Say Hello Wave Goodbye

Oh Pip what have they done to you?.......

Oh Pip what have they done to you?…….

And so our very own political superhero Power Boy Pip Davies throws in the towel as Chair of the Liverpool City Region Combined Authority Thingummy Doo-dah saying : “I felt now was the right moment to rebalance my time in favour of my duties as Wirral Council leader.”

http://www.wirralglobe.co.uk/news/14143332.Wirral_Council_leader_Phil_Davies_stands_down_as_chairman_of_Liverpool_City_Region_Combined_Authority/

The long suffering people of Wirral must have heaved a collective sigh of relief to know that Pip will be around more to finally save us from the sleaze that surrounds Wirral Council.

Or perhaps not !.

His parting words sound to us to be very reminiscent of public officials who protest that they want to spend more time with their family when they’ve been caught up to no good and step down from office before they ignominiously fall from grace.

You may therefore asking yourselves do the Leaky Towers crew think that Pip has been up to no good?.

To which we collectively cry : HELL YES! 

Alternatively it has also been suggested to us that this could be the start of of Pip’s Metro Mayor campaign.This may sound far-fetched when you consider that Pip has publicly slated the idea of a Merseyside -wide Metro Mayor  –  but then when has flagrant hypocrisy and ambition over talent ever stopped Pip before ?.

We can only assume that under such circumstances he has his eyes on a bigger prize. Can you imagine the power axis that Wirral Chamber of Commerce and Metro Mayor Pip could create ?…….and not in a good way!.

 

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5 thoughts on “Say Hello Wave Goodbye

  1. Excellent comment about the Chamber…Davies is posturing for position and is likely to head up the triumvirate of Adderley and Hamid (with Basnett shuffled to the reserve bench) before dipping their toes (or snouts) into the trough which will materialise when the Government devolves powers to the region…..licence to print money for some methinks?

  2. It’s dreadful isn’t it. So wrapped up in themselves, convinced that they are the ‘stars’ in their own movie, detached from reality where the performance is entirely about them and how fucking wise they are, they shovel out this stagnant piss that we’re supposed to bathe in and writhe around in joyous celebration squealing with delight, ‘yippee bloody do! Thank The Lord he’s back and we’ve got him all to ourselves’.
    I mean, this sweet saccharin sugared laced quote, ‘ I felt it was the right time to rebalance myself’,,,,doesn’t it make you want to hurl phlegm, journey up to the Wirral with a six pound mallet wearing a false moustache and flatten your own skull on the steps of the Town Hall in some futile and pointless protest against public servants forcing the public to watch and observe their unquenchable passions to serve us the bloody public. Rubbish! I know what rubbish is. I’ve shovelled out enough of the stuff to know whether or not its rubbish and I say, beyond any doubt within my diazepam ravaged mind, its bloody rubbish. When it comes to rubbish, I major in the subject and this is bloody rubbish!
    Bloody ‘rebalance’! What a bucket of sludge. I mean, if Councillor Davies believes he needs to rebalance then I’d ask him, if I could, ‘at what time did you conclude you were unbalanced or out of balance’. That’s not a bad question to ask is it? I mean, if he’s actually drifted into areas of insanity, and he bloody realised it, which would explain his desperate desire to rebalance himself, I’d like to think the public had a right to know have you gone mad?
    And finally, not that it’s worth a jot of interest, I’d like to know how this fella has created a consonant upon the front of his head. That’s right, a consonant. The letter ‘M’. There’s no mistake on my part. This Councillor has created his own unique hairstyle fashioned around its main and fascinating feature the letter ‘M’. It’s there and it’s all readily available for any fools perusal if you take a quick butchers at his photographic image.
    Course, you don’t get your hair to remain in the position of the letter ‘M’ without some deliberate grooming and a ready supply of hairspray. Course you don’t. Mind, what made him select the letter ‘M’. What is it about the letter ‘M’ that drove this fella to the mirror to create his unique hairstyle. He could have picked any of the five vowels or twenty one other consonants but he chose ‘M’.
    ‘M’ for mad or simply ‘M’ for me the most important person in my life.

  3. I have dreams. A lot of vivid dreams. Often I’ll look forward to sleep knowing that I will dream. Moreoften than not, I am the person at the centre of my vivid dreams. By and large, though not all the time, I’m laid in bed minding me own business when thirty six voluptuous women come hurtling out of the loft, they gather around my bed and repeatedly violate me until I wake to begin the endless pointlessness of my day.
    Sometimes though, I have other dreams. Dreams that do not have an attic where women hide until my slumber begins. These are dreams that involve me beating the living day lights out of Councillors or senior Council Officers who’ve sucked to often upon the rate payers teat.
    Despite me desperately trying to introduce an attic and thirty six women who dance around my bed howling, ‘you are the most desirable man in the World’, they do not merge into these political dreams. Lord knows I’ve tried, and so, fully cognisant that I must dream my dream, I simply let it be and dream away.
    For the most part, I’m sat in the Council Chamber, minding me own bloody business when thirty six lowly paid members of Council staff suddenly emerge around me protesting that the Council have involved themselves in some botched transformation plan that’ll cost them their jobs and the rate paying public thousands and thousands of pounds.
    Course, it’s at this point the dream, that doesn’t involve the thirty six because they’ve been called away to receive their redundancy notices, gets all bloody nasty.
    Up I get screaming, ‘dirty rotten stinking bastards’ and I’m away. Can’t stop myself. I’ve no control. As I hurtle around the Town Hall gibbering in biblically tongues, ‘where are you, you parasitic bottom feeding exploiters of the exploited,’I some fool hands me a piece of four by two which, presumably is to be used to do the beating.
    Whoever it was, and it wasn’t one of the thirty six, they pass me the wood and say, ‘bless you pilgrim. Go and do Gods work’. And then I hurtle off ploughing me way from one office to another beating all those who’ve been gagged and received huge sums of public money to remain silent.
    Then some fool phones the Constable who tips up and just as he’s about to taser me and I’m about to receive the unholy barbs that’ll distribute five thousand volts to my ravaged body I wake up screaming, ‘bloody Council’.
    ( R.I.P Celia Ralph. This pointless tripe is the best I can do to commemorate a woman I never knew but who I know lived her life well by putting the needs of working people before herself)

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