Category: Getting around the country

Burger King are set to revolutionise motoring cuisine with the announcement of an enticing tie-up with a high street bank to offer mortgages, strictly for the purchase of burgers at M4 MOTO services.

“It’ll make a change from advertising impotence cures in the toilets on the services,” our motoring expert, Mr Eight Cylinder, says, “at least in the gents. I’m not sure what they advertise in the ladies? Maybe the same?”

It’s believed the bank saw an opening after one of its mortgage brokers actually bought a Double Cheese Smokey Bacon Triple Bun Artery Buster meal deal at the Membury Services on the M4.

“They credit scored him before putting the order through to the kitchen,” Mr Cylinder says, “and at that moment he knew that the price was now so out of reach for most people, unless, and here’s the key point, it could be paid off over twenty five years.”

The mortgages will be processed quickly, normally only entailing a wait of two or three hours before approval.

“People who already have good equity in bricks and mortar will be approved immediately, with their home used to secure the burger mortgage in case of default.”

But what about people who are renting?

“Well, you understand this is a trial offer, which is why it’s only available on the M4 outlets to start. But there is an expectation to offer it to people without equity in a property later, so long as they have children that can inherit the debt.”

The move by Burger King is expected to be taken as an aggressive act by other fast food outlets and it’s likely that McDonalds, KFC and others will soon be seeking tie ups with banks to offer similar deals.

“It’s incredibly clever,” Mr Eight Cylinder observes, “now not only the meal and memory of the cost can repeat on you long after consumption, but the repayments will too!”

Blackpool is bracing for an exciting short term future after a large sea monster appeared off the coast on Monday.

“Shortly after breakfast, but before morning tea break on Monday, a large lizard rose out of the sea and began shouting obscenities at the town of Blackpool,” our large sea monster correspondent, Mr Magoo, reports, “at first it seemed the gigantic lizard was drunk and trying to get directions back to the Sea of Japan, but it soon became clear it was after other matters when it didn’t order an Uber.”

People standing on the famous seafront, and some running away screaming, reported the sea monster was more legible in its speech than it appeared at first.

”After it had cleared its throat it was quite civil really,” Doris, up for the day and present at the time commented, “mostly he was about getting the fcuking fracking stopped. You know, the environmentalists in government have encouraged their chums to smash endocrine destroying chemicals into the water table in Lancashire so they can make a quick buck before we all die from climate change. Which is nice, to look after your friends in business like that.”

But a spokesman for Environmental Secretary Michael Gove’s office was having none of it.

”It’s not the fracking that’s causing all the fracking earthquakes,” the spokesman said, “it’s the bloody hippies jumping up and down in protest what’s doing it. We’re going to arrest the lot so modern Britain can go on being part of the race to the bottom in all notable categories. Like the sea. Our good friends in Cuadrilla are very distressed to be blamed when it’s clearly nothing whatsoever to do with blasting the shit under pressure out of the rocks in the ground.”

The sea monster is expected to make land later today. Michael Gove is expected to accompany the owners of Cuadrilla in running far, far away.

As disgraced transport operator Virgin Trains distributes an obscene sum in dividends, LCD Views attempted to contact the Transport Secretary for comment. His office gave us the following message: “The Transport Secretary is currently off the rails. Instead, we are operating a Grayling Replacement Service.”

Further investigation revealed that the Grayling replacement service turned up at approximately the right place, although often late. This no-frills service meant that the standards expected of the Grayling, like coherent policies and informed comment, were entirely absent.

Searching for clarity, we spoke to railway analyst Tommy Tank. “The Grayling has been AWOL for far too long,” remarked Tank. “Since his appointment as Transport Secretary in July 2016, he has been in the sidings awaiting an essential upgrade.”

This applies to his previous incarnations as well, claims Tank. For example, he spent his time as Minister of State for Employment on the sick.

Tank, however, had no answer to the dividends paid by an operator who had simultaneously cost the taxpayer £2.3bn, so we tried asking the Grayling replacement service. “Nothing to do with me,” the service said. “There is no loss to taxpayers at this time, and how a private company manages its finances is not up to me.”

