We’ve long known that some parliamentary proceedings are a load of crap, but at long last the speaker, titchy, testy John Bercow, has acknowledged under what circumstances the crap word can be used.
The crap started heading towards the fan when no less a luminary than the prime minister described some environmental policies as ‘green crap.’ A shiver ran through the house at the use of the c-word. A Labour MP asked the MP to define green crap.
Pity that no-one helped out by stating the fact that geese were known for the colourful excrement. I expect that very few members have had anything to do with geese apart from carving them up at Christmas.
Anyway, a Tory MP then launched a shovelful by announcing bafflingly ‘EUredtapecrap’. This triggered a veritable crapstorm.
What was obviously needed was a shriek of ‘order, order’ from Mr Bercow and a stern order for members to cut the crap.
He declared that crap was not a parliamentary word and would not be permitted under normal circumstances.
However, crap could be used if quoting from something elsewhere, as in Cameron’s green crap. That sort of crap was permissible.
Sorry I missed that debate. But I was otherwise engaged in spraying dog crap bright yellow for our colourful council.
As I said at the start, it’s all a load of crap anyway...
Having trouble with chopping boards. Years ago I laid out an agonising 80 quid for a Gordon Ramsey replica made up of various strips of hardwood and a drainage channel round the edges to drain off the pate de fois and asparagus juices, or in my case more plebian liquids contained in scrag end of lamb and tripe and onion mixes.
It even had a concealed button underneath which when pressed delivered Ramsey’s dulcet tones telling everyone in earshot to eff-off immediately because they were all fired as of now.
The biggest problem was it didn’t fit in the sink. Every time I scrubbed it the kitchen flooded. So there it was, leering at me and containing more germs than my lavatory seat.
I had it sawn into two. Then both bits buckled like a tiled floor in an earthquake and 80 quids-worth finished up in the tip.
Years later I tried again. Like this summer. It was only £40 this time, but the laminates split leaving space for colonies of germs, including the toughies that point nine per cent of germs survived. I am now using a plastic job which, as they say, ticks all the boxes apart from artistic merit. It cost two quid.