Ladettes to Ladies, in case you didn't know, is a reality TV show that purports to turn large-living, hard-drinking, dope-smoking serial shagging modern girls into old fashioned “Young Ladies” ready to take their place in society of the haughtiest particularity.

To put the show together the producers scour the land to find the gobbiest, most foul mouthed, ill-mannered, badly behaved slappers and then send them to a facsimile of a traditional “finishing school,” the kind of establishment where the daughters of gentlefolk would go to acquire social graces.

None of it has anything to do with reality of course. Finishing schools went out of fashion with virginity in the 1960s and had all closed by the end of the 70s. The pupils who attended back then were not real upper crust (who often were foul mouthed, hard drinking, serial shagging slappers) but the daughters of newly rich Dada and ambitious mothers who craved social status. The true upper crust did not have to care what people thought, everyone deferred to them anyway, except for rebellious Jacobite scumbags like my family.

Once installed in the “finishing schools” and supervised by a bunch of women who are OK but pretend to be toffee nosed snobs, the hard drinking ladettes are wound up by the producers to behave as badly as possible. As the title suggests they come into the show because they behave like wild young guys. In reality, once the girls have been goaded to do their worst, the wildest young blokes would be pushed to keep up.

Among the lessons this years crop of Ladettes had to learn was the obsolete skill of riding side saddle. After a few lessons the girls had to show their progress in a competition.

Poor Holly, pretty, petite and dark, was let down by her mount in the dressage. One of the requirements of dressage is that the horse completely obeys its rider. Holly’s horse was halfway around the circuit when he stopped, planted his feet and pissed. In spite of all Holly’s goading and pleading he just stood with a beatific expression, pissing until he was gratified.

Sadly the whole riding thing was held under the auspices (oops, pardon!) of the British Equestrian Society whose toffee nosed judges were not impressed.

Holly was showing vast improvement though. Only a few weeks earlier it would have been she urinating in front of the judges, and probably giving them the finger as she did so.

Most glamorous of this years crop of Ladettes was Louise, back for a second go after being thrown out last year for getting her tits out for the boys in the village pub on a girlie night out. Louise. tall, blonde, elegant, is a natural beauty. Louise is as common as muck, she swears like a trooper, farts like a Brass Band tuning up and could drink a brewery dry.

Louise was invited back as substitute for a Ladette who walked out after being reprimanded because she worse a dress so inappropriate to a posh banquet that her tits fell out at the dinner table.

Ironically, after Louise’s exit from the last series, she has built a good career as a glamour model, getting her tits out for the boys in magazines with titles like Loaded and Nuts. Her earning potential was greatly enhanced when she had her boobs surgically enhanced.

One unexpected advantage of surgically enhanced breasts is they are firmer than the real thing and thus not as likely to fall into one’s soup during socially sensitive dinner parties.

After the fun with pissing horses and wayward breasts, the flower arranging, deportment and cake making classes were a bit of an anti climax.

Ladettes to Ladies is no more real than any reality TV show, it is a kind of Pygmalion meets Jerry Springer schlockfest – with added bare breasts. Unlike other phoney reality shows though, it is great entertainment, perhaps because everyone knows they are pretending so they lay it on.

I don’t know if America has a Ladettes to Ladies equivalent yet, but if they don’t I hope they get one soon. Mid-November would be a good time to launch. After ten months of solid electioneering, the poor bastards will need it.

This week’s unlikely star of YouTube is a man whose name is Bull’s Tits, who wears a silly hat and is seventy three years old.
Cardinal Diognigi Tettamanzi, Archbishop of Milian, who cuts such an unimpressive figure Scotland’s Cardinal Thomas Wining asked on first seeing him, “Who’s the wee fat guy,” is getting up to 12,000 queries and comments a day in response to his Lenten ruminations, little homilies about lack of faith and the secularisation of the global communion.

I reckon people just want to know where he got his hat.

A new study from the Department of Psychology at Hull University has found that antidepressant drugs have little or no effect on a patients mental state.
Analysing both published and unpublished data from clinical trials the team of researchers found little evidence to suggest that the drugs were better than a placebo.
All those years all those people have been popping the happy pills and extolling their virtues when in effect it was all in the mind.
That makes me (and, I should imagine, them) so depressed

If you're planning on going to the Beijing Olympics then it could be a good time to become a vegetarian.
City officials have decreed that the stray cats and dogs should be rounded up and removed from the city by the end of June to ensure the city is looking its best for the prestigious games later in the year.
But what to do with the unwanted animals? You can bet your bottom yen that they won't be put into a re-homing program and if England, France and Germany can be the butt of unscrupulous butchers I'm sure somebody out there will already be carefully studying the recipe books and substituting cat for chicken.
I'd be sticking to the vegetable spring rolls myself.

