Guess Who's Back

As my readers will no doubt anticipate, we here in Albia were as shocked as the rest of the world by the sudden publication of a new videotaped message from Osama bin Laden. For one thing it was particularly surprising, given the likely impact of a foreign intervention upon the voting intentions of the American public, to note that Mr bin Laden's statement was not followed by a tape of the American President stating "I'm George Bush and I approved this message".

In any event, I can assure you that Prime Minister Schlop has reacted swiftly to bin Laden's words. He has already set his top intelligence experts and cryptology analysts to scrutinise the bin Laden video in the minutest detail in order to answer that most vital question: why was there no mention of Mr Schlop? Yes, I must inform my readers that the Prime Minister - so passionate an advocate of the war on Iraq that he instructed security officials to refer to a pea shooter believed to have been owned by Saddam Hussein during week seven of his third term at Baghdad junior high as a Weapon of Mass Destruction - was distraught to discover that he is seen as so minor a figure on the world stage by major terrorist organisations that he does not even warrant a mention. My readers should not be overly worried, however: I am assured that the PM has already begun to plan a series of initiatives to put his name back on the front of the papers and place the people of Albia back in the position of terrorist-related jeopardy they so richly deserve. What these initiatives will be must, at present, be uncertain, but I have already placed a telephone call to my bookmaker to place a small wager upon the imminent invasion of some "axis of Evil" state(*) and I can only advise that you do the same.


(*) North Korea, Iran or France say

Union Troubles

With matters rather quiet on the domestic front(*), now seems an appropriate time to look at events on the wider European scale. Such timing is undoubtedly fortuitous, given recent events at the European Parliament over the appointment of the new commission(**). Yet, despite this serendipitous conjunction of time and opportunity, I find that there is one small, yet insurmountable, obstacle to any deep discussion on this matter, that obstacle being the total lack of interest in the subject that I have discerned in all persons not engaged in practising or reporting upon the practise of European politics. Given this, I can only invite my readers to entertain themselves - perhaps with a game of computerised solitaire or a discussion of the personal habits of "Dave from accounts". In any event, I fully intend that my normal reporting service should be resumed tomorrow. Until then, adieu.

(*) by which I mean the Albian domestic front, rather than my own domestic front, which remains somewhat troubled (see In My Own Defence)
(**) matters already dealt with, I am sure, in your own media and fully explored, in any event by such organisations as BBC News Online

Playing The Odds

The subject looming largest from today's newspapers here in Albia(*) is that of gambling. This is, perhaps, unsurprising given the fondness successive Albian Governments have had for encouraging their citizenry to gamble, whether by playing the Nochanz, "investing" in a pension or being sent to Iraq. What is new is the Government's (That is to say, the Prime Minister's) eagerness to invite American gaming corporations to build "mega-casinos" here, thus turning even the most run-down and unappealing parts of Albia into something more like the most run-down and unappealing parts of Las Vegas or Atlantic City.

I must confess that I, for one, am rather in favour of the move, allowing, as it will, the average resident of Albia - such as, for instance, an impecunious foreign web-journalist(***), facing the prospect of both a penurious old age and imminent divorce should he fail to acquire a large of amount of cash at very short notice - to risk their last few pahnds, whether raised by the sale of a close relation or by simple theft, in a desperate attempt to cheat the unforgiving gods of financial responsibility.


(*) that is to say, of course, today's higher-end newspapers. The subject looming largest from the tabloids is usually the latest enhancement to the already somewhat over-extended embonpoint of noted micro-celebrity Syria, or some similarly weighty(**) matter.
(**) the pun was, I confess, unintended.
(***) particularly one whose attempts at vital organ brokerage(****) have thus far proved unsuccessful
(****) see Another Sorry Tale

Schloppy Thinking

Prime Minister Schlop has used his monthly press conference to announce a change in Albia's laws, permitting Albian jurors to hear details of the previous convictions of criminals in certain situations. As one might expect, lawyers are already flocking to TV and radio stations up and down the land - demanding only relatively minor appearance fees - in order to attack the move as an assault on the presumption of innocence. Mr Schlop, however, remains unmoved. What it is that explains his absolute resolve on this point - other than the promptings of the members of the secret police and the forcefully expressed views of the "Heyt" - is not yet fully established, but many feel certain that the reason the Krep party leader sees no difficulty in seeing a person's previous convictions exposed is that he has, and never will have, any convictions about anything himself.

