The Bugle - Bugle 192 – Uncle Rupert is the real victim

Episode Date: April 27, 2012

Kindly Uncle Rupert meets Lord Leveson, France goes to the polls, Newt makes a statement and Israel and Palestine become penpals.And this is how a Bugler cooks...http://thebuglepodcast.com/?p=317 Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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The Bugle, audio newspaper for a visual world. Hello, Bugleos, and welcome to issue 192 of the Bugle, audio newspaper for a visual world with me, Zaltor the Merciless, here in my dominion where all who dare live trembling fear of my vengeance. Give or take, and joining me from New York, the city that never sleeps, that's not a compliment Margaret, that's already had four hours of night and you wouldn't want to live inside her. It's the, it's a man-hatten-murth man himself. John Oliver. Hello Andy, hello Muglers, Andy, a couple of weeks ago, I've got the chance to interview Herman Cain

and I leapt at that chance Andy, like a kangaroo. In fact, most. And I leapt at that chance, Andy, like a kangaroo. In fact, more specifically, I leapt at that chance like a kangaroo who just be given the opportunity to interview Herman Cain. Because there's no way that a kangaroo was turning that down, Andy. Even kangaroos would like some answers as to what the f*** Herman Cain's presidential campaign was all about and how the f*** he led in the polls for an entire month. They'd also liked to know why he brought up Kangaroo, so little on the campaign trial. It seems like he glaring a mission, especially as he seemed to bring up just about everything else.

But it was a very strange sensation to be sitting opposite someone who was six months ago, leading in the polls to be the next Republican presidential nominee. Now, off my fun of Herman Cain in the past, and he has a view of I've referred to his presidential campaign as a book tour that got out of hand. I'm not stand by that description, especially after having met him. But it was a profoundly weird experience to be making fun of him to his face, and an even wierd experience for him not to seem to mind about that. I couldn't work out if he didn't know what was happening, did know but didn't care, or

just knew that there were cameras there filming him and was therefore as happy as a clam. I'm fairly sure it was the third one. But it is worth looking up on the internet, this interview, only for the final few moments where I asked Herman Cain to deliver a speech as president to inspire the inhabitants of the world if the world was attacked by aliens. And rather than saying, what? Or, well, no, of course I'm not going to do that. Instead of those two obvious responses, he fucking did it, and his speech was so smooth. I couldn't help thinking that this wasn't the first time he played that speech out in his head.

And he was just happy that he was finally getting a venue in which to air it. In fact, I think he may well have spent more time thinking about how he would react if the world was attacked by aliens than anything else during his entire presidential campaign. Did it make you think that he might have been the one that got away for America? Well, I mean, that is the question, isn't it? I would never want him to be president, Andy, but I always want him to be running for president. And if the world ever does get attacked by aliens, I can't say he wouldn't be my first

choice. Did you get any good picture recipes off him, John? I can't say he wouldn't be my first choice. Did you get any good pizza recipes off him John? I didn't. I didn't Andy, but that's because he doesn't have any godfather's gastronomic atrocity. So this is a bugle 192 meaning we've had so many bugles so the entire output would take nearly six entire days to listen to. Meaning if you transcribe the view, it would now be almost twice as long as the Bible, and would have almost half the total amount of bullshit of it. There are...

Oh, Andy, whoa. There are 774,746 words in the Bible, presuming that only in one specific translation of it, but I'm perfectly over that. And those words include the Bible, presumably not only in one specific translation of it, but I'm preventing over that. And those words include the phrase, where you'll just have to trust me on this one, said God on 83 separate occasions. But ironically, if you dial that number, 774746 into a telephone, you get through to the Vatican's emergency helpline to report finding an escape nun. Oh, that's good.

