Mad Woman Harassed By Pervert – says Barking Mad Murphy

C'mon - you know you wanna...Christ this is awkward...

C’mon – you know you wanna…Christ this is awkward…

Women. Sexism. Glass ceilings. Women have it hard (Ooh Missus!) and nothing comes easy.

Success for women comes at a price. Cue UKIP. Cue Diane James, newly elected UKIP leader, breaking glass ceilings, breaking down sexist barriers, and getting her just desserts for the fruits of her labour…

A monster kiss from Nigel Farage. Ouch. Nobody deserves that.

Not even Diane James. Not in Bournemouth either – even though Bournemouth has been named as the UK’s most right wing city. Nothing spectacular about Bournemouth, just a dip in the cliffs, a pier and a crap fairground.

And Nigel Farage lacking only a ‘Kiss Me Quick’ hat and a bucket and spade.

Closing in like a vulture on a dying wildebeest.

The sheer horror of it all.

Nigel’s Casanova technique could use some work, that’s for sure.

We really don’t need to be seeing this.

She should have slapped his face.

Or got a room.

Plenty available.

In Bournemouth.


We shudder to think…

Barking Mad Murphy.

For cafe spike dot com


Bomb Disposal Team At Old Trafford – Police Manhunt Begins

Marcus Rashford - evacuated

Marcus Rashford – evacuated

Following the discovery of a suspect package in the stands at Manchester United’s Old Trafford stadium which resulted in the abandonment of United’s final Premier League fixture with Bournemouth and a mass evacuation Cafe Spike can confirm that a bomb disposal team have arrived at the scene and are currently dealing with the situation.

With a police helicopter buzzing overhead we can also confirm that a police manhunt is under way after a suspect was spotted by several witnesses loitering in the area where the suspect package was discovered.

Police are keen to speak to a tall man wearing a white shirt, black suit and red and black tie. The suspect is reported to have been carrying some kind of clipboard and to have an unusual face with a high forehead, who according to witnesses spoke with a foreign accent, possibly Belgian or Dutch.

Anyone who knows the whereabouts of the suspect is advised to contact the police.

More as we get it.



Derek Philpott – A Letter To Led Zeppelin’s Robert Plant

Ron Maid Out Of Ed Zeppel

Ron Maid Out Of Ed Zeppel

Dear Mr. Plant

Re: Trampled Underfoot

Spotting the T-Shirt of a long haired youth on Old Christchurch Road yesterday, I was delighted to learn of such a traditionally English sounding new artist. Sadly it transpired that the print design was so large that it disappeared under each armpit and there is in fact no such act as ‘Ron Maid’.

My beloved 1.8 Vtec Accord has served me better than any ‘run around’ since my Toledo and the Rover. During its annual service this morning, therefore, I was saddened to be informed by my trusted mechanic, Mr. Keightley (another pony-tailed but perfectly polite ‘headbanger’), at The Nuffield Industrial Estate, that so much ‘needs doing to it’ that it would be nobody’s fault but mine if I refused his advice and found myself saddled with exorbitant repair bills in the not too distant future. I allowed him to ‘ramble on’ about cracked drive shafts, power steering column replacement, wearing and tearing and such-like, and have in conclusion been advised that I want to ‘part ex’ that while I can, ‘’Mr. P.’’, that’s what I want to do.

Leaving the forecourt preoccupied as to why Classic FM had been reprogrammed to a local ‘Hard Rock’ station and which new make to consider, what else should fortuitously come on but your ‘raw white funk work-out’, in which you enthuse about your own recent acquisition, which appears to have been purchased as a gift for your mama.

As well as reassurance pertaining to the lubrication and streamlining of its engine, which you tunefully wail to be ‘greased and slicked down fine’, I was particularly drawn to several cosmetic features, most notably the ‘groovy leather trim’, which Honda only offered as an optional extra when I bought mine. Unfortunately, as my wife Jean and I were planning a trip to Alcatraz and The Golden Gate Bridge that year and going to California was proving costly, I was a little strapped for cash and had no alternative at the time other than to compromise with the standard PVC upholstery, much to Jean’s temporary chagrin.