In My Own Defence

Having received a somewhat stern missive from the Head of News, enquiring as to the reason for the absence of any updates to this blog over the last few days and elaborating upon certain suggestions as to the possible reason for the lack of updates which had reached her ear, I feel it necessary to defend myself. It is for this reason that I wish to make it clear beyond peradventure that any suggestion that I was to be found for much of the last 48 hours standing beneath the window of my former (and my wife Ylatea's present) home(*), a large bottle of potato-based alcohol in my hand, tearfully begging her to "for God's sake take me back" are wholly false and malicious.

(*) see Back Again and Caught Out

A Scurrilous Rumour

Some "wit" (the usage is light) today suggested to me that he has discovered the true "area of extreme peril" to which Albia's Cerise Observers regiment is to be sent (see Troops In). Being a serious journalist, I took him in a serious journalistic manner, by which I mean that I attempted to get him drunk in order to loosen his tongue sufficiently for him to divulge all. In any event, it was after the third or fourth bottle of potato-based vodka that this "wit" revealed that the area of extreme conflict to which the Albian troops will be relocated is between Prime Minister Schlop and his Minister of Finance, the dour Bragdny Door. I confessk, I did not laugh. Indeed, I further confess that I punched the "wit" rather hard.

Eyes On The Price

The Grevvitren has taken the somewhat unexpected decision to publish details of BGs claims for allowances and expenses. The figures - which reveal that, including office expenses and such like, the average BG takes home some fifty two times the average Albian wage - have appalled many Albians. It is quite obvious, given the briefest perusal of the detailed figures and even the smallest knowledge of the average BG's lifestyle, that the BGs are grossly underdeclaring their income. Some put this down to the simple fact that the BGs are lying, while others suggest it is due to the fact that many BGs choose to take their expense payments in the traditional form, to wit in used five pahnd(*) notes, wrapped up in a brown paper bag, delivered in an underground car park some time after midnight.

(*) The "pahnd" is the Albian unit of currency

Troops In

Proceedings in the Grevvitren today were dominated once more by the issue of Iraq (readers might wish to glance at Up In Arms below for earlier developments), with opposition leader Zavlov Nizder pressing Prime Minister Schlop on the planned relocation of Albia's famous Cerise Observers regiment to the part of that benighted country(*) apparently known to US troops as the "Triangle of Death". Mr Schlop denied that a decision had been taken to send the regiment to any such area, although he refused to comment on whether they might end up in the "Polyhedron of Peril", the "Rectangle of Riot" or the "Dodecahedron of Despair".

(*) by which I mean Iraq, not Albia - although the description is, admittedly, equally applicable to either.

Caught Out

Today has seen charges brought against controversial Muslim cleric Abu Al Skeypgote, who has become a well-known figure on the front pages of Albia's tabloid newspapers due in part to his alleged invovement in terrorist activity, but chiefly due to the fact that he has a hook for a hand, which gives him the appearance of a villain in a 1940's Saturday morning serial. Those who have followed events in Albia over the last year will remember that Mr Al Skeypgote's arrest in May caused more than the usual degree of embarrassment in Albian governmental circles. In hindsight, it is certainly true that it was unwise for the arresting officers only to have been given the vaguest description of their intended captive, especially bearing in mind the proximity of Mr Al Skeypgote's mosque to the local children's theatre. Needless to say actors, staff and indeed the whole audience of under-10's, were somewhat shocked to have the matinee of Peter Pan rudely interrupted by a flood of tear gas as members of the riot squad(*) burst into the auditorium and proceeded to beat what I understand is normally referred to as "seven shades" out of Captain Hook. Luckily, I understand that the good captain has survived his ordeal with nothing more than minor spinal and head injuries and that he will soon adapt to spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

