The View from a-Broadband

There are many possible solutions to Albia's economic problems: perhaps a bit of Keynesian pump-priming, perhaps radical tax-cuts and a freeze on government spending(1). Yet, following speeches by Prime Minister Door and Culture Minister Ednoy Blohki, I now realise that the only solution to economic crisis is the provision of broadband intertube connections to all.

I must admit, I do find the argument a little difficult to follow, especially as - in contrast to the multi-billion-dollar programme of infrastructure spending being proposed by President Obama in the USA(2) - Albia's government proposes to spend absolutely no money on it whatsoever. Perhaps the Prime Minister's recently-discovered superpowers(3) include, alongside the ability to look the other way as bankers cock-up the economy, the power to lay thousands of miles of fibre-optic cable across the whole of the country for free. This would, indeed, be a remarkable demonstration of his superheroic abilities, if rather less exciting than X-ray vision or being able to leap tall buildings at a single bound.

Even then, I'm still not quite sure how Mr Blohki's "digital action plan" will work, given that most Albians' idea of a digital action still involves making rapid up-and-down gestures with the index and middle fingers of one hand. However, my old friend (and new husband to my darling ex-wife Ylatea), Vlotar advises me that the heat generated by all the pornography zooming across the nation at 2.5mbps(4) might provide an alternative energy source now that the Russians have taken to idly flicking Europe's gas supply on-and-off like that odd switch in the spare room that no-one can work out the purpose of.

At least the programme may be of some benefit to yours truly, presuming of course they can get some cable through to my cosy cellar residence here in the Bor yt Hunza. My own internet usage spirals ever higher, especially now that - in addition to this humble blog - I am a provider of regular Albian updates via "twitter" at http://twitter.com/HugoKent. Oh yes, beat that Nick Robinson!

(1) Now, obviously there isn't a hope in hell of radical tax cuts and a freeze on government spending doing anything other than sending what little remains of the nation's economy spiralling down the pan to a brown and sticky end, yet I feel duty-bound to mention them in order to keep up my usual standard of fair and balanced reporting.
(2) A programme in which the former Chicago ... er... "person of influence" and present US Ambassador to Albia, Mr Pazman, advises me will provide a refreshing alternative to waste-management and concrete-overshoe provision for many of his former associates.
(3) See We Don't Need Another Heroes.
(4) Whatever 2.5 mbps means. Wasn't "mbp" a dreadful 45 by some ghastly American brats?

End of the Peerz Show?

Readers will be accustomed to this column spending much of its time in Albia's glorious parliament, da Grevvitren. However, while it is usually to be found amongst the hoi polloi in the Zkum, for much of this week it has been propping up the Horzs and Horzetts in the upper chamber, da Nobz.

The reasons for this move upmarket are twofold. First, there was the revelation that certain Peerz have been - tell it not in Gath, proclaim it not in the streets of Ashkelon - willing to take moneys to amend laws passing through da Nobz. This has produced a level of shock and outrage unseen since ... well, unseen at all, come to think, given that no-one was either shocked or outraged by the suggestion that the upper house of the Grevvitren is as bent as a three-pahnd note. Hardly a surprise given that it was traditionally occupied by the descendants of robber barons bought off by Albia's kings and queens with a bit of land and a parliamentary seat, not to mention such of the descendants of those same kings and queens as could only trace their descent to the wrong side of the bedsheets. Nor have things got any better in more recent years, the main qualifications for a seat being unswerving loyalty to one or other of the political parties and/or an eager desire to donate vast sums of cash to the same ... preferably anonymously and in a brown paper envelope.

And reason two? Our good friend Horz Kreepiman - himself a man of absolutely unstained character(1) - yesterday announced to the house his plans to rescue the Albian car industry. This is no easy task, especially as the whole of the Albian car industry is - since the demise of the late and unlamented Phydoh Cars - foreign-owned. Nonetheless, his Horzship confirmed a package of £2.3 billion in loan guarantees apparently intended to help with the "greening" of Albia's motor manufacture. Given that the sum involved is rather less than that involved in the design and building of a single new model, it can only be assumed that rather than aiding the creation of some revolutionary new eco-friendly engine, Horz Kreepiman hopes to green our automobiles by funding the hanging of one of those cardboard-tree air-fresheners from every rear-view mirror in the land.