But, we argued, therefore the taxpayer should not be expected to bail out a failing franchise? “Privatisation cannot be allowed to fail!” said the service. “Look, are you getting on? Do you want me to take you for a ride, or not?”

Declining the chance to go somewhere we didn’t want to go, we were nonetheless hauled on board. Half of the fellow passengers were ecstatic, the other half wanted to get off but had been strapped in anyway. The driver waved her cycling proficiency certificate proudly, closed her eyes and shouted, “Welcome to the Mystery Tour!”

And off we went, slowly and with many changes of direction, but inexorably towards the buffers…

The Irish border. That pesky Red Line. One of the biggest sticking points in the Brexit negotiations. The harder the Brexit, the harder the border. So how can you have an Irish border that is both there and not there? Simple. You redraw it as a broken line.

All sides insist that the border must remain open and frictionless. But any Brexit worthy of the name necessarily includes a land border between the UK and the EU. So the border must be both there and not there. You might say it’s neither here or there, but it’s most definitely there.

The solution came from an unlikely source. Physical geographer Dr Shannon Estuary explains. “All borders are artificial, to some extent,” she said. “In many cases, they are simply red lines drawn on to a map, often in an arbitrary manner. The British are past masters at drawing borders. To stop the red line becoming an obstacle, you can simply rub bits out and leave a dotted line.”

Dr Estuary clarifies how neat this solution is. “It means you can have a hard border where you want it to be hard, and frictionless transit in between!” she boasted. “A solution Boris Johnson himself would be proud of.”

It would give the border a whole new look, she emphasised. “It would mean a shake-up,” she said. “The border would wiggle up and down like a snake. It would be above ground in some places, below in others, but most definitely present throughout its whole length!”

Construction would be problematic, she concedes. “However, since the UK is so determined to kick out unskilled European tradesmen, the Republic would have to take them in, and make them build the dotted border,” she said. “We wouldn’t need to pay them, call it a thank-you for allowing them to scrounge off us for so long.”

So long, and thanks for all the bricks.

Secretary of State for Magnificent Failures Chris Grayling has revealed his true motivation in authorising the third runway at Heathrow airport. It is to allow his esteemed colleague Boris Johnson to fly in and out of the country in his private jet whenever he feels the need.

“It’s a no-brainer,” Grayling boasted in a conversation overheard by LCD’s Phone-Tapping correspondent. “Boris needs to go to foreign parts, as he is Foreign Secretary. His latest mission was in secret, to France, to pick up an early consignment of blue passports. Just to keep on the right side of the law. You can’t be too careful, some of the backbenchers are starting to get suspicious.”

“Failing” Grayling went on to justify the expense as a “Brexit benefit”, although he didn’t specify how a private runway for a prominent buffoon would boost the economy.

“Off-railing” Grayling boasted about his other recent success, the train from Newcastle to Reading that took a wrong turn, and ended up in Manchester. “I am very pro-choice,” he bragged. “There is no reason why trains should not be released from the tyranny of signalmen, and choose their own destiny. Manchester is a much more exciting and vibrant place than Reading, even if it is in the North.”

The use of taxpayers’ money for Johnson’s plane has not yet been authorised. However, terrified Tories will be whipped until they approve it. Labour will mount stiff resistance by abstaining, and allow Boris his private jet by default.

“I’m delighted with the news,” said a beaming Boris. “What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, as Nanny used to say. Now is the summer of my great content. I’m most fantangulously combobulated!”

Until the plane arrives, Boris will just have to make do with a zip wire.

The only remaining uncertainty is the location of the runway. It may be detached from Heathrow for convenience. After all, there are several poor areas of London not far from Westminster which are ripe for being concreted over.

“Timetable means timetable,” Secretary of State for Transport Chris Grayling stated earlier today to a press conference, that only featured his pet cocker spaniel in the audience.

The press briefing was a little forced as Mr Grayling is instinctively shy when involved in any area of government that he has been given responsibility for and immediately screwed up. Which of course means that Mr Grayling is always inherently shy.