By the way, several readers have enquired as to my current housing situation following my little dispute with my dear wife (see Back Again). I can only say that negotiations are ongoing and that I hope that the matters will be resolved soon (or at least before Vlotar discovers that an unfortunate wrong turn during a nocturnal visit to what I might, were I given to euphemistic language, refer to as "the smallest room in the cybercafe", may have been the cause both of the fact that 3 of his computers shorted out on "booting up" this morning and also of the rather unsavoury odour which has been afflicting the building)

(*) So named, as far as the average Albian citizen is concerned, because of the tendency of the squad to act like a rioting mob.

Up In Arms

Members of the opposition Nyesti party have been whipping themselves into a frenzy(*) following the call by the US Military for Albian troops to be relocated from their present bases in the South of Iraq (where they are relatively unlikely to be killed) to the area around Baghdad (where their life expectancy will be reduced in a manner more usually associated with a decision to slide naked down the Cresta Run).

This afternoon, the Grevvitren was addressed by Defence Minister Bland Patsi, who sought to play down fears that the Albian Army would be placed in danger in order to assist President George Bush in his campaign to be re-elected(**). Mr Patsi made clear to the Zkum that the Albian Government has one purpose and one purpose alone for endangering members of the Albian Armed Forces, and that purpose is to fulfil the Prime Minister's self-image as a new Messiah, bringing peace to the world. Mr Patsi went to remind BGs of the nobility of this goal and to assure them that the PM would undoubtedly achieve it, never mind how many people have to be killed in order for him to do so.

(*) something of a surprise this, as scandals during the last Nyesti administration would suggest that the party's BGs usually prefer to be whipped by someone else, preferably wearing black leather or PVC.
(**) I use the prefix "re" rather loosely.

Another Sorry Tale

It seems that my frequent apologies have started something of a trend. The latest figure to don the sackcloth and ashes and abase themselves before the public is no lesser personage than Ygor Bumblah, the well-known Nyesti politician, editor, novelist, leader-writer and (to use an indelicate yet apposite term) media-whore. The crime for which Mr Bumblah has been forced by his party leader, Zavlov Nizder, to apologise was his decision to use the pages of his august(*) publication "The Bystander" to launch an attack on the people of Skowz. It has been made clear to Mr Bumblah that - in suggesting that all the people of Skowz were self-indulgent whiners, always banging on about the alleged marvels of their heritage and the wonders of their city whilst at the same time being desperate to flee that same metropolis and never, ever return there - he had gone beyond the pale(**). Mr Bumblah has now undertaken to walk from Blizsta to Skowz upon his knees, whilst scourging himself with a cat-o'-nine-tails, in order to make clear that he has learnt his lesson and will never, ever insult a whole city of people with the ability to vote for his party again. In future, I am assured he will confine himself to the more usual Nyesti tactic of attacking asylum seekers.

Meanwhile, I myself must apologise, having assured readers in my post of Friday (see A Brief Update) that I would update them on my progress by yesterday. I am sure they will understand that negotiations are somewhat hush-hush at the moment, but I can reveal that it presently appears that ensuring a financially secure future can be greatly facilitated if one can avail oneself of a ready supply of human kidneys.

(*) the term here used to indicate that the magazine is published in the eighth month of the year, rather than that it is impressive or tends to inspire reverence or admiration.
(**) a relatively easy feat for Mr Bumblah, whose pallor is such that his skin tone is used as a comparator in Albian adverts for the effectiveness of washing powders.

A Brief Update

Little to report today, though there has been some good news on the pension front (see Pensioned Off and Pensioned Off Part 2): Vlotar believes he may have discovered a little scheme which should see me comfortably into my old age without any great need to concern myself about matters financial. As a result, I shall be popping briefly north of Blizsta's beautiful Zkumi River to take further advice on the matter from a Mr Dojji. I shall report on my findings tomorrow.