* The title for this piece is the penultimate line from a Tom and Gerry cartoon, where the old adversaries find themselves on a desert island inhabited by natives who tie up there food and roast it over a fire. For once Gerry doesn't get the last laugh as the ultimate line, uttered by a native cat, is
"Mmm mmm barbecued mouse!"

I have been predicting the imminent demise of the Internet as we know it for a while now but it looks as if that prediction has finally been made true by the release of a new celebrity sex video of such bad taste it will surely turn off the most geekish of web heads.

Why was I disenchanted about the web, after all I was instrumental in developing some of its component technologies? Well when us old computer pros heard of this new “anyone can do anything” philosophy we tutted and shook our heads. You see we all had experience of the effect new technology has on a certain mindset and knew that if such people can do something they will. They think freedom to act should only be constrained by the limits of the technology, not by the limits of common sense.

“Oh yes, we will publish our colleagues personal details to the world. Why? Because we can,” they reason.

And so “because we can” became the ethos of the web.

“Why watch Pammie Anderson squirting milk from her breast into Tommy Lee’s mouth?”
“Because we can.”

“Why hack somebody’s computer and convince them a psychotic killer is stalking them?”
“Because we can.”

“Why watch some poor, lonely, bullied teenager kill him or herself.”
“Because we can.”

It is any surprise that despite having the technical skills I have never wholeheartedly put myself online?

There had to be a backlash. Sooner or later pressure would force some kind of regulation, an imposition of civilised standards. I think the latest celebrity sex video to go online is so appalling in its cynicism and subject matter it has taken us past the tipping point.

You may have thought things could go no worse when first you saw Myspace. Until you saw Facebook. And then, confident nothing could ever be more pointless you would have seen BeBo and Twitter. I was even invited to join a social networking site called Quetchup, dedicated to sharing the most inane trivia of members lives.

“Hi friends, I just had to share this with you. At 3:30pm today I farted. It was a really satisfying fart, a deep, resonant, almost euphonic bass note that lasted three or four seconds. Must have been the curry I ate last night.” That was about the level of it.

Well Quetchup did not linger but the bad taste it left did. Surely we have hit rock bottom (oops,pardon!) now, I thought. I was wrong. It seems the Internet exists in some kind of parallel universe where the laws of physics do not work. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction (or to put it another way, “what goes around comes around) does not work in cyberspace. No matter how low the lowest common denominator is driven, it can always go lower.
The electronic and logical components of the web exist in the physical plane of course, and operates logically. The mythical being hailed as the liberator of imagination that would free human creativity from the chains of socio-economic oppression and allow us to morph into Gods somehow mutated into the monster that ate civilised values
But at last a band wagon has started to roll but nobody jumped on. Even the sheep like geeks, nerds and dickheads who spent their lonely lives hunched over computers interacting with their Second Life and Facebook alter egos have realised things have gone too far and have taken their first tentative step in the ascent towards the light.

If I asked what might make even the most desensitised web warrior stager back from a website, retching and gibbering in incoherent fear I would bet “The sex tape Gene Simmons Doesn’t Want You To See would rank highish on your list.

The 58 year old schlock rocker need have no fear though. There have been few takers at $10 per view for the opportunity to se the snake tongued frontman of Kiss making out with a younger lady.

Who could be so crass as to put such a video online you might well ask. Well I’m mentioning no names but I have my suspicions about who might be behind this crime against taste and style.

The woman Gene does not want us to see as he gives her one is a model named Elsa. Elsa is a model. Elsa is rumoured to have a contract to promote a brand of snake oil called Frank’s Energy Drink. The makers of Franks Energy Drink pay old spawn of Satan Simmons for his endorsement.

Its the kind of exploitative sleaze we would expect from makers of reality TV shows.

Surely the claim of the Internet to be the entertainment medium of the future cannot recover from this. The web is dead.

Or maybe not...