So read into that what you want. This is for the week beginning Monday, the 30th of April, 2012. The 29th of April, this Sunday, what a day for celebrity wedding anniversary, John, one year for Prince William and Kate Middleton. Well done. Well done to the K-Dog. One year as a princess, still hasn't picked her finger on a spindle and fallen into a hundred-year coma or got funky with a frog orbin, caught living in a

sorted menage our weak with a load of dwarves, or turned up pissed on a stormy night as someone's house demarded a free room for the night and then complained about the bed being uncomfortable. So she's done well, John, to avoid turning those classic traps. But it's not only their wedding anniversary, John. But very much the spiritual predecessors as a romantic couple, the 67th wedding anniversary of Adolf Hitler, the professional shred and Eva Brown, a woman who had at the very best a questionable taste in men. So that's Sunday's their wedding anniversary, meaning that Monday the 30th is the 60 7th anniversary of a them committing suicide and b. Eva Brown uttering her most famous quotation, which

was, worst honeymoon ever. And her second most famous quotation is that a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me? Oh, it is a gun. And you are pleased to see me as well. Oh, that's nice. And you thought me something. Oh, Hitler, a gun. And you are pleased to see me as well. Oh, that's nice. And you've brought me something. Oh, Hitler, how romantic. Thanks, Hitler. Oh, lovely, I'll wear it with my new negligee. Oh, hang on, I thought it was a pair of silk stockings, but it is actually a capsule of cyanides.

Well, do I like it? Well, Hitler, it's not exactly what a girl wants. I know we're married, Hitler, but this is too kinky for me. Oh, it's not supposed to be kinky. Oh, right, okay. You want me to what? Because Germany has watched it, and the Allies are gonna what your what if they catch you alive?

Crumbs hitly, you really are majoring on the awful worst bit of those vows. Man, I should have sorted out a pre-nut when I had the chance. And FYI, Hitler, I know the bunker is atmospheric, but it's not what I wanted from my special day. Look, I know the other venues were booked out. Sorry, bombed out. But come on, no, I'm not nagging you. No, this doesn't always happen when people get married. No, I don't want to change you.

I just like it if you shave the mustache. Well, it's not all about what you want anymore, Hitler. Don't try and change the subject. This is important. Hitler, do not issue yourself when I'm talking to you. Hitler, I'm your wife now. Ha ha ha. 67 years ago on Monday. As always, the sex and bugle is going straight

in the bin this week. A best of the world's press in our new bugle digest section, including from the Peruvian jelly graph, Lima Zoo admits miracle, limeless miniature horse is in fact a worm. From the Minsk Metropologue, a review of the slow-moving hit Belarusian TV drama series set in a rural village entitled The Man Who Way to Turnip. And also a feature from the Chicago groin

about cage fighting for the elderly. That article is entitled Granny Slam. Stick some stones, can break their bones, but a chess master the head could kill them. That's in the bin. Top story this week, Leverson inquiry updates. And if you don't live in the United Kingdom and that's tragically true of literally thousands of people, then you may not be aware of a huge investigation that is taking place called the Levison Inquiry. If you judge the importance of an inquiry by how many cameras are waiting outside with journalists wildly and breathlessly speculating about what's going on inside, then the Levison Inquiry is to put it in legal terms a f**king

doozy of an inquiry. It's been set up to investigate the culture, practice and ethics of the press in the UK and the current state of it resembles something you would irretailingly try to scrape off the bottom of your shoe. It was set up after the phone hacking scandal when the News of the World admitted hacking the phones of celebrities, the family of dead British soldiers and even the phone of a 13 yearold murder victim. The inquiry has two parts, the first of which is examining relations between the press, politicians, and the police, and the conduct of each.

And that relationship is very similar to the relationship between the Secret Service and Columbia prostitutes, Andy. There's not supposed to be any relationship whatsoever, but it turns out that there's been a surprising amount of f**king going on. And the second part of the inquiry will look at the extent of unlawful or improper conduct within News International and other media organisations. Lord Justice Levison is heading up the inquiry and he has had a bucket placed next to his chair for the repeated wretching and vomiting that he has suffered from this hearing testimony. Hey, I've got a joke for you, John.

Oh, that's right. What do you get if you cross an unregulated media, a slowly putifying democratic system, the innate human lust for power and influence, and a nation belatedly realizing that it might be worth giving a bit of a shit about those three things? I don't know, Andy. What do you get if you cross those things? Rupert Mordor cut the levers and inquiry. Yeah. It's classic.

I've got no one for you. I guess that is inevitable. Not knock. Who's there? Some chickens. Oh. Some chickens. Oh, welcome home chickens.

I'll get Marjorie to make sure your roost's are ready. I'll put the kettle on. We can have a bit of a catch up. All right. Tough crowds. Tough crowd. Right, one more. I'll just say one more go. Uh-huh.

