in the eye of the son-of-a-Fascist and we knew that the star driver could spin off into the next life at the next turn?  Call me a ghoul if you like, chaps, but I do think I have a point.

So when I see these rude, mouthy Australians and chirpy little English very minor public school types giving vent to their impudent chatter from the safety of twenty paces, I can't help but think: what a ghastly bunch of pansies.  Let’s stick Ponting in a scrum with Castrogiovanni and see how the stroppy little bugger gets on, what!

One finds, furthermore, that these cricket types are so hopelessly neurotic.  In my experience, they have precious little of the hearty bonhomie of rugger men.  Granted, it might irritate civilians when we rugger buggers terrorise small market towns by rampaging naked through the streets chucking plant pots at one another after one of our cheeky little ”rugger bender” weekends gets a little out of hand (mentioning no names, Piggy Whitby-Smith!) but, heavens, how much more interesting it is than watching some lily-livered cricket pansy sitting in the corner working out his batting average!

There are some honourable exceptions to the rule.  Mr Strauss is a superb specimen.  One rarely encounters such phlegm in these rude times; and what magnificent forearms!  Mr Jardine, too, is the type of fellow whom any Englishman would be proud to call his son-in-law.  But the rest?  Well, I shouldn't rate their chances in a duel against Captain Moody.

Of course, I'll certainly cheer England on in the Ashes and I might even take a trip out for one of the Tests, but I shall assuredly remain faithful to the game they play in heaven.  And if God forbid England lose, then I shan’t take much encouragement to refer our colonial friends to the rather more important string of beastings in ’95, ’03, ’07, and '10...

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

The Boer is coming. . .

Saxons!

A dark force gathers in the north.  A band of brutes has washed up on our shores and prepares to march south to confront the Queen's men.  These savage, dangerous men come from a dark, backward land and speak in a guttural tongue.  They are strong of limb and sallow of complexion.  They worship Yahweh by day and crack heads by night.  No more odious breed of barbarians has ever fouled Anglia's shores!

Englishmen!  Lock up your wives and daughters!  Sharpen your axe!  Come out and prepare to meet this manic foe!  Their leader, King Victor, promises to descend on the borough of Twi-ck-en-am.  We shall meet this marauding savage and acquaint him with the true face of the Saxon.

Men, gird your loins and hunker down in the valleys of Wessex. Await the call of your noble liege Lord. It will not be long in coming.

By The Noble Liege Crouchback on behalf of Her Majesty

November's Beefcake of the Month

What ho, beef lovers!

It's been quite a while since I made this award.  November's winner has caught the eye with his superb performances for England, not to mention his delightful side-flick.  Have you guessed who it is yet?  Click below to find out, but be aware that the image is not strictly suitable for work.  Gemini, you should probably take a very deep breath and invest in a box of man-sized tissues before clicking on this one, old boy.

Crouchback's Beefcake of the Month

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

Varsity rugger

What ho, rugger men!

Those of you interested in English rugger tradition might like to read this article by the peerless Frank Keating.  It's great to see Micky Steele-Bodger get a mention.  Bodger might have been helping the Tabs for all these years but I can assure you that he is a bloody good bloke nonetheless.  Incidentally, Oxford beat Major Stanley's 21 - 14 yesterday.  We Oxonians are quietly confident that revenge for last year's Varsity mishap will be exacted in due course.

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

England versus Samoa

What ho, chums!

Samoa up next then, chaps.  Funnily enough, I had a spy at last week’s Ireland versus Samoa rugger match.  Horace Woolington, a chum of mine from Dublin (and an Empire loyalist, needless to say!), wrote to tell me:

“Good heavens, Crouchers, what utter savages I watched at Lansdowne on Saturday!  I am quite certain that some of those cannibals would happily chew the head off a man and munch him down for supper.  What barbarous breeds exist in the world!  Surely it is time for the IRB to banish these brutes from international rugger?”

Horace continued:

“But that is quite enough about the Irish - on the plus side, the Samoan team was extremely well behaved and refused to stoop to the level of its primitive hosts”.

Quite so!  Indeed, I suggest we ought to be thankful that Twickers this weekend hosts merely half-savages from the Pacific rather than whole-savages from across the Irish Sea. 

Lovers of beef, meanwhile, can anticipate a quite delicious spectacle as Master Banahan engages in man-on-man combat with Mr Mapusua.  What a pity that Banahan chooses to spoil the occasion by covering himself from head-to-toe in ghastly tattoos!  Has it not occurred to Sergeant Major Johnson to give the oik a damned good scrubbing with an industrial cleaning liquid?  If he loses a few layers of skin in the process, then that is surely a small price to pay to look like a gentleman once again.

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

HRH Prince William of Wales and Miss Catherine Middleton

On behalf of the Crouchback family, I wish to offer my hearty congratulations to His Royal Highness Prince William of Wales and Miss Catherine Middleton on their engagement.  It is absolutely corking news.  Prince William deserves the utmost credit for snaring such a cracking young filly, especially when one considers that (whisper it!) the young fellow has rather lost his looks.  Oh for the days when the teenage Prince could have been mistaken for Achilles himself!  Nonetheless, it is splendid news and I look forward to their wedding with keen anticipation.

Viscount Crouchback