(1) a truly remarkable feat given all the time he spends hanging around with assorted billionaires, all doubtless eager for his ear.(2)
(2) Not to mention the two times he was forced to resign from parliament.

Unappealing

The ABC, Albia's licence-fee-funded television broadcaster, is an extraordinary organisation: it produces a vast range of programming, much of it of the very highest quality; it funds numerous educational programmes; it supports orchestras and choirs; it promotes cutting-edge televisual and radiophonic technology; it operates one of the world's most successful intertube sites; and it also provides a home not only for some of the most significant creative talents in Albia but also for vast numbers of incompetent middle-managers who would otherwise spend their lives clogging up the civil service or local government with their schemes for "the forward promotion of integrated systems management across the unassigned diversity spectrum on an ongoing basis" and time-wasting insistence on regular "ideas showers"(1) in well-appointed country houses across the nation.

This then is an organisation with a noble history, a vital role in the nation's psyche and an unparalleled capacity to shoot itself in the foot. I need not rehearse in detail recent scandals such as the faked video of Queen Dowdi punching a photographer, the omnipresent Jonat Overpeyd's radio programme based on exposing his genitalia to much-loved comic actors or, indeed, the funneling of the proceeds of various TV phoneline receipts into a directors' away-day fund. And yet the Corporation has somehow managed to shoot itself in the more intimate parts of its anatomy once more, this time by refusing to screen a charity appeal on behalf of the Disasters Emergency Committee(2) in aid of the starving pets of orphaned children with leukaemia, on the grounds that, in the words of Director General Ghingha Bijtyerarmzoff,

"Inevitably an appeal would use pictures which are the same or similar to those we would be using in our news programmes but would do so with the objective of encouraging public donations ... The danger for the ABC is that this could be interpreted as taking a political stance on an ongoing story."

I would ask my readers to understand that I do not in any way wish to call Mr Bijtyerarmzoff an overpaid, overpromoted and severely undertalented idiot with all the charm, kindness and understanding of a soggy Ritz cracker. Nonetheless I feel compelled to do so, chiefly on the ground that the ABC has happily shown numerous DEC appeals in the past in relation to care for the victims of war, famine and natural disaster, all of which have featured pictures "the same or similar to" those used by the ABC in its news coverage with nary a whisper of complaint. Still given that the DG runs the organisation responsible for Strictly Blow Football, this latest decision is, perhaps, hardly surprising.

I suppose I should not complain. Indeed, I would ask readers to forgive me if they feel this particular column has stepped beyond its usual bounds of strict neutrality and appeared to take some sort of political stance on an ongoing story. In my defence I can only point to the fact that last night I attended a lengthy celebration of the 250th anniversary of the birth of Dipfryde's most celebrated writer of birthday card greetings, Rybby Broonz. I leave you with his famous ode in celebration of Dipfryde's most celebrated dish ...

"Oh greet pudd'n how I wist tay plie yer
And tuk thy breest intae ae deep fryer
Wi fluttrin' hert ah can only sae
How yer choac'late, noogit and caramel mak' me werk, rist ond pley."

(1) so named on the fatuous, patronising and wholly inaccurate basis that the equally pointless term "brainstorm" might be offensive to people with epilepsy.
(2) Not, as my readers may suspect, the organisation responsible for the appointment of Albian politicians, but rather a collection of the country's most established and best-regarded charities.

Overshadowed

A brief post today, given that the normal business of politics has been overwhelmed both by President Obama's inaugurations and the effects of Albia's kredditkrunsch. Not that there has been a total absence of politics as usual, of course. For instance, the Government has now been forced to abandon its plans (outlined here) to prevent the disclosure of politicians' expenses claims to the public. My readers may wonder why. Well, it would appear that Albia's politicians (porkitellaz in the Albian) have had a sudden attack of principle, the principle in question being the one about not doing anything that could lead to bloodcurdling headlines in every newspaper from Da Heyt to Da Garindua, via a small mention under a picture of a bare-breasted 19-year-old in Da Tytz.