A joke. Because I'm a comedian. I need to have jokes. Doctor, doctor, I feel that my democracy is a sham perpetuated by self-interest political class and a media with interest so vested you could wear them under a shirt on a winter's day to keep warm or pass them off as a wastecoats in North America. Anyway doctor, that is how I feel.

Oh, well f*** off out of my surgery. I deal with medical problems, not a creeping sense that everything Britain stood for was being slowly eroded by an unstoppable commercially driven media-political monster. Oh, can you not at least check me out with a stethoscope? What part of f*** off out of my surgery do you not understand? Please, do you want me to stick this thermometer up here? No, I don't, I'll leave. But this whole issue is fixing your profession to doctor. What were the NHS reforms? I know, I just don't want to think about it. I just want to cure people with my magic doctoring powers. Not be a political football. Is that wrong?

Well, doctor, if we all gather together, maybe we can knife that political football and kick it over French into a disused quarry so the kids can't play with it anymore. By the way, is this lump on my face normal? Yes, that's your nose. It wasn't there yesterday. Yes, it was. Fair point. What about this lump in my throat? Well, that's just you welling up with emotion about the slow death of the democratic dream. Can you prescribe anything for it, Doctor? Have you tried two bottles of vodka? No, Doctor, I haven't. Well, give that a go. It'll only alleviate the symptoms though. Okay, Doc, thanks.

Have you got a defibrillator? Yep, 20 quid a blast. Extra fire, if you want me to do a ham and cheese toasty with it, typical NHS. I'd have day used to try that in a club, Andy. Need a bit of work, maybe. Was that still the set up, or was that the punishment? Need a bit of a high time.

I don't know. Let's not be tied down by definition. I think you might have to excavate the punch line from somewhere towards the middle of that sprawling sense. That's basically what Lord Levison is trying to do as well. There's a punch line in there somewhere. And the point is, is it biologically possible for anyone to listen to what is being said

in this inquiry without your ears trying to commit suicide by jumping off the side of your head? It is hard to overstate the influence that Murdoch has had over British life over the last three decades. He bought the Times and the Sunday Times in 1981, skirting around monopolies and mergers laws, like a figure skating polar bear. I was born in 1977, Andy, so depressing as it is to say, he's actually been one of the most constant influences over my entire life through the burdock. There was just those sweet first four years of my life when his influence didn't seem to hang over Britain like a horrendous stench. And of course, perhaps, sadly, his most significant contribution to British culture was when

the time started the bugle. So, you know, I mean, he's got a lot to answer for and a number of regards. It's probably kept me in a job, anyway. But for two days this week, Murdoch, the self-styled, off-uscating octogenarian, the perfunctory pensioner, the misremembering mogul has been giving evidence, and it has been known, John, for old men sitting alone to be picked on mercilessly. It's just that usually,

those are confused old codgers who are doing a sitting, not billionaire, 80-year-olds, who run massive sways of the global media. And it's usually drunken new to doing the picking on not Britain's top legal brains. But other than that, the similarities are poignant. The confused, old media-owning mumbling billionaire codger with an amazing memory for some things are faced two days of grilling. During which, John, you slightly got the impression that he had spent the entire time imagining that he was playing a particularly

a rassable game of angry birds with the birds replaced by heads of former employees and politicians. Ha ha ha. Rupert Murdoch and his son James have been testifying all week. And as you say, some of them were astonishing claims from Rupert Murdoch's wrinkly face. And of course, that the idea that he exerted any kind of power over politicians was a myth

to which the entire population of the UK said, wait, what made? What the f*** did you just say? Wow, it takes balls to say something like that. Big kangaroo balls that you can retract into your stomach at will. Rubat Murdoch has desperately tried to appear sorry for the thing that everyone wants him to be sorry about, but which he is demonstrably not sorry for. He's also tried to appear like a forgetful old man rather than the terrifying media tycoon that everyone assumes he is.

He's like the old man at the end of the Wizard of Oz, pulling the levers behind the curtain if that old man at the end of the wisdom was was actually still a terrifying asshole. Ruffmann, Dr. Knight, that his personal friendship with Tony Blair, had led to any favors, thumping the table at one point during the testimony to punctuate his sentence saying, I never asked Mr. Blair for anything going on to say, I didn't need to because he just gave everything to me anyway. Then I would pat him on the head and say, good Tony. Given what Prime Minister's have given him and tried to give him over the years, if he didn't ask them for anything, he must have not asked for that nothing he wasn't

asking for in an extremely arsekey kind of way. One of the lawyers actually quoted a reported remark from Birdock when he supposedly said of Tony Blair, if our flirtation is ever consummated Tony, then I suspect we will end up making love like porcupines very carefully before presumably going on to say because we are both total bricks. But on a separate note.

