Lord Sornoff

Ah, I see. Thank you for clearing that up, Ladymuck. I was in half a mind to cook up an expenses scandal for the fresh-faced Buller. Ladymuck, are you a real peer like myself and if so - do you know my wife Hortensia?

Sorry Hal9000, but since when did Tory MP's have a hand in Hollywood? Or am I missing something here?

Quite so, flapjackdavey. I've come across this bumptious fellow on the television and I can't help but picture the porker tucking into the takeout with such enthusiasm that it may appear to a passer by that he's washing his face with a piece of Pitta bread. That's oiks for you, I'm afraid.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - Stieg Larsson. An absolute corker that I can't seem to put down. Tragically the author, Stig Larsson, died before seeing his 'Millenium Trilogy' becoming a worldwide best seller. I thoroughly recommend it.

National service. Bob-a-job. Table manners. Baddiel and Skinner.

It's not "people" I want to change (except if they the vote Labour). It's the song that fails to inflate Englishmen's chests, thus limiting their hunger to beast the opposition back into the ground, that demands change.

Most gracious.

When I want the oikish sarcasm of proles who support football teams (not you Mr Lush, you offered a sensible if alternative contribution) I'll ask or send for it. Rosie, old duck. Forgive me for appearing a little out-dated but I did quite clearly state that I was looking for the opinion of men. Not fillies. As you were.

What ho, England rugger men! Now, as you all know we're in a damned rough spot concerning our under-performance in the 6N of late, and I'm bloody well fed-up of it. We were clinically dished by O'Driscoll's Fenian cur's at HQ who skulked about on our gainlines like Jackals. And repelled our scrums with almost no effort at all. Not to mention illegally sacking English mauls. But I'm not bitter. Though I wont go into what happened at Murryfield. But, aside from complaining, we should be looking into the cause of the embarressment. I've been racking my brains chaps and I think I've come up with the goods. It isn't the facilities. It isn't the coaching staff. It isn't the schools that churn out our magnificent (yet currently underperforming) shire beef. It isn't even the opposition. It's bally Jerusalem! It's just too damned staid. Not enough fervor, not enough character, not enough spunk and definately not enough appeal to our younger audience. What we need is something to really get the crowd on its feet. Something to really cut through the mist. Something that screams: We'll get through, no matter the odds! Rugger men of England (and dominions, if you care to opine). Imagine our brave boys running out to the sound of this belting through the fans and speakers alike.

Shouldn't they be in the cadets by now, lilly? That'll put some air under their tails. And at no great cost to yourself, might I add.

Middle class, at best.

[pre] He's not the sort to get on the wrong side of... [/pre] Quite right. Not the sort of character you'd want to get on the wrong side of at all. So I've heard, you understand.

Plebian fare exposed, eh kpc, old scout.

Autographs.

Quite, Mr Dog. Progressive innovation is what seperates us from the animal kingdom. And Russians. I mean, you're not still brushing your teeth with soot are you Sue, old duck?

Some sage wisdom there, old stick.

Re: Scotlands draw with England. Haskell has shown his true colours as the pretender I always knew he was. There's no use looking like Tarzan if you're going to play like Jane. Borthers, Deacon, Easter and Worsley all had a hand in sullying the Rose by consistently conceeding ground in the collision. It took that scruffy oik Foden to actually biff and bloody those savages at Murryfield. A sad revelation for the England XV.

All sounds rather innocent. Unless you're foolish enough to believe that MET personnel are using the cover of darkness to molest their canine colleagues.

Knave.

No. Said accessory must be accompanied by a similar abomination. Aside from that, lets not deviate from the subject. Ford Capri.

Piano Key Tie.

Many thanks, old stick.

Your "days" would be long and hard. Your meals would be the luxury that is numbered. All one of them.

Anyhow, it wasn't my creation. It was offered up by a young serving boy called 'Jason' my staff at Sornoff Castle hired without my knowledge. He's currently languishing in my dungeons awaiting his punishment. Which will be most wrathful, I assure you.

Not "risky", Brum. Risque.