That you like the way it holds the road and that it is not a sin is also encouraging confirmation that the tyres all stay firmly on the tarmac and comply with legal limits, and, given that my former work colleague Willy ‘Won’t He’ Wallace resides in a private cul-de-sac littered with pot-holes, the Featherlight suspension also appealed.

Ron Maid Out Of Slayed?

Ron Maid Out Of Slayed?

Finally, personal inclination towards a model built for comfort and style in the specialist tradition over many of today’s cramped ‘bubble cars’ was a deciding factor in warranting further investigation
I was initially non-plussed with regard to the title of your ‘disco anticipating blues crossover’ until you powerfully yelped that the model ‘comes in any size’ (an especially attractive selling point if living near width restrictions). I then recalled that, before the days of his youth, my grandson knocked one of my neighbour Wilf Turnbull’s Matchbox Yesterday Collectibles off of his sideboard while dancing a little too excitedly to Lift Off With Ayshea, and the 1:64 scale Green Tonneau Bentley suffered a similar fate.

I do however harbour some not inconsiderable reservations pertaining to your selection. Observing that the gauge is on the on red on the freeway should not be cause for ‘grooving’, Mr. Plant. Lights and dashboard signifiers of this colour are more often than not warnings of, amongst other things, overheating, or a critically low or leaking fuel or oil tank. I see no grounds for care-free conviviality in the event of any of these discoveries, especially whilst driving in an uninhindered traffic flow.

It would also appear that the ‘Factory Air Conditioning’ is faulty, as, when switched on, ’heat begins to rise’. To the best of my understanding, such systems are designed to cool and not accelerate calefaction in the occupants.

Furthermore, Mr. Keightley has always informed me that, so long as the oil and water are checked and topped up regularly, it is perfectly reasonable to ‘put my car in’ no less than every 12,000 miles or when the spanner starts flashing on the mileage display. Your suggestion therefore that you should be approached for a service every hundred miles in order that points may be checked and an overdrive fixed, is most unreassuring, implying, as it does, inferior componentry and/or workmanship. To say nothing of the expense involved, Jean and I often make trips to visit family in Middlesex 67 miles away, which, applying your recommendations, would require us to stop off at a garage just east of Shackleford on the way back, where we have none.

This is unacceptable.

It is also in direct contravention to your proclamation that the vehicle is guaranteed to run for hours, and, after the first one or two return journey interruptions and bills, I am inclined to wonder ”How Many More Times’’ Jean is likely to tolerate such an inconvenience.

Moreover, if you will excuse my mild impertinence, I considerably doubt that I would entrust my new ‘set of wheels’ to yourself rather than an Authorised Dealer. Not only would a non-approved stamp on it’s ‘Big Log’ Book (an unavoidable by-product of multiple maintenances) likely invalidate any extended warranty, but I am dubious towards your professional qualifications as a mechanic, Mr. Plant. To believe that one has the perfect tools before commencement of work appears to betray a hesitancy not usually inherent in the confident technician, and your boast of the ability to work all night does seem to imply that the task could be lengthened by a lack of expertise. Most alarming however is your claim that trouble-free transmission helps your oils flow. Even I, a retired printer, know that controlled distribution of power, dependable or not, has no bearing whatsoever on such circulation. One can only hope that, if ever ineptly fiddling with certain General Motors products, you are sufficiently indemnified or insured when the Chevy breaks


It Wasn't My Fault...Blame Led Zeppelin

It Wasn’t My Fault…Blame Led Zeppelin

On the understanding therefore that Mr. Keightley would remain my primary choice, I wonder if you would have a brochure detailing the vehicle’s full specifications that you could pop round at the weekend, as he says that the defects as above-outlined may be able to be modified. Jean and I would be happy to provide refreshments by way of a ‘Thank You’, in the form of the Wonton soup that you named your song after, but as we have just had new carpet put down, we would prefer you please to resist any temptation to squeeze the lemongrass until the juice runs down your leg.

We look forward to hearing from you either this week or on the day.


Derek Philpott