David Kelly RIP

Well blow me down with a gift voucher from B&Q.

I was in this house in Argyll Avenue, up to my elbow in this woman’s waste pipe, when I heard the news on the radio. Turns out Tony Blair did nothing wrong in the whole David Kelly Iraq thingy after all. He’s cleaner than a Belfast sink on the 12th of July. Blimey.

At least that’s what Lord Betty Hutton says and what with him being a proper lord and all, who are we to disagree? Here was me thinking that Tony was in as much doo-doo as I was but no. Lord Betty says he’s innocent and that’s good enough for me.

Seems old Doc Kelly didn’t know his arsenal from his elbow and he topped himself after blabbing his big mouth off to that blubberguts from the BBC. The four-eyed fat boy reporter then made up all these nonsensicals about sexing up the dossiers just to get old Tony Blameless into bother. Makes me bleedin blood boil so it does.

The leftie bean eaters at the Beeb are no better than the scumbuckets that work for The Sun or the Mirror. They both make everything up but at least the tabloids have the decency to fill their pages with pictures of Jordan getting her bazookas out in the jungle. You can just about forgive a paper full of old horse droppings if it also has photographs that help the working man pass his lunch hour.

Lord Betty says that Tony didn’t order some beneathling to beef up the weapons report — that was just a figleaf of Andrew Gilliguts’ imagination. Saddam had all these weapons alright and in 45 minutes he could have found them in the holes he buried them in 10 years ago, dug them up, brushed out the sand, found some German scientists to put them back together, do a few tests so they didn’t blow up in his moustache then point them at the west and destroy anyone within a 20 miles radius. Them’s the truth whatever way you cooks your apples.

Betty also made it perfectly bleedin clear that there was no way Blair murdered old Doc Kelly. No way. He didn’t actually rule out Blair ordering fat boy Prescott to take Kelly down the woods, dope him up and give his wrist a slice. But then he didn’t actually say he did either. Ipso quod escape routus.

You see the bottom line — and if anyone knows the importance of the bottom line it’s a plumber — is that old Saddam the Sadist needed sorting out. Tony knew it, George Dubya knew it, even Mrs McGillivray in Ronald Place knew it and she’s as mad as a cheese roll. The plonkers at the BBC knew it too but oh no, they had to play up to the vegetarians and the Save The Whale crowd. “Oooh, show us proof.” Proof? I’d give them proof till they couldn’t sit on a cushion for a month.

That blubbery traitor Gilligan should be taken out into the streets and stuffed with meat pies till he bursts on national telly. That’s the only language these people understand. You see Gilliguts is the sort of bloke who has low self-esteem on account of him being fat and four-eyed so he makes stuff up to make himself important and get on the telly. I saw it on Sky once when I was waiting for a late night artistic movie to come on. It’s called Baron Munchhorses Symphony or something. Lying towrag if you ask me.

I’ve always said if you go throwing shit around then you better make sure the wind doesn’t change or your face will stick like that. And if it’s true in plumbing then it’s true in life.

Now I’m not saying that Blair wouldn’t go making stuff up — I’m a plumber but I’m not that bleedin dolly. But the thing is, if he did then he would have been making it up for a good cause, right? And anyways he’s too flippin clever to get caught out by a fatty like Gilligan. If Blair was a bit ecumenical with the truth then Gilligan wasn’t going to see it. Blimey he can’t even see his own feet.

No, we can all sleep easy in our beds tonight knowing that British justice is as safe as it ever was. As long as we have men like Lord Betty looking out for the better interests of the empire then we know things are all right.

Plumb on

Peter Plumb.

Channel 4

Did you see that Derren Brown geezer do that Russian Roulette thing on Channel 4 the other night? Flipping brilliant it was. The only slight disappointment was that the smug git didn’t blow his brains out but you can’t have everything.

You’ve got to hand it to Channel 4 though. They may be purveyors of porn and servers of smut but they’ve got their faults as well. How’s this for a bit of TV scheduling? Death of a Scientist (about Dr David Kelly killing himself) followed by Derren Brown Plays Russian Roulette Live. Brilliant. I’m sure Mrs Kelly would have been tickled at their sense of irony.

You know what’s coming next though. In the fine tradition of Channel 4 programming we can soon expect Celebrity Russian Roulette. If it worked for Big Brother, Fame Academy and Survivor then why not personalities shooting themselves?

It will be a riot. Six celebrities, one gun, five bullets. Last man standing gets the Christmas Number One and a new chat show. The other five get their old programmes repeated and a celebrity funeral.

And let’s face it there’s no shortage of giant egos who are just dying to get their faces on the telly — even if their faces will be covered in blood.

What about Barrymore? The old singing shirtlifter can’t get a gig anywhere else on television so I can’t see him turning down the chance of a comeback. He keeps telling us he’s had a bum rap (oh no, that was the bloke in his swimming pool wasn’t it) so let’s get him on I’m a Celebrity, Get Me the Empty Chamber and see if he can dodge another bullet.

And how about that poncey designer bloke, that Laurence Llewellyn Bummer. Oh how good would it be to see that lanky streak of pink put a gun to his girlie hair and pull the trigger? Better than a clearance sale at B&Q. Even if he did spray the walls with his blood and brains it would be better than the colours he normally chooses.

They normally have a sportsman on these celebrity things but if we can’t manage that then get Tim Henman on. This time we could happily shout “Come on, Tim” and really mean it. Of course you know what would happen, the sap would get through to the last four then cack himself like he normally does.

We need a woman as well, if only to make the tea and keep things tidy. I’d suggest Mrs Plumb but she’s not a celebrity and anyway you’d never hear the gun go off over the sound of her nagging. I reckon that fat cow Clarissa Dickson Wright would fit the bill. Did you read that she is going to be in Absolutely Fabulous and said she’d be a sexy blonde in a white basque. Nearly lost me flipping lunch. Give her a gun.

My next choice would be that Welsh newsreader bloke with the stupid ties. You know, that Huw Edwards. Can’t understand a bleeding word he says. Yakki da, bang, now here’s the weather. Anyway, he always said he wanted to be the next Jill Dando.

But they should really pull out all the stops and get Tony Blair to complete the line-up. They should put no bullets in the gun and have him swear blind that there are loads of them. But funny as that would be it would be much funnier if they put a bullet in every chamber and see if the slimy git can worm his way out of that one. I swear if they put that on the telly I might even pay my licence fee.

You see, it’s all about giving people what they want. Any apprentice still wet behind his arse will tell you that if the bloke in number eight wants a new angle stop then you give him a new angle stop even if it’s his diverter which has gone pear-shaped. And if it’s true in plumbing then it’s true in life.

Come on Channel 4, pull the plug on Countdown and give Richard Whitely the bullet. The public will love you for it.

Plumb on.