Who's Sorry Now?

I am pleased to be able to provide another apology to my readers, particularly as the apology in question issues not from your correspondent but from that world famous Albian footballing icon, Dumazd Fickficki(*). Mr Fickficki's apology related to his actions during last weekend's soccer match between Albia and its fellow member of the Unified Kingdom of Greater Albia, the Principality of Taphs. For those who did not witness the match, I should explain that Fickficki marred an otherwise professional performance by committing a wholy unnecessary and somewhat petulant foul on one of the Taph players, resulting in a yellow card. Following some controversy in the Albian media, Fickficki has now delivered a fulsome apology, explaining that his tackle (in which he leapt two-footed at the opposing player, wielding a pair of what I believe are usually termed "nunchuks", which he had previously fashioned from two sections of corner flag pole, tied together with the centreforward's sporting support) was utterly disgraceful and had brought Albian football into disrepute. He went on to promise that next time he would be sure to "do the job properly", to which end he will be bringing a couple of knuckle-dusters, a samurai sword and a chainsaw.


(*) for those of my readers not well versed in footballing matters, Fickficki will be easily recognisable from his appearances in assorted advertisements, on the front page of tabloid newspapers and between the covers of "OhNo!" Albia's favourite "celebrity" magazine. The young footballer is also famed as the husband of Tooffin Fickficki, the former member of the all-female popular music group, the Herb Girls (**)
(**) Tooffin herself was, I am told, popularly referred to during her time in this group as "Common Herb".

Back to Work

As, further to my posts in relation to the matter of pensions (see Pensioned Off and Pensioned Off Part 2), it now appears that I shall have to purchase a winning lottery ticket, rob a medium-to-large banking establishment or continue in full employment until the age of 327 in order to provide for myself, I felt it incumbent on me to press my nose once more to the grindstone whilst simultaneously pressing my back against the wall and provide some further information on events in Albia.

Today saw the first Questions to the Prime Minister of the new Parliamentary session. The event was undoubtedly an exciting one, with Members of the Grevvitren (BGs) on all sides baying like pitbulls, much to the discomfort of Deputy Prime Minister Rrrowr. The chief matter raised was Prime Minister Schlop's continued refusal to apologise for Albia's involvement in the Gulf War. Mr Schlop was, however, willing to reiterate his apology for the "failure intelligence prior to the war", though he refused to clarify whether this "failed intelligence" was a reference to the security services or to President Bush's intellectual capacities.

Pensioned Off Part 2

Following on from my previous post (Pensioned Off), and having had the word with my accountant that I mentioned, I wonder if anybody could further elucidate for me what exactly it is that occurs when one's employer "goes on a pension holiday"?

Pensioned Off

All Albia is reeling following the latest government-sponsored report into the Albian pension systems. The very finest minds in Albia, led by the former head of Albia's Confederation of British Industry (an organisation whose motto, both elegant and accurate, translates from the Latin as "Expensive Goods, Badly Made"), have scoured the national accounts over the past twelve months. After this lengthy period of exhaustive research, they have been able to estimate the total pension pot available to the sixty million inhabitants of The Unified Kingdom of Greater Albia(*). Sadly, a simple division of that pot between those sixty million would suggest that the average Albian will, on retirement, be able to look forward to a sum sufficient to purchase three Mars Bars, a week's supply of blotting paper or (and this last is perhaps the saddest point) a six-month-old Rover 100.

My readers will understand when I say I have made clear how deeply I sympathise with the Albians over this matter, even while I privately thank fate, heaven or whatever other power may watch over me, that I was born - and have my pension situated - in a country like Britain. That said, I hope my readers will forgive me if I "log off" (perhaps the most unfortunate computer-related phrase I have come across so far) in order to have a word with my accountant.