The only other item worthy of note here is that apologies are owed to America's Ambassador to Albia, who not only had to suffer the indignity of two intimate searches(1) whilst coming through customs but has also been incorrectly identified by your humble correspondent. It turns out that he is of Albian extraction himself and would therefore wish to adopt his "old country" name of Janush Pazman, something which I am sure will help endear him to all Albians ... although not as much as the fact that just one of his dollars will now purchase enough food to feed the whole populace of Albia's second city, Orfulbad, for a week.

(1) Apparently they lost the glove the first time.

Going Down

Yes, yes, I am fully aware that most of you are too preoccupied by the arrival of the free world's new chief, Barack Obama, but some of us - yea, even those among us with experience in dealing with US leaders - are sadly unable to fly away on the new President's soaring oratory, forced as we are to remain in Albia and report on the nation's continuing economic collapse.

Frankly, apart from the newly-returned Shadow Business Minister, Nek Zkruff, no-one is doing well out of the slump. Certainly not the government, with Prime Minister Door and Finance Minister Luvvahly increasingly resembling Laurel and Hardy towards the end of their careers, arthritically trudging through the same calamitous routines night after night, for the pleasure of a sadly dwindling audience. Not even the Nyestis are doing that well, with my erstwhile cellar-mate, Shadow Finance Minister Geroj Skweeki, doing very little to help his rehabilitation with his sudden round of television and radio interviews. While he is quite right to note the blindingly incompetent decisions made by the government over the past ten years, wandering around with a broad smile going gleefully on about unemployment and corporate collapse, whilst secure in the knowledge of a multi-million pound inheritance to fall back on, seems somewhat indecent, especially given that his own party - insofar as it disagreed with government financial policy at all - only did so on the ground that it was not going far enough in kowtowing to the cowboy financiers in da Zhiti.

Dark Deeds

Regular followers of this blog will be aware that it is not entirely unknown for me to miss the odd snippet of news. Indeed, some(1) might go so far as to suggest that missing snippets of news seems, if anything, to be my raison d'etre. Yet I am particularly saddened to have omitted one item, which sheds light on the suffering of an oft-neglected group: Albia's politicians.

There are many unfair things said about the Members of Albia's parliament. These men and women - BGs or Buerkz da Grevvitren in Albian - are honest and dedicated, purer than the finest, uncut Colombian marching powder and devoted to the service of their fellow Albians, as they will often remind anyone who seeks to question their integrity or, indeed, the pile of duly-stamped "expenses receipts" which they have compiled with the aid of Photoshop/a potato and some poster paint.

As the rulers and representatives of this country, BGs' task is an onerous one, involving as it does arduous fact-finding journeys to the Bahamas, Mustique and the Maldives, a working year of one hundred and forty-six days (give or take(2)) and the enforced usage of some of the most heavily-subsidised bars in the world.

Yet, despite this, there are some Albians out there - mostly my fellow journalists, sad to say - who seek to do-down this already much-maligned group. In fact - since BGs were forced by obviously misguided moves towards parliamentary openness and transparency to disclose details of their expenses claims - some of these hacks have gone so far as to suggest there is something inappropriate about Albia's rulers quietly directing those expenses towards the upkeep of such absolute necessities as their second homes, third wives and many of their (acknowledged) children(3).

Such claims are, of course, deeply wounding and must have threatened that calmness and depth of thought so evident among Albia's BGs and so necessary for the running of the country. Happily, that threat has now been removed. I am glad to say that under cover of darkness and last week's Sheecatch runway row, Albia's rulers decided to put an end to the pricking of their consciences, not by giving up their liberal use of the moneys Albians pay them but rather by granting themselves the privilege of being the sole group not required to provide details of their expenses to anyone at all. Now, at last, they can go about their work unconcerned by any flickers of conscience that might have occurred had they been forced to consider what they were splashing taxpayers' cash on and happy in the knowledge that the golden elephants really do set off the platinum-limned taps in the new kitchen the people of Albia have been so kind as to purchase for them.