And also surrounded by more total bricks. And as, yes, on a separate note. And yet slightly connected, I do think there are great many people around the world that would really like to see an actual porcupine have sex with room for Murdoch, and not particularly carefully either. Well, there are websites. Murdoch admitted that the phone hacking

had left a serious plot on his reputation. And I guess it has very much in the same way that a giant pigeon has left a serious plot on his car, windscreen. And it seems that as a newspaper boss, and he admitted that he'd not so much taken his eye off the ball as taking his eyes out of their sockets and put ball for their instead before saying, I can't see any balls. And then wondering around saying, do I't see any balls. And then one figure out saying, do I look scary? Do I look scary?

Oh, you're sacked. Ah! He stopped just short of saying. I have cast iron proof. That's from 2003 to 2008. I was on the John doing an unusually tricky times crossword. That is, but that is basically his defence. He just didn't know anything about it.

Well, not even claimed that he'd actually been a victim of the phone hacking scandal himself, saying the senior executives were misinformed and shielded from anything that was going on. Maybe even the editor, but certainly below that, someone took charge of a cover-up which we were victim to. Oh, that's right, Rupert. You are the big victim here. I can't believe the staggering lack of sympathy being sent your way. And you know what? Shame on us. Shame on all of us. He took the victim card even further when he claimed that he'd been under duress after being harassed by a hoarder photographer photographers and journalists saying, I had another 20 or so outside my apartment this morning.

At which point presumably the entire room went quiet. And just waited for him to realise what he just said. And I'm hoping that he immediately replied, I'm sorry, I've just realised the inherent irony in me complaining about the aggressive trigger from the press. Scratch that last comment from the records, please. F*** heroo. At his strategy so far seems to have been to outright deny something to, can tangrously obfuscate or to pretend that he doesn't remember at all. That was how he dealt with

questions around David Cameron, reportedly flying down to meet him on his yacht in 2008. He said he wasn't sure about the meeting and then why he couldn't remember which yacht they met on, whether it was his yacht or his daughter's yacht. Well, here's the thing. No one gives a shit about which yacht you met on. We just care that you met at all. You could have met on a pair of jet skis and that would still be a problem or be that it would have made a significantly better story. It showed quite impressive restraint, I thought, that both Judge Levinson and the QC, Robert J, managed to do the entire two-day examination of Murdoch

without taking off their glasses, looking Murdoch straight in the eye and saying slowly and deliberately, for fuck's sake. But an upshot of the levyson has been Jeremy Hunt's the Culture Secretary, or as he was called by the respected radio journalist James Nocty on the very serious radio

for Daily News Show, the today program a while ago, Jeremy the Hulcher Secretary. No smoke without fire, no smoke without fire. Anyway, Hunt is now fighting for his political arse. After it turned out that his special advisor, Adam Smith, had been in a rather too close contact with newscorp during the buildup to their controversial attempted full takeover of Beast Guy B.

Adam Smith, the advisor, rightly resigned. Stroke was brutally hung out to dry. Stroke was obviously scapegoed for something that clearly went well beyond just him to lead according to preference. Adam Smith claimed he acted without Jeremy Hunt's knowledge and Hunt has defended himself against accusations of wrongdoing by claiming that A, he had absolutely no idea of anything his long-term special adviser, with whom we had spent the whole of his working life in

close contact with was doing. B, every time he met anyone from B Sky B or Newscore, people had his fingers and his ears and said, la, la, la, so he couldn't hear what they were saying. And C, he also tearfully admitted that ever since going into politics he'd been locked in his garden shed whilst his special adviser Adam Smith pranced around in a pantomime Jeremy Hunt outfit. So I'm sure he's fine and somehow claim that Hunt is only keeping his job as a firewall for Prime Minister David Cameron whose close links and friendships with Top News International

