Jogle Blogle – Emergency Interim Report

This is an interim emergency report on behalf of the Jogle Blogle, issued from headquarters based in the lounge bar, Hinksford Arms, Black Country.

In a statement released through official channels this morning it can be reported that communication with the Jogle was lost at 18:32 on Sunday 2nd June 2019. The last garbled message received before the team passed around the dark side of Scotland was, ‘We’re losing wi-fi…’ Although not entirely unexpected, communication has still not been restored and an order was given in the early evening to prepare the PERV for launch. Properly known as the People’s Expedition Recovery Vehicle, the PERV is the Ford Mondeo owned by Blogler’s Mate, Bart.

It was immediately taken away to be fuelled, oiled, watered and valeted, although not washed – there wasn’t time, damn it!

3iBDDUGSTQmzeR1upFOQyQIt is believed that the PERV will be launched up the M6 sometime after the school run is over to miss the worst of the traffic. As is usual with these missions the vehicle will be code named ‘The Crippled Duck.’ It would have been ‘The Eagle,’ until someone pointed out that that had already been used by NASA back in 1969. In the meantime the vehicle will be stocked to the brim with back up supplies of wi-if, to be delivered by the Blogler and the Bloglers Mate to the blissfully unaware Jogler.

As a result the Blogler and the Blogler’s Mate will be travelling extremely lightly as there is no room for extra weight, because the quantity of wi-fi needed will be massive innit. It has been reported that the Blogler and the Blogler’s Mate may be going commando as the weight of any underwear may seriously compromise the attempt.

Planning for the rescue continued far into the night.

A spokesman said, ‘It is a very dangerous mission. If the wi-fi should leak out during the drive up to Scotland, both the Blogler and the Bloglers Mate could be exposed to high levels of vitriol and shear stupidity unleashed by the uncontrolled release of social media, which could prove fatal in such a concentrated dose.’

The docking procedure will be extremely difficult as the Jogler and his cohorts have no idea that a rescue mission is underway.

A statement released on behalf of the Blogler read, ‘Normally I wouldn’t be arsed, but the lack of wi-fi does mean that I’d have to make things up for the next instalment of ‘The Jogle Blogle,’ And we couldn’t have that, could we?’

The Queen has reportedly commented that it is a well known fact that the Blogler’s Mate has, ‘An anus horriblius,’ and that she feels desperately sorry for the Blogler in such confined proximity.

President of the United States, @realDonaldTrump tweeted prior to his state visit to Great Britain that he,’knew everything there was to know about wi-fi, in fact I practically invented it, so no one knows more about wi-fi than me.’ In his opinion the Great British English were going about the whole thing wrongly bigly, and ‘if it had been left to me I would have built a wall around it, to keep the wi-fi in.’

Prime Minister, Teresa May is reported to have said, ‘I couldn’t give a ****, blame it on the next ****hole that takes this job, because I’m off to enjoy my pension ta very much,’

Queen @DoreenTipton may or may not have commented, ‘Them brave Black Country boy’s, so long as the cost of the mission dow come off me benefits, it’s fine by me, aye it.’

Friends, the world awaits to hear those words, ‘Hinksford, The Crippled Duck has landed.’

When asked why the pair had been chosen, the spokesman shrugged and looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘We needed an expert,’ he explained. ‘The Blogler is a “has been” and the Blogler’s Mate is a “drip under pressure,” so an “ex” and a “spurt” respectively. They’re perfect for the job really.’ He went on to explain that there was no knowing as to why or how the expedition had come to lose its wi-fi so catastrophically. ‘For all we know it could have been slowly leaking out from John O’Groats. The Jogler certainly had enough to get to Land’s End when he set out and he was resupplied with more when he met the Jogleress in Inverness.’ He dismissed as, ‘idiotic’ rumours that the wi-fi could perhaps have been stolen.

To support the Joglers mission visit

As the world watches with bated breath we can only pray that the mission is successful. In the meantime we wish those brave lads, God speed and good luck, you’ll be in our prayers.


Land of the acronym

So here I am another year older. I am now officially as old as God’s dog. Bloody hell, who’d have thought it? There are, of course, people older than me who would scoff and call me a spring chicken. And they would be quite justified in that. But just let me have a little reminisce before the ageing process goes too far and I end up in some depressing institution dribbling into my soup.

Yesterday – the day of the sixty second anniversary of my birth – I was lucky enough to spend at COTA. Yes, I’m in the good old U,S of A, land of the acronym ruled over by POTUS and FLOTUS. From listening to some over here the former could stand for President Orange, Totally Useless Shit. Others may have it as, Prosperity Over Trumps Utopian States. Just depends who you listen to. It’s a bit like Brexit without other countries being involved.

Anyway – COTA – Circuit Of The Americas, for those who don’t know about such things. Yes, I treated myself to the American Formula One Grand Prix. I’m over here visiting family, so it would be rude not to really, wouldn’t it. So resplendent in Red Bull team shirt and cowboy hat I ventured forth. In the rain! Now I should explain that when it rains here it does actually rain. It comes down all at once in galvanised buckets. Before you know it you’re up to your wheel trims in water. Pardon? No of course we don’t walk anywhere, that’s just not the American way. 

As luck would have it once we reached the circuit, God’s dog must have been looking down. The skies cleared, the sun shone and apart from Max Verstappen being cruelly robbed at the end I thoroughly enjoyed my treat.

Which led me to thinking. Over the years, who stand out in the memory as sportsmen I have seen in the flesh. No, not naked madam, I’m not some sort of changing room voyeur. It’s a bit like those lists you get on Facebook. I’m sure you have your own. These are mine.

