Saturday, 8 November 2008

Sunday Bloody Sunday

After seven years, 900-odd witnesses called, 20 million words or so spoken or written or in some way recorded, £150,000,000 in legal fees, a presiding judge who is presumably hoping to retire before anything actually gets concluded or not, and a final bill for 000,000s more to be formally presented by the grateful taxpayer to the perhaps more grateful lawyers, the Saville Inquiry is getting to the point where it may have begun starting to stop.

What do you the readers think?

Martin McGuiness (first-time murderer oops caller from Derry): A somple opologo from tho Brotosh Govornmont wod have soffoced.

Retired Officer, 1 Bn. Parachute Regiment, looking a bit effete because he is still wearing his hair long and footballery in the early 1970s style but hard as nails for all that: Fuck off.

Uh-oh.












My
Own Findings (pro bono publico): I would have been up Glenda Jackson like a rat up a drain, though I was only thirteen years old, if she had asked me. She never did, and my dreams have ingrown --- and reappeared as a cluster of tusk-like nasal and facial protrusions.

Peter Finch, Murray Head? Sorry, but not then or ever.

2 comments:

xoggoth said...

Nowadays I wake up with a new tusk like facial protrusion nearly every day.

Aaaah! who could forget Glenda's pubes rolling around on the floor of that train carriage with Dr Kildare looking like he was going to puke over them?

Chertiozhnik said...

I never have forgiven her, for when she let that Russian bloke Chaikovski (which means "man of tea" or something similar literally) rummage around her underdrawers.

Now that she is married to Harold Pinter I can only say, serve you right.