Jogle Blogle – ‘Blogle HQ control, we have a problem.’

At 9:32a.m. on Saturday 29th June 2019 the following distress signal was received at Blogle H.Q.

Blogle HQ control we have a problem STOP Jogler sub-support system experiencing chronic fatigue STOP Catastrophic repeat CATASTROPHIC failure imminent STOP Emergency re-supply requested OUT

Our hearts were heavy and our eyes were moist as, not for the first time on this mission, we prepared ourselves for the worst. Would Steve’s walk from John O’Groats to Land’s End have to be abandoned?

Immediately we back at Blogle HQ began poring over the technical manuals to identify a) the problem, and b) the answer.

Also it was imperative to locate the position of the Mini-Jogler to establish as to whether a successful re-supply mission could be attempted, if and when a feasible solution was found.

Fortunately the problem was found to be immediately apparent. Not only that but the cause was quickly identified.

From in depth analysis it was determined that the Joglers sub-support system was indeed compromised and that any, all, or a combination of the following conditions had led to this vital component of the Jogle becoming at risk of sudden collapse:-

1/ The Jogler had eaten far too much custard and cake on his journey, causing him to gain weight as opposed to losing it.


2/ The Jogler had consumed too much ale, with the same consequence as (1) above.

3/ The Jogler had consumed too much custard AND too much ale, leading to failure as described in (1) above. High level discussions determined that this combined with (4) & (5) below were by far the most likely scenario.

4/ The unfortunate decision to include the 3 peaks on the Joglers charity walk from John O’Groats to Land’s End had led to a serious miscalculation regarding the durability and life expectancy of the Joglers sub-support system.

5/ The Joglers ridiculous decision (as highlighted by the Blogler on many occasions) to climb each peak and then return in the same direction, rather than carrying on over the top and down the other side, had increased the mileage to be covered by such an extent that the Joglers sub-support system was simply doomed to failure. Perhaps at this point I should simply say, I told you so! And who has to sort it out for him? Exactly, little old moi!

The answer was blindingly obvious. The Jogler needed new footwear – immediately!

Fortunately within minutes the Mini-Jogler (by now back at Jogle base camp, here in the Black Country) had also responded to the distress call and had contacted an ancient but noble sect of shoe makers to commission another pair. And that load of old cobblers would not let us down. Immediately they began crafting footwear of the finest quality products from this region. The uppers were made from the finest cut glass lead crystal (toughened of course) proving once and for all that the glass slippers of Cinderella were no myth. Laces were wrought from the very same iron which created the chains which held the Titanic anchor. The tongues were each lovingly carved from a single scratching upon the virtuous thigh of a Black Country maiden from a mould previously made of the Jogler’s foot. The soles were forged from nails to prove that a proper mon from these parts can walk on anything. The left hand side was inscribed with the letter ‘L’ to ensure that the Jogler did not become confused whilst the Jogler sub-support system was being installed. And of course there was the corresponding ‘R’ sole.

The difficulty now became exactly how to carry out the re-supply mission. Communication with the Jogler was sparse to say the least, but he was believed to be somewhere in Mid-Walles, accompanied by the Jogleress.

It quickly became apparent that the Mini-Jogler was in no fit state to carry out the mission as he had yet to recover from his exertions in climbing Snowdon a few days previously.

Contact had been lost with the Jogleressette, who was missing, presumed abducted by aliens (or dragged off by the Baggies at the very least).

If you recall, in the previous emergency, when the Jogler had to be topped up with wi-fi, see

the ‘Crippled Duck’ had been deployed. Contact was made with the Blogler’s Mate, but unfortunately due to extreme wi-if exposure that proud craft had had to be buried beneath a lake of grey peas ‘n bacon. We salute you noble vessel and thank you for your gallant efforts!

It was decided that a stealth mission should be launched. It is well known that the Wellsh llanguage is so dangerous that the ‘Ll’s’ and ‘Ff’s’have to travel around in pairs to avoid being mugged by random lone ‘Y’s’ which are reported to be very vicious.

To that end, the Bllogller’s Lland Rover is being readied, a bllack Ffreellander modell, to hopeffulllly avoid detection. 

As the Jogller and Joglleress’s  position is not preciselly known, the Bllogllers hounds, Bllue and Milllly, are being readied to ffollllow the scent.

Allso, in anticipation of the Blloger becoming incapacitated by llack off ffood, the Bllogllers Wiffe is also being prepared ffor the mission.

Updates willll (sorry- I’llll just switch scramblle code mode to offff) There’s better, isn’t it, look you! As I was saying, updates will follow but they may seriously compromise and delay future Blogle transmissions. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Lush!

FOOTNOTE: (Footnote! Dear oh dear, I have to smile myself sometimes!)



As witnessed by the Jogler himself whilst in darkest Scotland when he was passed by the 4:20 Virgin to Inverness, part of the account above has been found to be erroneous. Due to a distinct scarcity of Black Country maidens, the tongues of his shoes have had to be made from man made polymers and therefore the longevity of this replacement pair cannot be guaranteed!




If you cracked so much as a smile during this Emergency Blogle, then feel free to contribute to Steve’s just giving page for Macmillan Cancer Support at

After all, you’d pay good money for this if David Walliams had written it!

If you failed to even titter, then this post was written by, David Walliams.

3 thoughts on “Jogle Blogle – ‘Blogle HQ control, we have a problem.’

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