“And we are going to get the best timetable possible for Britain,” he added, as the spaniel raced around the room like a child who’s had two litres of coke, “a timetable that works for all of our citizens, whether they are based offshore, or even further offshore.”

The move to reassure the travelling public, and the private individuals benefiting from a set of publicly subsidised, localised monopolies was timely, even if his dog was the only person to hear it first hand.

When questioned in a series of high pitched yelps what he was going to do to improve the staggering collapse of service with the introduction of the new timetable last Monday, Mr Grayling was adamant.

“It’s better to have no timetable than a bad timetable,” to that end, “we will be removing from service all those parts of the timetable that are proving unworkable due to interference from time itself, it seems, then we will restructure time so it works with our aspirations.”

So life as we know it will end? If you’re to be involved in restructuring how time itself operates?

“No time is better than a bad time.”

And you’re going to improve the lives of people stranded by cancelled and delayed trains by cancelling even more trains?

“No train is better than a bad train.”

He’s a deep pool.

“No pool is better than a bad pool.”

And if Mr Grayling is involved in any pool, we’re always in at the deep end, just look at this serial incompetent’s time in office. The man with the Midas touch.

It was recently announced that the NHS would no longer provide treatment related to Freedom of Movement, such as constipation and diarrhoea. With Brexit in the pipeline this may well be just the tip of the iceberg.

We have been reminded during the negotiations currently taking place that the EU’s four freedoms of movement (goods, services, capital and persons) cannot be compromised. To these four can be added a fifth, the freedom of movement for shit, which we shall also lose when we leave the EU.

There will therefore, as they say, be consequences, or perhaps consesquelches. This at least was the view of the spokesperson at the newly-formed sub-department for Brexshitting the EU who advised that life would be different, and that we would have to adapt to the loss of freedom of movement.

We were passed on to Mysterious Martin with his crystal toilet bowl. He had been engaged to have a look into the future in the manner of Charles Dickens’s Christmas Carol, to get a taste – or smell – of what was to come.

We stared into the bowl, which was full of a murky brown liquid which let off fumes and a nasty odour. Martin held his nose with one hand and stirred the liquid with a toilet brush with the other.

“This stench is so bad, I’m almost tempted to cut off my nose to spite my face so I can’t smell it!” he gagged.

Gradually the mess cleared, and a line of people came into view (a bit like that infamous poster in the referendum campaign).

It looked as if they were waiting in an airport , which was clearly somewhere in Europe, under a sign which read “No Poo Queue” .

They were would be holiday makers who looked pretty glum (as glum as their bums) . One of them, a sad looking person who gave his name as Willie Havercrapp, was speaking to a television news reporter.

”It’s absolutely terrible, since we left the EU we haven’t been able to use the loos at airports in Europe when we go on a bog standard package holiday,” said Havercrapp. “We have to take a bucket and spade with us, not to build sandcastles with, but in case we have an, err, accident. And the bureaucracy is terrible, there’s far too much – when the border control people ask to see our papers, we have to bring out our toilet rolls to prove that we’ve come prepared and won’t put a strain on the facilities here!”

I think he means, it’s not the job that’s the problem, it’s all the paperwork afterwards.

“We’ve been advised not to eat anything near five portions of fruit and vegetables a day, in order to avoid the need to go to the loo,” Havercrapp continued. “A well known vacuum cleaner manufacturer has advised us to suck it up, and some of us are thinking of investing in space suits and little portable loos, like the ones you can get for your car. Mind you though, we’re getting used to this, what with all the public loos back home being closed to save money”.

He suddenly broke off, and dashed off, saying “I’ve got to go!”

The scene dissolved in a swirl of smelly brownness as Mysterious Martin wiped his forehead and gasped, “It’s pretty grim, but you can see the funny side of freedom of movement can’t you!”

As we ponder the loss of Freedom of Movement I can hear that song by the Moody Poos, sorry, Moody Blues. “If you’re going to go, go now”, and the advice our mothers gave us before going on a journey: “Go before you go!”

“Well your name came of out of the hat, I P, so it’s your task. You are now the youth culture correspondent,” said the LCD Views’ Editor.