In other news, Albians are today welcoming the return of Nek Zkruff to the Nyesti Party front benches, where he will operate as shadow to Business Minister Horz Kreepiman, a task rather like acting as Albert Pierrepoint's executioner.

(1) particularly my boss.
(2) generally, take.
(3) for an example of such sniping, readers might wish to turn to this extract from the leader column of Albia's Da Garindua(4)
(4) the translation is, I'm afraid, rather poor. Extraordinarily, it can't even get the spelling of the paper's name right.

The Albia Who's Who: Nek Zkruff

Until recently, a perennial candidate for leadership of the Nyesti Party. The scourge of the unions as Health Minister, tough on crime as Home Minister, creator of an economic legacy as Finance Minister that Bragdny Door lived off for 10 years, Mr Zkruff would undoubtedly have been elected party leader years ago were it not for the unfortunate fact that he - unlike most of his party - quite likes foreigners.

Denied the leadership as a result of his Europhilia(1) he has spent the last few years operating a small tobacco kiosk in central Blizsta, flogging cigarettes and jazz mags in order to keep body and soul together. Doubtless it is this sort of hands-on experience of business that recommended him as new Shadow Business Minister to Nyesti leader Bambi Nottinill.

(1) Most Nyestis believe Europe is a kind of Mordor with added garlic and workshy orcs.

Flying Tonight

Visitors to Albia will doubtless be very familiar with its transport network, if only due to the fact that any journey in Albia, however short the distance to be covered, will last at least 17 hours, due to breakdowns, traffic jams, wildcat strike action, the incompetence of planners, the inadequacy of the road/rail/whateveryoucaretoname-network and the fact that most of Albia's towns and cities first came into being in a time when high speed transport systems involved carving go-faster stripes on the wheels of your chariot.

One of the very worst parts of Albia's transport system is undoubtedly the area around the country's largest airport, Sheecatch(1). Now - not content with the fact that every road around the area is packed with cars full of irate parents, desperate in the knowledge that they're only three hours into their holiday and they're stuck with the brats for another two weeks, screaming at their kids that "No we're not nearly bloody there yet", that every underground railway carriage in the area is stuffed with Swedish backpackers, their oversized rucksacks capable of crushing their fellow carriage-users at any moment, and that the only trains to Sheecatch have either broken down or are so expensive only Russian oligarchs and Premiership footballers can afford to use them - the government has decided in its infinite wisdom to grant the airport a third runway, bringing in millions of new passengers a year and trillions of hours of misery to everyone who uses it. For myself, I shall be giving the area the kind of wide berth normally afforded to lawyers, estate agents and leper colonies.

(1) Those who follow the, admittedly sporadic, comments on these pages will be aware that the estimable US Ambassador to Albia has just passed through this very place on his way into the country. And may God, or as he would have it, Jeebus, have mercy on his soul.

The Loan Arranger

And so, following Prince Thuggi's brief attempt to divert us by illustrating the intellectual sophistication to be expected of someone whose gene pool is more of a gene puddle, it's back to the economy.

With Albian business leaders informing the nation that its downturn is "frightening" and prospects "awful", Prime Minister Door has put a temporary stop to his battles with the Green Goblin (or whoever it is that world-saving superheroes do battle with)(1) in order to join his old enemy friend Horz Kreepiman to announce yet more plans to tackle Albia's slide into economic oblivion, this time by offering loan guarantees to small businesses to help tide them through the downturn. Will such a move succeed? Who knows? All I do know is that, having been presented this very morning with my bill for board, lodging and indeed potato-based alcohol here at the Bor yt Hunza's salubrious cellar, I feel the time may have come for me to incorporate myself as a small enterprise.

(1) see We Don't Need Another Heroes.

The Albia Who's Who: Prince Thuggi

The youngest child of heir-to-the-throne Prince Yusslez and his late ex-wife Princess Ditzi. He has followed in the great tradition of the children of famous parents by ending up as a huge embarrassment to all concerned. Indeed, readers wanting to capture his personality and general conduct swiftly would be well advised to consider him a taxpayer-funded version of Peaches Geldof.

