HARK THE HERALD ROZZERS SING.

Now I know that you who live in the real world, the one where you spend all day stacking shelves in Tesco for a bleeding pittance, and not a denizen of luvviedom where for ridiculous amounts of dosh you stand in front of a camera and fart for a living while pretending to be intelligent, in short the folk who get the bus to work, that’s right, you lot. In short the sort who have to rely on common sense to propel them through the rigours of the daily grind without the guidance of the guardian newspaper and the sustenance of half a dozen skinny lattes. Getting there? I am of course referring to the common sods of this benighted nation, the ones who voted to leave the EU and think changing their underwear more than once a month is socially pretentious.

This offering is chiefly concerned with culture. Not something which suffuses my readership with enthusiasm, but you are going to get some all the same, it will do you good. Not only will it do you good but will illuminate the idiocy to which the official class has descended and from which I fear we can not be rescued. I am referring to the events surrounding the Derbyshire Constabulary Male Voice Choir. Now what, you may ask is wrong with that? Nothing of course, but then we live in the real World, unlike the pillock who occupies the post of Chief Constable of Derbyshire, this shining intellect has axed the choir because there are no women in their ranks. No women in a male voice choir? Scandalous, not only that but there are no gender benders, you know, the dopey pricks pretending to be women, which are all the rage these days, especially in the corridors of power where it is practically mandatory to pretend to have nothing between ones legs while offering irrefutable proof of having nothing between ones ears.

Where will all this end? Alas I can not answer that, well I could but I am attempting to keep this as decent as possible. The root of the problem is the individual who saunters through the upper ranks of the police force under the name of Peter Goodman, there’s a laugh for a start. Considering his stance on this matter perhaps he should change his name, how about Diane Abbot? Or even Shirley Temple. The fellow, if indeed one is permitted to use such a gender specific term in these ultra censorious times, demonstrates with debilitating clarity what is necessary to rise to the top in the ranks of law enforcement, and catching burglars is obviously not a requirement of the job, as indulging in such mundane activities as protecting the public would definitely detract from such essential duties as adjudicating on the sexual composition of police choirs.

The fact that there are no women in a male voice choir is obviously a bone of contention, but there is another gripe lurking in the organ loft, the buggers are all white. White. I ask you? What are those warbling coppers thinking of? After all you can not, in this politically correct day and age have a coon free choir. How embarrassing for the Chief Constable, no wonder he shut the joint down. It has in all fairness to be pointed out that the choir has raised £750k for charity but that is no excuse for not having a compliment of one legged black lesbians in its ranks, plus a couple of gender benders, just for balance you understand.

It has been most remiss of the choir to allow this situation to develop, knowing as we do the feelings of Mr. Goodman, so eloquently expressed for public consumption, which I will encapsulate for the benefit of my readership, most of whom are probably on benefits themselves, not that I am trying to be elitist you understand, heaven forefend I should do such an unfeeling thing, but, I digress.

Copper Goodman has stated unreservedly that he does not want to be represented by a tribe of old white men, perfectly understandable, but what I find difficult to comprehend is while the man displays obvious distaste for old white men, he is perfectly happy to live off them, for the taxes these deplorable white men pay, funds his wages. Funny old world innit.