Whilst standing in the queue at the post office I came up with a brilliant way of cutting CO2 emissions, eradicating the need for any new runways at any airports in the UK, boosting tourism in the UK, lowering rates of skin cancer and making foreign holidays more enjoyable for those who really want to enjoy a 'foreign holiday' rather than just have two weeks doing what you do in England, i.e. eating English food, lolling about all day and getting bladdered, whilst also frantically encouraging the early onset of malignant melanoma.
I was standing in the queue at the post office in order to pick up a passsport application form. The process of picking up a passport application form is now, apparently, so difficult as to render it beyond the capabilities of Joe Public, so instead of locating the relevant form on the shelf you have to stand in a queue for twenty minutes before the highly qualified person behind the counter picks one off the shelf for you.
They then advise you that they run an application checking service, at a cost of £7, which they 'strongly recommend that you take advantage of.'

So here's the plan, if a person can't manage to find the correct form; they used to be under a heading of 'Passport Application Forms', as opposed to 'Driving Licence Application Forms' or 'Road Fund Licence Forms', or if they do manage to locate the correct form but then they can't fill it in by themselves

THEN YOU DON'T ISSUE THEM WITH A PASSPORT.

Sorted.

Just listening to Steve wright on radio 2 and he came up with this wonderful piece of news.
If you have sex three times a week, not only does it bring you closer to your partner, relieve stress and help you to sleep but it also helps you look 10 years younger! Result!
Of course you can overdo things, if you have sex more than three times a night it can lead to looking 10 years older, hair loss, profuse sweating in public, abnormal heart rhythm and grandiose delusions. Just look at Tony Blair. (For those who have erased Mr. Blair from their memories Cherie famously claimed he managed it five times a night.)

Just think how well off we would all be if this government stopped wasting our money!
At the end of a five year scheme, costing £800 million, the percentage of students dropping out of their chosen university course is exactly the same as it was at the start of the scheme. Well that's good value for money.
This is, of course, linked to the ridiculous Blairite idea to get 50% of school leavers into higher education.
Did they try to facilitate this by fostering a love of learning and an aspiration towards high academic standards? No, they created faux subjects, designed to be popular with the yoofs, with little substance, meaning that the kids get bored and (I should think the brighter ones) decide they'd be better off stacking shelves in Tesco's. The less bright ones will complete their course to gain their certificate and then get a job stacking shelves in Lidl.
And in order to achieve this goal of 50% enrolling for higher education the entire education system has been debased, as practically every child will gain 10 GCSEs, albeit in subjects such as Food Technology and PE.
Even down in the Primary schools targets take priority over genuine learning and standards have been lowered to meet these targets. In the KS2 SATS the mark required to attain level 4 (the desired level for children aged 11) has been consistenly lowered and the difficulty of the questions has gradually been eroded.
Along with this children become used to not trying.
The nuber of times I have listened to a child's request for help with a spelling. "Please Miss, how do you spell Saturday? I'm no good at spelling." No attempt to spell the word, no attempt to learn ways of learning to spell.
Another example is the child who claims not to know her times tables yet can recite every word of her favourite pop song. "I can't learn my times tables Miss."
Thus we churn out children who want the rewards but have no idea of how to work to achieve them, and in order that nobody should suffer low self esteem by failing we make everything easier; drop the oral section of foreign language exams because it causes stress, make the questions multiple choice because so many children can't construct a coherent sentence let alone a coherent argument, make 20% of the exam coursework that can be re-drafted time and time again until it finally meets the marking criteria, make the exams modular so that there isn't as much information to retain, don't present any challenges so that everyone is bored, bored, bored out of their tiny skulls and then encourage, or force, the kids to stay on at school or go to college or university to get some fatuous qualification that really can't be worth the paper it is written on.
Not everyone can play football, not everyone can sing, some people can create a jungle paradise in their conservatories whilst others wilt plants as they walk into a room. Whilst most people could save themselves from drowning very few would turn into Ian Thorpe (the swimmer, not my bro) and likewise I doubt the antipodean Mr Thorpe can write prose or poetry like his Lancastrian namesake.
So why does this government want every body to be Einstein? About 25% of the population probably have the requisite skills, talent and ambition to succeed in Academia, which let us not forget, is what the universities are for. For the rest wouldn't they be better off learning the job on the job, with all the support, knowledge and experience that their colleagues and employers can provide.

