You could enter our (imaginary) competition to win an all expenses paid trip to a foreign dignitary's offshore island- complete with spa treatments, a banquet in your honor and the finest range of escorts money can buy.
To be in with a chance to win, simply open up a multi-national business, banking arm or golf ball finding venture, rake in the millions and don't file the tax return. You can rest assured that all of you who don't win will still be eligible for our booby prize- a negotiation to be done at your convenience. We are of course all mates here, the rates of tax should reflect that...
In other news, homegrown sensation nutty Nigel Farage
stormed the UK charts this week. His Eurovision entry; "Nil poit? You can all f*ck off" sold at a rate of one to four against all other competitors. Good work for a debut but with no next single set for release, it is yet to be known how the band can fare against the major players. Industry insiders suggest leaked album tracks 'My Tory Heart' and 'Half a Manifesto' soon become repetitive but in this tabloid age a quirky group with hard hitting lyrics and a fondness for playing the local pubs could be the next big story. Catch them in a bar near you soon.
In seriousness, the economy it seems is still having a shocker. We're no better off- borrowing just as much as we were and we've been cut more than Chucky's voodoo dolls. There are those playing the systems that will always be better off than we are but, let's face it, there is obviously food a plenty at Chateau de Osborne- albeit if he does understand the system.
The Middle Aged Spread
There's a middle aged spread growing over the Tories
The Osbornes and Camerons are getting a podge
There's a new prince in town and we're bored of their stories
Put something in the Mail, there's a question to dodge.
There's a middle aged spread growing over the Tories
The King of the Clowns is usurping their seats
Stealing their votes in the wards they've known glory
The outsiders are coming, they will share in the feast.
There's a middle aged spread growing over the Tories
We're sick of their tales of the terrible mess
We're not growing a jot but the figures are oily
We're an NHS cut from more civil unrest.
There's a middle aged spread growing over the Tories
Who knows what it is but they're fattening up
They're pressing the tablecloths, arranging the doilies
Getting it whilst they can, we're soon in for more cuts
Visit all the tax havens and take back their cream cakes
Get up from their tables, dine amongst real folk
There's a middle aged spread growing over the Tories
With a burgeoning waistline that's becoming a joke.
Thanks for reading,
Shaun.