people are starting to look somewhere between well maybe perfectly normal and patently David Cameron, whose close links and friendships with top news international people, are starting to look somewhere between, well, maybe perfectly normal and patently putrid, depending on your political standpoint. And these camera promised a new politics when he came into Downing Street, so after the subterfusion, trickery and double-deaning of the lab years. And it turns out that by new, he meant new, in the same way, that the new, he meant new in the same way that the new testament is new in that it's millennia out of date full of bullshit and believed by a decreasing proportion of the British population. And the greater point in all this is that the sorted working of the political,

mediacal machine, I believe that's a word, have been laid bare for all to see, but I'm sure it's always been this way, John. I'm sure Jesus, I don't want to keep copying on about him, but I'm sure he had to feed tasty tip bits of gossip to the gospel writers to make sure they gave him good props in their books. Jesus predicted his death three times in the New Testament and Matty, Marco and Luke all had

exclusive interviews with Jesus saying he was going to pop his magic clocks. And you just can't not think that he was just leaking it selectively to the press. Even gave Matt the scoop that he was going to be crucified and then lo and behold they all gave him cracking right ups for his magic tricks and stand up storytelling and then banged on about a miscarriage of justice in Jesus' high profile court case without really giving all the facts of a very complicated legal issue. Jesus fed the dogs the bone John and the dogs barked at his burglars and pissed on his tree dumps and that's how the media has always worked. It's a dance as old as time itself. Middle East peace letter news now and there is a charming new written relationship emerging between two pent pals or to be more accurate pennamies. A letter detailing

a Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas's demands for restarting peace talks was recently handed to Israel's Prime Minister, Palestinian officials gave the document to Netanyahu and a meeting in Jerusalem, at which both sides said they were committed to reach peace. Mr Netanyahu is supposedly going to reply within 14 days and it must be so exciting, you know, for him to get that envelope and have everyone crowding around saying, oh, what does it say? What does it say? It's nice that in a world of email, there's at least some people still taking the time to physically write letters to each other, or be it letters

of demands. What's a bit old-fashioned, John? You had a thought that, you know, these guys are modern politicians, they should have used more modern forms of communication and more accessible to the wider public. I'd like to see these negotiations take place on Twitter. A bass could have written at Netanyahu. Let's talk about piece baby. Let's talk about you and me. Hashtag piece protests.

Pro-process. Hashtag. 83rd time lucky. He could have Netanyahu. I could have replied at Mu Mu, aash 13, retweets at God, Israel can have Israel. Hashtag from Islam, hashtag suck on it. Abash replies at Nenya who Sean J. LeDisk, Nenya replies, I've just found a picture of a dog that looks like a Willie. I think that would have been a more grown-up way to do this negotiation.

That's a depressively effective way to sum up the Middle East peace process over the last 50 years. Democracy update now and in France or on France as they say over there. It looks like President Sarkozy may be up shit creek without a baguette. He lost to just a nightmare for a fresh person. Absolutely. They liked having emergency baguette with them all the time. Yeah, you never know when you might need to have it on the side of eating some brie

Well, that's why Napoleon had those funny sideways hats because it there to be wide enough to hide a baguette in Just in case you know, you hope you never have to use it, but it's there if you do Did you know when they used to chop people's heads off with the guillotine and the basket where their heads fell into they had to Some fresh baked baguettes just to... Yeah, good. Because they're not animals. Well they're not animals and they'd give the severed heads one final whiff of Frenchness before they finally went on their way.

Fact. History. The bicycle was... Yes. ...was in the first ever bicycle which obviously is a French invention. Yes. As a means for carrying onions more efficiently from place to place. It was in fact made of a couple of baguettes and some wheels, some cheeses, and some

wheels of camembert. And French kids learn how to swim using onion rings. They do? They do. They do. They do. They do. onion rings. They do? Rubber rings, yeah. That's entirely true. That is a fact. Yep. Okay, I think we've danced... Baseball.

Up to the border of racism there. What? What's in it? Yeah, the French obviously gave America the Statue of Liberty in the 19th century. And they also gave them a game of baseball, which was a game originally played in France using baguettes and tomatoes. The point is, the point is, Sarcosi lost the first round of voting in the French election to the socialist candidate François Alande. It's the first time a French president running for reelection has failed to win the first round since the fifth Republic in 1958. Mr. Sarkozy, who's been in power

since 2007, said he understood and I quote, the anguish felt by the French in a fast-moving world. You see, even in political defeat Andy, the French can't help but sound like poets. Sarkozy should have delivered that statement wearing a black polo neck and a beret, smoking I feel the anguish felt by the French. In this fast, moving, well. Merci beaucoup, thank you, thank you. My next poem is called, Oh shit, so his poem numbers look bad. Oh shit, said the man. No shit, said the poem numbers.