The government unveils a new scheme to reduce the number of people claiming incapacity benefit, from now on they would like doctors to write 'well notes' as oppposed to sick notes. These notes would detail what the patient was able to do in the workplace rather than absenting them from work.

So the secretary/typist/word processor operator with repetitive strain injury would be able to carry on working whilst resting those strained digits. She'd still be able to do the do-nut run, make tea if the vending machine was on the blink, talk on the telephone and share gossip around the water cooler. Indeed the employer may find that the productivity of his other, fit, workers falls as they will be distracted by Ms RST bringing them do-nuts, coffee and the latest hot gossip about Janine in accounts and that hunk of a photocopier repair man, I thought it was odd how her photocopier seemed to break so often!

The call centre operative suffering from tinnitus would be able to go along to work... but not take any phone calls.

The bus driver with the lower back pain who can't stay in a sitting position for too long... shame they don't have conductors anymore.

The teacher suffering from stress would still be allowed into school, but wouldn't be able to teach. And they're not allowed to do the classroom assistant's duties, nor clerical work in the school office... hmm caretaker's jobs?

And of course, whilst these people are still being employed to not do their jobs, somebody else will have to be drafted in to take their place.

Yeah, great idea boys, but I just don't see it working even if you can get the doctors on your side after sticking them with a large paycut and expecting them to be open all hours!

We should all love Mohammed Al Fayed. His outburst is court and his repeated assertions that Phil The Greek is a gangster and a nazi are the rantings of someone who has gone past grief and is just plain bonkers in the head.

But isn't it fun watching the establishment squirm.

Boggatrt Blogs wish for the spring: call us sadistic if you like possums, but wouldn't it be perfect if the next celebrity wedding we report was between Mohammed Al Fayed and Heather Mills McCArtney?

In another step towards covert privatisation of the NHS the government announced a new layer of health bureaucracy, Polly Clinics. The idea is that by replacing local doctor’s surgeries with impersonal diagnostic conveyor belts manned by Parrots, patients will be driven into the private sector or towards self daignosis and buying drugs illegally marketed on the Internet.
Boggart Blog’s invisible undercovr reporter Sof Mich dropped into a pilot Polly Clinic just as patient Joe Soap entered the consulting room of Doctor Polly.

Dr. Polly:
Squawk, hello sailor, fancy a good time, squawk.
Patient:
The thing is doctor.
Dr. Polly
Who’s a clever doctor then, squawk, whos a clever doctor?
Patient:
You are doctor, about my problem...its rather embrrassing...
Dr. Polly
Squawk, when did you last have a dump
Patient:
I’m not constipated doctor, its more embarrassing. I wonder
could you keep your voice down.
Dr. Polly
Oh he’s shy, squawk, oh he’s shy, lookatimblush,lookatimblush
Patient
I’m not shy, the walls are thin and there is a waiting room full
of people.
Dr. Polly
Schik,schik, bit of a loner, know what I mean. Bit of a loner,
know what I mean.
Patient
I was thinking of patient confidentiality.
Dr. Polly
Ssssqqquuuaaawwwkkk, ooh get you
Patient
I just don’t want my health problems broadcast.
Dr. Polly
He’s got the clap, he’s got the clap.
Patient
I have not got the clap. Its just an embarrassing problem and I
find it difficult to discuss.
Dr. Polly
Got a touch of Farmer Giles have we, bunch of grapes, Farmer
Giles.
Patient
No, no, its well harrumph, the elevator isn’t working.
Dr. Polly
Squawk squawk squawk, can’t get it up, gant get it up. Who’s an
impotent boy then.
Patient
I really must object. I've a good mind to go to a private
clinic. This is a total violation of my rights.
Dr. Polly
What do I know about rights, I’m a parrot.

A fascinating and disturbing television documentary last night dealt with infant evangelical preachers and focused particularly on seven year old Samuel who, according to his parents, has been preaching since he was three. Poor little bugger must have been born again in Jesus before he had even cleared his mother’s birth canal.
Young Sam had a message from God telling him to go top New York and preach the “good news.” Ever eager to obey the Lord’s command Sam’s parents loaded their prodigy and his young siblings in the family’s Biblebago and headed north from their home in Jesusville, Biblebelt, Jesusland so the boy wonder could preach to the sinners of New York and warn them of God’s terrible wrath.
In the Big Apple things did not go well. Sam preached to the sinners, some people laughed, some called his parents bigots and child abusers, some asked w.t.f. a seven year old knew about fornication, abortion, drug abuse and hypocrisy. Some unkind people even made fun of Sam’s deep south accent. Now that is deplorable, making fun of a child’s rustic accent is jut not acceptable behaviour in and circumstances. I would never stoop so low to get cheap laughs.
Well Rev. Sam was deeply hurt by the mockery, but he followed Jesus’ example and carried on with his mission to preach to the sinners.
He went to the tourist sinners and preached;
he went to Wall Street and preached to the financial sinners;
he preached in the retail and administrative sinners;
he even preached in the Rockefeller sinner.
And still those cruel New Yorkers mocked his southern accent.