The young prince has long been dogged by controversy, going back to his decision to attend a fancy-dress party in one of his great-uncle Heinrich's old SS uniforms(1). This decision caused considerable outrage at the time among his fellow partygoers, though this was - admittedly - directed chiefly at the fact that his outfit didn't fit the party's "Natives and Colonials" theme.

He spent his teenage years training to be a professional nightclub ejectee but redeemed himself in the eyes of many when he joined the Albian army, going on to perform his soldierly duties in exemplary fashion on his tour of Afghanistan. Sadly it was recently revealed that these duties included the usual army round of casual racism towards both his non-white fellow soldiers and all persons of non-Albian origin. Palace officials and sources within the army have admitted that the polish has been somewhat removed from Thuggi's soldiering, largely due to the risk he might use the polish to black up for a photo.

(1) see Sons And Duffers.

Dregz to Dregz

Well, there goes my sporting summer. As I alluded to in passing on Wednesday, Albia's national plokkij team - destined to go up against the mighty, lager-swilling and prawn-on-barbie-throwing national team of Cobba this summer in the battle for the Dregz - has decided to spontaneously combust.

Such behaviour is, of course, something of a tradition in Albian plokkij, the purpose of the game at international level generally being regarded as to afford a rich opportunity for Albia's many former colonies to utterly humiliate the representatives of the old country (much in the same way that football affords all the nations of the world a chance to thrash Albia, but with the added twist that a plokkij match can last up to 5 days(1)).

In this case, however, the cause of the implosion is not the traditional incompetence of the Albian team but rather a clash of personalities between team coach Piotr Mutchlez and team captain Ego Pietermaritzburg, an event made all the more unusual given that, by all accounts only one of them (the captain) had a personality to start with. The upshot has been the "resignation"(2) of both men. All are agreed that this will leave a big space in the Albian dressing room, presumably the several cubic hectares occupied by Mr Pietermaritzburg's ego.

(1) or, if you were to take the word of my beloved ex-wife Ylatea, all of eternity.
(2) used here in a manner analogous to the way in which a Tommy with a gun to his head might have been said to "volunteer" to go over the top in World War I.

Space Saver

So, what was the good news that I was so sadly prevented from imparting yesterday? Well, I am happy to be able to announce that my erstwhile cellar-mate, Shadow Finance Minister Geroj Skweeki, has at last been permitted to quit our hideout beneath the Bor yt Hunza and return to the business of party politics.

Yes, he, his plus fours, his shooting stick and his solid-silver crumpet-fork have finally been permitted to rejoin the Nyesti Party fold, following the period of quarantine enforced by his run in with Horz Kreepiman(1). Indeed, little Geroj has been seen all over the place, explaining the Nyesti party's exciting new tax proposals ... which are almost as gripping as they were when the party last put them forward way back in 2001. In a quite stunning move, Geroj has decided (again) to try to help the very poorest by removing savings tax from those who pay the basic rate of income tax. He confided to me over a final meal a deux of roast swan that he was sure such a cut could be afforded, if only because after ten years of Albians chucking money around like an electrified octopus in a bank vault, the average basic-taxpayer's savings stand at something quite a way below zero. He always was a cunning chap. You know, I think I might even miss him.

Meanwhile, Albia's economy continues to plunge to depths only normally plumbed by celebrity editions of reality TV's Beeg Seesta, as names big and small - from Wottat and UMF(2), through music retailer Dummi(3), children's retailer Eves and even Vedzjhvood pottery(4) - go to the wall and even Albia's beloved Marx yt Zpenzah, retailer of chicken tikka masala knickers and cook-chill socks, announcing the closure of stores and cutting of jobs. Increasingly, the average Albian High Street resembles the gap-toothed smile possessed, thanks to the Albian sweet tooth and the near total absence of dentists on the Albian National Health Service, by the average Albian. Both are grisly sights.

Ah well, at least it's better news than the current state of the national plokkij team

(1) for details, see The Man Who Wasn't There.
(2) see Shopping Tripped.
(3) formerly part of Dikki Tvot's Nymmfo empire.
(4) everyone's favourite purveyor of the sort of chinaware given at every traditional wedding and kept ever after in a box under the stairs.