(*) it is interesting to note that no-one is quite sure what "Lesser Albia" is, or whether it ever existed at all.

Back Again

I feel I should apologise for the rather late appearance of today's entry. This has been necessitated by my enforced - though, I am sure, temporary - relocation, my dear wife Ylatea having asked that I absent myself from our little home due to what she refers to as my "behaviour" following my return from the Nyesti Proti's conference. As I explained in my last post (An Impostor), I am unaware of having indulged in any "behaviour" - be it good, bad or indifferent - following my return, but - be that as it may - I have now been forced to relocate to young Vlotar's cybercafe.

In any event, with the conference season having come to an end there seems to be precious little news for me to give a commentary upon. The main item of interest was a speech by Prime Minister Schlop outlining his "vision for a third term"(*). The PM spoke of creating a new "Opportunity Albia", in which every citizen will be given choices. The precise nature of these choices is, as yet, unclear, but a brief survey of my fellow cybercafe inhabitants suggests they expect Mr Schlop to grant them the choice to pay for their child's schooling or see them condemned to a life of flipping burgers or appearing on reality TV, and the choice to pay for healthcare or die.

(*) I cannot help but wonder if "vision" was a wise word for a man who has become increasingly reliant on wearing spectacles to have chosen.

An Impostor

I seem to have been the victim of an impostor. Though my advisor on all things electronic, young Vlotar, tells me that such a thing is highly unlikely, it seems that someone has gained access to my "blog". I say this after glancing at the entry Now Then Where Was I? which was clearly made by someone in the advanced stages of inebriation and most certainly not by me. I can solemnly attest that I have no memory of making such an entry (indeed, I have very little memory of anything since the closing stages of the Nyesti Party conference - a lapse I attribute to stress and overwork). In any event, I shall investigate matters further.

Now Then, Where Was I?

Nyesti conferensh ish over. "Come for a drink", they shaid. Sho wennfurra drink. Jusht the one obvussly. Find ver ver hard to rite, I mean, write (why they put that wubbleyoo there anyway?). Try again later. Gonna have bad, bad head tomorro. Ended up chattin to Nyeshti leader himshelf. Ver ver nishe chap, that Mr Nizder. Ver nishe. Pity doeshn't casht a shadow. Got a bandage? Sheem to have theshe two little, little, tiny, little holesh in m'neck. Know what? Think might pash out. Or maybe I'' mange to shtay awak.................................

A Big Impression

My entry of yesterday (An Old Headache) may have given the impression that I would at some point be reporting on the speech by Yuge Ffattposchie, the Shadow Defence Minister. Indeed, it had been my intention to do so. The regrettable fact that I am unable to put my intention into effect is due to Mr Ffattposchie's failure to give any speech at all. This failure was, in its turn, due to the ample-girthed shadow minister being unavoidably detained in hospital. The exact circumstances which occasioned this hospitalisation have not yet been fully clarified, but my own investigations have shed some little light on the matter. My readers may or may not be aware that Zemetri is currently playing host to an international gathering of hot-air balloonists. In any event, preparations for the ascent of a large number of these balloons were underway yesterday morning when Mr Ffattposchie (having seen the large number of wicker ballooning baskets in the field the balloonists were intending to launch from and assuming them to be indicative of a picnic of proportions appropriately gargantuan for a person of his stature) arrived on the scene. Bearing in mind the surrounding activity, it was unfortunate that Mr Ffattposchie should have chosen today to wear a particularly colourful blazer in fetching red, yellow and blue. In any event, it seems that, in the early morning mist, two balloonists mistook the senior Nyesti for their balloon, with the result that they attempted to get him aloft by placing their burner near his rear and setting it to full flame. I am assured by his doctors that Mr Fffatposchie should make a full recovery in due course, though I understand that his seat upon the shadow front benches will have to be furnished with a number of cushions in the interim.