Eventually the family had to return to their home in Jesusland, but they promised to return when New Yorkers were ready to “accept Jesus.” They had learned nothing of reality and still feel it is their task to convince us all that the day of judgement it near and it will be too late to repent for the wrath of the Lord will come down upon the sinners.
Perhaps they had heard stories of the “wrath of the Lord coming down upon the World Trade Sinner and thought it was a sign. They are crazy enough to believe such ideas.

MORE humour every day from Boggart Blog.

Valentine’s Day Limericks

(Love looks not with eyes but with the mind: - William Shakespeare_

There was an Italian waiter
who dated a girl named Ruth Slater,
They did something that night,
it must have been right,
they’re still doing it twenty years later

There was a young man named Steve
who wore his heart on his sleeve;
he fell in love with a tranny*
a whore, someone’s granny
and married his cat we believe.

* tranny: transvestite or transexual

The effects of inernet dating
can turn out to be quite devastating,
your date’s obsessive neurosis
and acute halitosis
quickly kill any prospect of mating

A lady who was sophisticated
found Valentine’s Day overrated
when she discovered her lover
is slow to recover.
The love affair was soon truncated.

More humour every day from Boggart Blog

The Boggart Blog news desk has just received this story.

Saudi Arabia’s religious police have banned red roses ahead of Valentine’s Day, forcing couples in the conservative Muslim nation to think of new ways to show their love. The Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vices has ordered florists and gift shop owners to remove any items coloured scarlet, which is widely seen as symbolising love, newspapers said.

Well they could always have a shag I suppose. Oops, pardon!

MORE humour every day from Boggart Blog

An M.P. has raised the issue of inbreeding by suggesting action should be taken to end the tradition of arranged marriage between first cousins in Bangladeshi communities. His action follows revelations that babies born to Bangladeshi couples suffer an unusually high percentage of birth defects.
His statement has attracted criticism from Asian community leaders and the Council for Racial Integration both groups condemning it as racist and insensitive.
Boggart Blog thinks the criticism is unfair. We can’t fault the lad for raising the issue, after all this is Britain and we have our traditions too, If we let immigrants go in for inbreeding they will be thinking they are aristocracy next.

If the style seems a little odd its because the article was written for one of my American gigs.

Politicians, medical experts and church leaders here in Britain are panicking about the binge drinking antics of teenagers. All around the country young people are getting rat-arsed and behaving in an offensive and embarrassing way. I’ve read things are pretty much the same in the other English speaking nations so we must wonder is something going on, is there some social trend that is driving the under twenties towards alcoholism?

Aside from the general crappiness of everything and the prospect of having to work in a call centre or fast food outlet for fifty years because our leaders exported all the proper jobs to India and China, there is no obvious reason for the lack of manners and self respect we see in young people.

A lot of the blame can be placed on psychology. It is criminally irresponsible to let psychologists loose near impressionable young people. Kids are resilient and can bounce back from most things but ten minutes with a shrink can so traumatise them, their lives are irredeemably damaged. Teenagers of my generation never suffered trauma, in fact we did not even know how to pronounce it. Do you want to know how beneficial psychology can be to young people? Three words, Running With Effing Scissors.

So psychology has done a lot of harm by encouraging the idea that children should be wrapped in cotton wool and protected from reality. Is there anything else?

We need to examine education policies, not so much dumbing down as dumbing up. It used to be that the stupid kids were laughed at and bullied. Other kids would spit at them, pin insulting signs to their backs and make them eat snot sandwiches. And a few years ago that was an incentive. The dumb kids had a choice, either get smart or get hard. Mostly they got hard and beat all the bullies to a pulp.