Deferred Pleasure

I have - with regard to myself at least - great and good news. Sadly, I am not in a position to pass it on at the moment as the powers that be have asked me to adopt a thrice-weekly schedule, with this blog appearing some time in the afternoon each Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I can only ask my loyal audience to bate its breath until 4ish tomorrow. Until then, farewell.

Unhappy New Year

Hello and welcome to the country of Albia in the year 2009. There are many great New Year traditions here in Albia, among them are wandering around in a hangover-induced foul temper, breaching all one's resolutions by January 3rd and, despite it all, putting on a brave and optimistic face until at least mid-February as one attempts to assure oneself that this year really has to be better than the last.

While I have been able to honour both the first and second of these Albian traditions - thanks in no small part to the various bottles of potato-based alcohol I managed to put away in the run up to midnight on New Year's Eve and to the cigarette I managed to light less than three seconds after the tolling-in of the New Year - I am afraid I have been unable to put on anything approaching a mildly-unsuicidal face, let alone an actually happy one.

No, the year ahead is likely to be a bloody one, despite the many appearances by the Prime Minister in the media over the past weekend. He may have sought to assure the nation that he will be engaging in assorted job creation programmes to shore up those affected by the collapse of the former growth areas of Albia's economy (namely financial mismanagement, latte-making and pole-dancing) but those assurances were tragically undermined by both his weird rictus grin and the fact no-one wants to drive a car built by someone who can't see a drive shaft without trying to twirl around it in a besequinned G-string.

No, the truth of Albia's economic suffering was forcibly brought home to me this very weekend, when I saw that Ynn Wyntahz, Albia's favourite high street sex shop, is currently holding a 70% off sale. When the sex-obsessed people of Albia can't even be bothered to fork out for a Rohmpyng Rabbyt ... er ... "neck massager" ... then we can be sure the economy is in the brown stuff.

Headline Grabbers of the Year 2008

It's that time of year again when I conceal my bitterness at not being selected by HM the Queen for her New Year's Honours and so, as promised, here are the annual A Message from Albia "Headline Grabbers of the Year" awards ...

The Paris Hilton Nude Lesbian Romps Award for publicity-seeking goes to Dikki Tvot for his new television series, produced by and for his Nymmfo channel, available on his Nymmfo cable TV service, featuring himself and his own children. Until it's screening I had never given any thought to the possibility that there might be another generation of Tvots equally keen to insert themselves into my TV/newspaper/internet at any possible opportunity. Now my innocence has been stolen.

The Davros Award for constitutional sensitivity goes to Home Minister Jerki Kleevij, who really can't see any reason why Albians shouldn't be locked up for 42 days without charge, have to carry ID cards at all times and have all their telephone, mail and internet correspondence intercepted by people who can't get within 100 yards of a secret without leaving it on an unsecured laptop discarded on one of Dikki Tvot's Nymmfo trains.

The Jesus Christ Almighty! Award for Political Resurrection goes to Horz Kreepiman, whose return to Albia's corridors of powerlessness from his dark tower in Brussels astounded everyone, despite all the evidence of orcs infesting the Misty Mountains and the awaking of a Balrog.

The Corporal Nobbs Award for Kicking Them While They're Down goes to Work and Pensions Minister Jammi Purstlypz for his plan to electrify the testicles of benefit scroungers.

The Vyacheslav Konstantinovich von Plehve Award for sound political judgement goes to Geroj Skweeki, for his ill-judged whispering campaign against Horz Kreepiman ... and because he snores(1).

In our international section, the Charles Dickens award for Person with the Name Most Likely to Indicate their Behaviour goes to American financier/fraudster Bernard Madoff.

And finally, the Red Kryptonite Award for superheroic vulnerability goes to Prime Minister Bragdny Door, whose attempts to save the world from financial disaster have resulted in his financial fundamentals getting caught in his superheroic tights.

Normal (I use the term lightly) service will be resumed next week. Until then, farewell and Happy New Year.

(1) See The Streets of Blizsta.