“Monumental Searchlight is on a fact finding tour to Uranus. Rosie Searchlight is hunting butterflies and Moonlight Searchlight has gone missing. So it’s your baby.”

“Well, I know a Tarquin at the rugby club. I could speak to him.”

“No! I mean youth culture from the street!” replied the Editor.

“You mean…….!”

“Yes, go to an inner city skatepark! LCD Views has to know what the kids are saying and thinking,” the Editor retorted. Get the clothes, the cap, learn the language and report back.”

I’d give anything for that butterfly story right now, I thought.

Through a friend of a friend of a friend I find Henry, the coolest skate dude in the park. We agree to meet. I park the Prius several streets away, lock it and screw in a few more wheel nuts for luck.

There’s a guy chipping away at new Banksy mural painted up on the side wall. Small crowd of art correspondents chattering to each other and to no one else.

I look around, I check the bowl. I hear grinding behind me. “Yo neat olly,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “So, wots happin’?”

“Skunking man, you that guy that called me? Mate your caps on all wrong. F*ckin no idea bro.”

“Oh, thanks bro…..” God I’m hating this right now. I’m well out of my depth, I thought. “So, wot you think of Stormzy?” I ask.

“F*ckin good man, says it as it is,” says Henry to a backbeat of artificial percussion. “Raps like a demon, speakin’ for da streets. Shit work, zero hours, high rents, fast food chain rippin’ me off cos I didn’t turn up one evening for their shit wage. F*ck man, they only gave me half hour notice.”

“I guess you didn’t go to Uni then?” I ventured.

“Mate, they said my art was bangin’, they liked the art on my skate…but then they said I had to pay to learn. F*ck that, I found a better way.”

“How so?” I ask.

“See that Banksy over there. Well that dude never leaves Bristol. But, he and I have a kinda understandin’. Know wot I mean? Dont you tell no f*cker, I have an eye on your wheels.”

“Bro, your secret is safe with me,” I assured him.

We do a complicated handshake, I’m slightly off the pace. “I never realised you were a freemason!” I said. Henry looked at me strangely and sloped off. “Can I call you again bro?” He wings his hand (thumb out, little finger out mid three folded).

“That’s a good sign…….right?” I ask. Cool….. I live for another day.

Amorous explorer Betty Stoolittle announced her intention to sue the recent Welsh earthquake. She felt nothing; it was only later when she checked social media that she realised that it had happened.

“I was promised massive peaks,” said a clearly disappointed Stoolittle. “So I climbed on top of Moel Inahoel. I ached all over afterwards but the earth didn’t move.”

Then there were valleys to be explored. “Yes, Cwm Hither, Cwm Toobedd, Cwm Threetimes,” she moaned. “We went right to the end of the valley, but still the earth did not move.”

But the earthquake was the last straw for Stoolittle. “The earth finally moved and I didn’t feel it! That really put the anti into climax.”

She’s not the only one. “It’s a clear breach of the Trades Description Act,” said women’s rights campaigner Dipti Wick. “I’ve felt bigger tremors after my husband has had a vindaloo.”

In fact, the only happy people are the Health & Safety brigade. Instead of going mad and insisting that anyone within 50 miles of Neath wears six inches of protective padding, they have remained relatively sane.

Earthquake-oligist Rick Terscale put the situation into perspective. “Don’t forget this is Wales we are talking about, boyo,” he chided. “You are more likely to get bitten by a dragon than feel the earth move.”

“If Ms Stoolittle really wants to feel the earth move, I suggest she tries the Pacific Ocean coasts,” he continued. “The ring of fire. Though admittedly that isn’t to everybody’s taste.”

It’s all too do with tectonics and seismic activity, Terscale asserts. “Come again?” said Stoolittle. “Actually, once would be nice.”

Meanwhile, elsewhere the effects are still being felt. Aftershocks have allegedly been felt in some of the nether regions of Wales. Barry Island has been swamped by a freak tsunami, causing vast amounts of improvements to the residents’ lives.

Stoolittle is wasting no time in her quest to feel the earth move. She is planning an excursion to Digger World.