Midgetgems Comedy

Important details relating to Britain’s history have been stolen from up to 36 million UK households according to OffWatch, the government department responsible for oversight. This follows hard on the heels of the careless and embarrassing loss of an empire, something Mrs Thatcher failed to rectify in the early 1980’s.

Millions of Britons now face the difficult prospect of being unable to retrieve answers to such basic questions as, ‘When was the battle of Hastings?’ or ‘Huh?’ It is now thought that one in twenty people may not be able to name the fourth Prime Minister or even remember where they left the TV remote.

Most worryingly, 68% of UK residents with the surname Cooper are completely forgetting their forefathers were once responsible for making barrels. “Comparing this to 98.7% of Smiths being vaguely aware they are descended from apes, the loss to Britain’s self-esteem doesn’t bear thinking about” said defence minister, Kylie Minogue.

Thanks to thespoof.com for pic

Mars Lander’s robotic arm has uncovered yet more evidence that the Victorians successfully established a camp on the red planet. NASA had earlier hinted that magnified images from the Mars Orbiter appeared to show the letters ‘ADE IN BIRMINGHA’ which when enhanced by computer spelled ‘Fade in Birminghat’.

Now fragments of a diary by the Rev’d Jeremiah Ormorod have been painstakingly pieced together by controllers and reveal he arrived “in a contraption of such monstrous industriousness [and] illustrious pomposity the [like of which has ne'er] been seen”. He goes on to describe a “hearty breakfast of roasted partridge, quince tart and hams the like [of which the] good Mrs Cloggins serves with[out] compunction”.

Research has shown that London’s Fortnum & Mason did supply an unusually large number of hampers for an ‘undisclosed mission’ to a Mrs Cloggins at The Rectory, Wrangleby, Lincs, England in 1882.

Scientists are currently studying archive material and watching ‘Journey To The Centre Of The Earth’ in order to ascertain how the Rev’d Ormorod might have died although the most likely cause is thought to have been melodrama.

Anything red belonged to Britain

(pic. courtesy of The Spoof.com )

Forget square miles, metres, acres, hectares, furlongs, and even a cow’s moo, the delightfully poetic hearing distance used in parts of Africa, we Brits now use a more modern and sophisticated measure when it comes to land area. Granted, only we Brits claim to understand it but if you are planning to visit us ( and it is looking lovely here though hurry, before it all falls into the sea), you’d do well to familiarise yourself with the ‘rough football pitch’.

Now, a bit of cultural understanding may be necessary: Knowing how to lie through your teeth about the loveliness of someone’s cat here is certainly useful but more interestingly, knowing roughly how big a football pitch is will guarantee you a successful trip.

You see, our south coast has just lost an area ‘roughly the size of four football pitches’ to landslip but it should be explained that football pitches here are not of uniform size. Therefore, if you do get into conversation with one of us and feel the need to mention how big or small your country is, say either, “it’s bigger than a football pitch AND the practice pitch behind the stadium AND the car park Tesco wants to build on” or, “a bit bigger than the centre circle”.

Now, of course, you have gone and mentioned the F-word, rendering it utterly impossible for any of us to visualise the proportions of said football pitch because you have unwittingly conjured up replays of hitting the underside of the crossbar, dodgy refereeing decisions and what might have been. Notice that we will simply nod with an air of vague interest, anticipating that glorious day when the sea reduces our island to a more recognisable, FIFA-friendly size so we can get a proper game on.

Remains of north v. Remains of south - that ought to be a cracking fixture.

I have to admit I did chuckle at the kid on ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ last weekend when he delivered the gag about having a steering wheel stuck down his pants with the punchline ‘ it’s driving me nuts’. Best not get all Daily Mail squeamish and baulk at the loss of innocence etc., but there is something vaguely unpleasant about parents who shove their kids on stage, silently mouthing their routine from the wings. It’s a little like watching those insane dads at schoolboy football tournaments who, given the opportunity, would clout anyone for the slightest suggestion of unfairness. Britain’s got talent? Perhaps. Britain’s got scarily like the US? Definitely. Still, I suppose without talent shows and pushy parents we’d never have found the likes of Britney S and Kelly O and Paris H and then where would we be eh?