Obamarama

Elongated US President Bazza Obama, his statuesque wife, Michael, and a modest entourage of 32,678, descended on plucky Blighty this week. The royal couple started in Ireland, from whence Obama's great-great-great grandad, Norris McWhirter O'bama, left to seek his fortune in the USA. Sadly, his dreams turned to ashes and he ended his days as a bison in the Badlands of North Alabamassippi; he finally came to grief when he was kicked to death by feared Sioux warrior and architect Chief Galloping Nostril (immortalised by a raging Charles Hawtrey in the classic romantic comedy 'Nostril Kicks a Bison to Death').

As it was a state visit, the Obamas were taken in their 2 mile long Cadillac, nicknamed 'The Beast', to Buck House, where Liz and Phil had interrupted a game of British Bulldog in order to greet them. Liz peered down the Mall and inquired: "Have you see The Beast?". Phil replied, "Yes, Camilla's in the khazi munching on a bale of hay". When The Beast finally pulled up, Phil whispered to Liz: "Are these the new servants you were talking about?". Obama uncoiled himself from the Beast's depths and said:

OBAMA: "Hi....Yes, we can!.....how are you, your royal Edinboroughness"

PHIL: "Bloody hell, it's Huggy Bear!"

OBAMA: "I hear you guys were in Irelandland last week....Yes, we can!....did you enjoy the craic over there?"

PHIL: "No, Mr Bear, Lizzie keeps me on a tight leash these days. She wouldn't even let me attack the black stuff.....no offence meant, Mr Freeman."


(OBAMA: "Psst, your husband thinks I'm Huggy Bear. LIZ: "I'm sorry, Mr Luther King, he's from Greece.")

Obama made a speech to MPs and Peers in the ancient surroundings of Westminster Hall. One row consisted of all the living former Prime Ministers: Brown, Blair, Major, Cameron - but no Thatcher. The Iron Lady was too busy mixing eye of newt and kneecap of bat in her cauldron at home. Her welcome absence presented a dilemma - who could replace one of the most hated political figures in British history? Step forward, Mr Clegg, your time has come! Blair and Brown sat uneasily next to each other; they reminded of something but I could not put my finger on it. Then it came to me:


(Cissie Blair and Ada Brown enjoy emotional reunion)

Fortunately, I was able to lipread their conversation:

BLAIR: "Eee, Browny love, I hear you fancy going t'IMF."

BROWN: (looks puzzled, gurns, pushes up man boobs) "Nay, Blairy lass, I don't fancy any more bairns, not with me being a martyr to me...(mouths "haemorrhoids").

BLAIR: (Tuts) "Don't be so silly, Browny love, that's IVF, you twattish barm cake."

Meanwhile, it's been a bad few weeks for fugitive war criminals. First, Osama had his beard blown off by Steven Seagal; then, brutal Serb warlord Ratko Mladic was found lurking in a Serbian skip; and now, the most ruthless of them all, Sepp Blatter, leader of the notoriously corrupt mafia mob, FIFA, has been accused of corruption himself. Amazingly, his case has been referred to FIFA's ethics committee! FIFA has an ethics committee?! That's akin to the SS having an Etiquette Panel. Still, Obama's final gesture showed just how much he values the 'special relationship': he authorised the extradition of the notorious slapper of female toilet attendants, scrawny Geordie warbler Cheryl Cole, back to the UK. Cheers, canny lad!

Queen on Tour

It has been, we are repeatedly told, a truly historic visit. Not only historic but deeply symbolic too. In fact, it has been a historically symbolic and symbolically historic visit. This is, of course, Lizzie Windsor and Phil the Greek's jaunt to the Emerald Isle, so it is. As soon as the plane landed at Dublin airport, it was announced that the Queen was now eligible to play football for the Republic of Ireland, as well as Germany. It is thought unlikely she will be picked, though, as she has suffered a dramatic loss of form since she did her Achilles in at William's wedding.

Lizzie dutifully performed various memorial and ceremonial duties before she got down to the real reason for her visit - a trip to the Irish National Stud, or Colin Farrell as it is affectionately known. The Queen's vacant, dead eyes lit up when various gleaming stallions were paraded in front of her; she laid a wreath in memory of the Republican horses brutally murdered by the British in 1916; and she patted lots of wizened, tiny jockeys on their funny little heads. There was an embarrassing moment, however, when Lizzie mistook one of the horses for her daughter, Princess Anne. This was a ridiculous mistake to make as Anne was running in the 3.30pm at Kempton Park at the time.


(Wooden, clapped-out, unrealistic old nag views a demonstration of jockey skills)

Elsewhere, it has been a unrelenting litany of men behaving badly: Huhne, Laws, Fred the Shred, Schwarzenegger, Dominique Strauss-Kahn, Ken Clarke, and Rooney. The latter caused a Twitter rumpus when he responded to abusive tweets by threatening his interlocutor:'I'll put u asleep within 10 seconds'. One can imagine the fierce look of concentration on his primitive features - the furrowed overhanging brow; the tongue jutting from betwixt his baboonish incisors; sweat gleaming on his potato skull - as his huge Scouse paws bashed out his reponse.


(Rooney: "Hey, Coleen, how do you spell 'u', our kid?")

It is thought Rooney aimed to carry out this threat by ambushing his abuser and forcing him to read his pisspoor autobiography.