Modern education policies hold that nobody should be allowed to fail. So the stupid kids get As and the bright kids get marginalised. Nobody likes a smart Alec, this makes the smart and even the in-between kids act stupid just to fit in. Then everybody gets competitive, trying to be the most stupid. How can kids develop self esteem in such an atmosphere.

Thirdly, liberal parents do not help their kids. If your early teens want a sleepover party do not offer to let them have light duty alcohol with your approval. This will not teach them to respect alcohol. What you have to do is come over Tipper Gore (oops, pardon!) on them, give a two hour lecture on the evils of sex and drugs and rock & roll and warn them they will end up like Ozzy Osbourne or Paula Abdul or with a liver the size of Alaska and a brain the size of a pin if they touch a drop of booze, say a bad word in their mind without even moving their lips or look at a picture of Lindsey Lohan getting out of a limo. On second thoughts scrub the pin, we don’t want the little darlings thinking sex and booze will make them more intelligent.

Before you go out make sure the drinks cabinet is securely locked. This will test their resolve and their ingenuity and if they have had to work hard for their booze you can be sure they will not treat it lightly.
Kids need boundaries, if there are no boundaries there is nothing to rebel against and they become confused and antisocial. Think about this logic; they have light duty alcohol, spritzers, breezers or alcopops and think threy can handle booze. On the other hand if they raid the drinks cabimet success will go to their heads and they will polish off several bottles of Jack Daniels, Gin, Bacardi and Brandy. And then they will learn to respect alcohol. And your local carpet cleaning contractor will love you.

Teenage boys of my generation did not provoke and fears about binge drinking. An education in the University of Life had taught us to respect both booze and ourselves. You would not have seen us being brought home in a police car, wearing our trousers on our heads and singing the chorus to Spirit in the Sky over and over. We had been brought up to know when we had HAD ENOUGH. Make sure your kids read this; when you have you are lying in the gutter choking on your own vomit you are getting close to your limit, so only have a couple more beers. After that, nothing – except a few shots maybe.

I am not being a killjoy, even young men who know when they have HAD ENOUGH can have fun and do crazy things. A friend of mine once tried to eat a young turtle he mistook for a meat pie. He managed to get most of it down before the Chinese takeaway shop owner noticed. Why do they have fishtanks in Chinese Takeaway shops? Its just asking for trouble.

The current crisis is not just about young men of course. Young women on a night out are just as capable of behaving like sluts; getting their boobs out in the street, showing their knickers to the CCTV cameras. And they get worse when they have had a few drinks.

All the projectile vomiting, falling asleep in dumpsters and having sex with inflatable animals is avoidable with a little self discipline of course. Its easy to know when you have HAD ENOUGH, when lying in the gutter choking on your own vomit then you should only have a couple more beers. After that, nothing ... except a few shots maybe. If young people can just remember that they will be OK – well OKish.

Modern kids are just not learning to be responsible with drink because they are overprotected. They just do not develop the emotional maturity to be able to handle themselves. Here is the message that should be spelled out to all young people: If you can't stand on your own two feet you should not be drinking.

A man in America was pulled over for eratic driving. Leaning into the car the patrolman noted an infant lying unsecured on the back seat. The passenger seat was occupied by a 24pack of beer, neatly buckled up in the seat belt.
If Britney's looking this could be the man for her!

from Boggart Network News legal correspondent A. Cheever Loophole

The Archweirdiebeardie certainly kicked things off with his ill-phrased pronouncement on Sharia law yesterday with his suggestion that the Islamic religious legal code should be recognised in British civil law.
There isn’t actually much wrong with this idea, in civil disputes over property, business contracts etc. so long as both parties agree to be bound by the decision of the arbitrator who cares what shape of silly hats the court officials wear?
The media and those who court them were never going to let it rest at that however. Banner headlines competed for attention with shouts of “one law for us, another for them” from the gobbier kind of rentagob pundits.
Now the way traditional Sharia law is interpreted in some Islamic theocracies can seem pretty offensive to westerners. Imposing penalties like flogging, stoning and even beheading for women who show their hair in public (Lindsey Lohan be warned) or answer back when commanded by their hubbies or Dad’s is not acceptable, but perhaps deal old Rowan was not thinking of going that far.
There was one supporter in Parliament for the introduction of full Sharia law into Britain though.
“There is far too much paganism going on, witches should have to face medieval punishments,” said M.P. Andy Burnham (Lab, Leigh.)

More humour every day from Boggart Blog.