An Old Headache

Whilst waiting for today's big event at the Nyesti Party conference (the word "big" being particularly apposite, given that the event in question will be the speech by Shadow Defence Minister and sumo yokozuna Yuge Ffattposchie) I thought I might give a little depth to my reader's(*) understanding of Albia by highlighting a story from the morning papers that may otherwise have escaped attention. The item that piqued my interest can be found in Da Garindua (a similar story can be found here). The paper claims that an ancient skull, dating back to perhaps 950 AD, shows evidence of brain surgery having been carried out in Anglo-Saxon Albia (**) . Such a story would not, in the ordinary course of things, have any great significance. In this case, however, the archaeologists have not merely found the skull on which the operation itself was carried out, but also the surgical instruments that were used. What is more remarkable still was that the instruments were found in Blizsta's St Gozondor's hospital. I am sure I need not add that the crude bronze scalpel and rusty iron trepanning tool were being exhibited as the latest, most state-of-the-art equipment being provided by the Albian Health Service.

(*) having asked Vlotar to apprise me of the number of "hits" my little "blog" receives, I understand the positioning of the apostrophe, indicative as it is of the possessive noun's singularity, is appropriate.
(**) fear not, gentle reader, I shall, indeed, be explaining in a later blog how it is that Albia, like Britain, should chance to have an Anglo-Saxon heritage.

A Matter Of Trust

Startling events at today's Nyesti Party conference here in Zemetri, where Nyesti leader Zavlov Nizder was making his address to the party. My readers should understand that Mr Nizder has not always had the most "friendly" of media personae: indeed, he was once described as "having so much of the night about him that every time he comes near I get an overpowering urge to hide under the bedcovers until he goes away again". Many believe that his failure to revive the Nyesti's fortunes in the polls(*) can be attributed to this poor public perception of Mr Nizder, though he himself tends to place the blame for his failure to return some life to the party on the lack of a sufficiently powerful lightning storm and the incompetence of his assistant, Igor.

In any event, Mr Nizder chose - in that phrase so beloved of a certain breed of modern political commentator - to "reconnect" with his party and the Albian people by placing emphasis on the issue of trust. To this end, he closed his speech by striding forward from his podium, asking the party to "Trust in me, just in me" while his eyes went through a startling series of colour changes. At first no effect was noticeable, but then the audience rose as one, with a cry of "Yes master" before obeying their leaders' command to "prepare themselves for government" as well as to "pop out into and grab me a couple of virgins, while you're at it". Fortunately, disaster was averted, due in part to the fact Mr Nizder realised he may perhaps have been carried away by the moment, but chiefly due to the distressing lack of virgins in Zemetri.

(*) where they currently languish somewhere below botulinum toxin in the affections of the Albian population.

The Tracks Of My Tears

I have, at last, arrived here in Zemetri. I should, perhaps, explain my frustration. Matters will become clear when I inform my readers that I set out for Zemetri by train last night. Matters will become clearer still when I further inform my readers that the Zemetri is a mere 100 miles and yet the journey took some 12 hours (*).

Adding to my irritation (and, indeed, the irritation of the other journalists travelling with me - a wild and dangerous bunch, capable en masse of draining the most well-stocked bar with a rapidity matched only by a school of piranha stripping a carcass of its flesh) at the length of the journey, was the fact that the train on which I was travelling was operated by Nymffo Rail, one of the multifarious companies headed by the hirsute billionaire self-publicist, Dikki Tvot. In his never-ending pursuit of customer welfare (**) Mr Tvot has installed new tilting trains (***) on the Blizsta to Zemetri line, with the result that (combined admittedly with more than a merely medicinal intake of potato-based alcohol by those on board) by the end of our journey the interior of the journalists' carriage resembled nothing so much as one of Jackson Pollock's later works.