Top of the list has to be The Holy Trinity. Yes, Best, Law and Charlton all on the pitch at the same time. I have to say that most of my footballing experiences were down at West Bromwich Albion’s ground. Back in the day that was hard enough to get to, let alone what must surely have been a three day trek to Old Trafford. Strangely they drew two apiece. United were losing in the first half two – nil. At half time Matt Busby must have said give the ball to George. They did, and someone sprinkled magic football dust on the ground. Bestie swayed and shimmied as only he could. Law headed in and Bobby Charlton struck a ball (not the flimsy plastic things of today) from twenty yards out which hit the back of the net like a thunderbolt.

At the same ground I saw that other trinity, albeit individually, Hurst, Moore and Peters. In another two all draw I witnessed first hand why Martin Peters was called ‘The Ghost.’ Across came the ball, no one was there until I swear that a trap door opened in the ground, out popped our man and headed home.

Cricket. Ah yes. On Saturday mornings Dad went to work. In doing so he had to pass Edgbaston, home of Warwickshire County Cricket Club. He’d throw me out on the way and pick me up coming back. I saw the legend which was Godfrey Evans playing for the Cavaliers in the swan song of his wicket keeping career. Other great names from the past, the two Fred’s, Trueman and Titmus, Bob Willis, Dennis Amis, Farouk Engineer, Gary Sobers. So many, but the one that stood out for me was the great West Indies player, Clive Lloyd. I always loved watching him, such a charismatic figure and I even played my own part in a test match, England v West Indies. The match, on Saturday as usual, was underway. All was going well until play was suddenly stopped. The crowd began to boo and jeer. I could make out cries of ‘sit down!’ through the din. Clive Lloyd was waving his arms, seemingly in my direction. Some idiot, it appeared, had wandered in front of the sight screen – a huge white board which shielded the ball from the crowd so that the batsman could see it coming. ‘How was the match?’ asked Dad when he picked me up. ‘Great.’ I replied, wondering if I blushed as much then as I had when I sat down with indecent haste that sunny afternoon.

At Cosford in 1981, Sebastian Coe broke the world indoor 800m record. I was there with my Dad and brother. Dad had been a racing cyclist in his youth. Both of them ran marathons for ‘fun.’ That gene thankfully missed me!

And so, back to the Grand Prix, at Zandvoort in the era of Mansell and Senna but perhaps more memorably my first at Brands Hatch, not perhaps for the race but for getting there. My Morris 1000 broke down on the way, but after a quick pit stop (and hastily joining the AA) I arrived in time to see Emerson Fittipaldi beat Jackie Stewart. The next year at Silverstone nearly half the field were taken out when Jody Scheckter crashed at the end of the first lap. What names though! Some still here but most long gone in pursuit of their sport. Hill, Peterson, Lauda, Hulme , Amon, Reutemann, Revson, Oliver, Ickx, Cevert and the never to be forgotten Jean-Pierre Beltois if only for the fact that I got his autograph even though I had no idea who he was, except that he must be a driver because he wore overalls.

So – thanks for the birthday wishes and allowing a sad old git to reminisce for a bit. 

I wonder what I’ll do next?

I hate to mention it, but there’s another vote coming up…

Hello again.
Nice to see you.
Oh sorry – I really didn’t mean to do that in a Bruce Forsyth voice.
I’m not good at impressions.
You’d noticed.
Anyway, how are things with you?
Oh dear.
They’re protruding by how much!?
Surely you can get some cream for that?
I should ask the chemist.
How am I?
Well funny you should ask.

It’s like this, remember the…

What did you say?
Look, I know you were only asking out of politeness and didn’t really want an answer, but I thought that seeing as you brought it up…

Remember the play wot I wrote…

No, now you mention it, I know I can’t ‘do‘ Ernie Wise either, but this play thing…

Not the one I did for the radio, no. It turns out that the BBC don’t posterknow a good thing when it’s staring them in the face – bastards!

I was talking about pm. com, the one that I wrote for the stage.
Yes, it was a few years ago, I’m glad you remember.
Well I only got someone to go and do it!

How about that then?
Honestly – I’ve never seen anyone so underwhelmed.
I thought you might be pleased.

Sorry, you thought what?
That it would just be,’something else for me to keep banging on about.

There’s no need!

But let me finish telling you, ‘cos you’ll never guess what.
I’m in it!
Cool or what?
In a purely am-dramish sort of way.
So I’m line learning.

I knew you’d say that!
Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean that I know it off by heart, no.
I have to practice my art.
Now I’m a thespian.
Getting used to the smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd.
Of course I couldn’t compare myself to Burton or Gielud, well not yet anyway.

Arise Sir Dave, I can picture it now.
Me and Madge.
Her with a sword in her hand.
What do you mean, ‘you wish you had a sword right now‘?
I’ll take that to mean that you don’t want a ticket then.

They’re only three pounds.
I know – cheap as chips!
I’ve got friends on Facebook see.
Surprising as that sounds, yes I have.
And I was thinking that if any of them, in say Oz or Trumpton, fancied popping across for the evening that the low price of entry may be of benefit.
Help out with the air fare.
And the airport taxes.
See how thoughtful I am?

Now there was no call for name calling, ‘one act short of a scene!
Honestly, some people.

Afraid that we can’t put them up though.
My mate Nige is coming over from Ludlow and he’s already claimed the couch. Perhaps you could help by…

Oh! I see. They can **** right off to where?

Isn’t that the chain Lenny Henry advertises?


Anyway, it’s a political drama – of a sort.
About the ‘Countrywide Reform Alliance Party.
Well in these days of uncertainty and surprise after Brexit, Trump and Leicester City, I thought it best to concentrate on the issues that concern us all.
The cost of beer and football admission prices for example – that sort of thing. Hard hitting and factual.


It spells what!

Perhaps I’d better have a rethink then, eh?