Luckily, the time spent travelling was not passed wholly unprofitably: all journalists travelling to Zemetri having been issued with the Nyesti Proti's programme for the conference, which explains that much of today will be spent setting out what the party would do in the first days and weeks after taking power, we quickly decided that a small wager might be in order. I must admit that I am rather confident of what I believe gamblers refer to as "a result", having placed a not inconsiderable sum on the Nyestis to decide to invade Poland within 1 month of taking power (****)


(*) though I appreciate that my readers in the United Kingdom will be amazed that any rail journey could be made so quickly.
(**) a pursuit rather less never-ending than his pursuit of headlines
(***) tilting trains are nothing new for Albia. In the past many of Albia's trains have frequently tilted so far that they have fallen off the tracks altogether.
(****) the odds were, admittedly, rather low.

Bringing It All Back Home

I have taken the opportunity of a brief lull in the party conference season(*) to return home to Blizsta. I can assure my readers that the reaction of my dear wife Ylatea was as enthusiastic as that of the Finance Minister to the PM's return from surgery (see Back On Track). Indeed, so keen is she that I should spend more time at home that while I was away she invited young Vlotar to our little flat to check the possibilities of setting up a home office. She tells me that Vlotar had come round to check over the points and had attempted a quick installation. Sadly it seems that things "went down", whatever that means, several times. In any event, she tells me that she does not anticipate having to worry about my "little floppy" any more, especially as she anticipates that Vlotar will give things "a good seeing to" next week while I am back in Zemetri next week for the Nyesti Party conference. Strange to relate, but, as she was telling me all this, I was overcome by a sudden and powerful desire to watch one of the old "Carry On" movies, though what on earth could have created a need to see one of those dreadful productions, filled as they are with cheap sexual innuendo and doubles entendres I cannot say.

(*) the only conference currently being held being is that of the Albia Proti Endependenz (the Albian Independence Party or APE), a party notable chiefly for the fact that it's most famous member, Berot Yolik-Lesk, has a tan of a shade not seen since British Leyland took the decision to abandon "sludge" as one of the colour choices for the Austin Princess.

Back on Track

I am happy to be able to inform my readers that Albia's Prime Minister has successfully undergone cardiac treatment (see The Heart Of The Matter) and is now recovering at home. Needless to say, there has been a great show of rejoicing among Mr Schlop's Krep Party members: none more so than Finance Minister Bragdny Door, who was so moved at the news that Mr Schlop had survived the operation on his heart that he instantly burst into what, even at the risk of cliche, can only properly be described as floods of tears.

The Heart Of The Matter

It grieves me to have to report that Albia's Prime Minister, Kiznya Schlop, has today been admitted to Blizsta's St Gozondor's Hospital where he is to undergo minor cardiac surgery. I dismiss outright all those wits who suggest that the purpose of the heart operation is to see if Mr Schlop has one in the first place (though I agree entirely with those wits who suggest that the surgery on the PM's heart would not have been necessary if he had refrained from wearing it on his sleeve so often).

Krep Party politicians have been swift to react to the news, with most of them regretfully announcing that they will be standing for the party leadership should Kiznya fail to pull through. There is one notable exception to this, of course, and that is the Deputy Prime Minister. This is due to a number of factors including the Deputy PM's undoubted loyalty to Mr Schlop and the fact that he is a bear. This last point perhaps deserves a little explanation. Regular readers will perhaps recall from my report O Tempora, O Mores that the bear released into the debating chamber of the Grevvitren last week by pro-bear-baiting protestors was mistaken for the Deputy Prime Minister, Dobbel Yags. Indeed, many have since remarked on the remarkable resemblance between the two: both being hirsute, stockily built, bad-tempered and almost wholly unintelligible. This resemblance turned out to be most fortuitous, especially when it was realised that the bear had, in fact, eaten Mr Yags during the course of the bear-baiting protest. In any event, Mr Schlop displayed his usual pragmatism by appointing the bear in Mr Yags place. While many of you may wonder at such a decision, I can only say that most delegates at the Krep Party conference were of the opinion that the closing speech by the Deputy Prime Minister (who has apparently expressed the desire to be addressed as "Rrrowr") was the best they had heard in years.