Oh shit, said the man. No shit, said the poem numbers. Oh shit, said the man. No shit, said the poem numbers. Oh shit, said the man. No shit, said the poll numbers. Thank you, thank you very much. So, what, the interesting thing was that he lost to the socialist candidate, Francois, Holland.

And if Holland wins the second round, he'll win not only the presidency, but also the bonus prize of Carla Bruni for the next five years. Yeah, he should never have put that on. That made no sense at the time. I know he was just trying to look confident but that seems really crazy. But as well as O'Lond coming out on top, there was a very strong performance from the far right candidate, Marine La Pen, of the National Front Party.

So it seems that France very much like a Matador's testicles after slightly misderming a flash new move on a bull has simultaneously swung left and right. And there's been quite a lot of jockeying to try and win the votes from lapenn supporters for the next round between Oland and Sarcosi and lapenn has not come out in favour of either candidate and she said this, she said, I don't change my opinion like I changed my shirt. And that made me think a lot actually about

my own political views. And I realised that I changed my opinion like I changed my underpants. Once a year in the local zoo. LAUGHTER Well, shouting, now you take off your fur, lion face. In American democracy news, Newt Gingrich plans to drop out of the presidential race this coming Tuesday, weeks and weeks after it would have already been ridiculously too late to do so. The three-wifed moon colony dreamer put his mark on the campaign, Andy, that mark being

the mark of an angry penis. He is basically an out. Wasn't that a Sherlock Holmes novel? The mark of the angry penis. Sherlock never found it. Oh, Moriati. Why so angry? Gingrich has basically announced that he is going to announce that he is going to end

his bid to be the Republican nominee, thus giving himself one more moment in the sun like a bloated honking seal. He announced that he will also not drop out. He will merely transition out of the race. And Vuxerport claimed that he will very likely endorse Mitt Romney, although it seems that he will only do that in his own signature angry penis style. As when asked about it, he said, I think obviously that I would be a better candidate, but the objective fact is that the voters didn't think that.

Wow, that is a rigging endorsement! The most attention Gingrich had managed to get while campaigning recently was of course when he was bitten by a penguin. So maybe it's worth him learning from that success and giving campaigning one last goal, but this time campaigning while getting bitten by larger and larger animals. And if he doesn't work, perhaps this final concession speech should be given while his arm is in the mouth of a lion. You can't say that wouldn't be spectacular. If a man is talking while 20% of his body is inside a lion, you are listening to that

man, Andy. Well, didn't that happen to Walter Mondale? Didn't they do the last of the televised debates with just his feet sticking out of a crocodile's mouth? It's what's the future hold for for Gingrich now, John, because I mean, I guess he'd probably be looking at another wife on the back of this. Yeah, I think statistically there's another wife on the horizon. Yeah, that's just, you know, if you look at the calendar, that's long overdue. Yeah, that's just you know if you look at the calendar that's long overdue More Britain being f**king news now and it's turned out that we're back in recession

after the government's heroic efforts to create an artificial spike in the economy by Provoking a petrol buying panic at the end of the first quarter of the year. That didn't work and technically that's a second quarter of what is euphemistically known as negative growth rather than things being f**ked. And that means that we are in what is experts call a double dip recession. Now depending on what you read, this is the worst state the British economy has been in since the 1970s, the 1990s, the 1930s, or the 1870s, or since two years ago. But the fact is, is not going well for the government's attempts to hoodwink the economy into thinking that it's fine. In fact, those attempts have been about as successful as the Titanic's attempts to sink

that iceberg. And one of the great concerns that a lot of people are increasingly raising is the fact that the people dealing with this issue, the Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Secretary of the Deputy Prime Minister, the Chief Secretary of the Treasury, between them, have the collective work experience that suggests they would struggle to organize a game of petonk in a French village with a baguette in a picnic basket. Let alone sort out a struggling British economy. The government has slightly relied on Muriel the Magic private sector galloping to the rescue and sadly Muriel has not quite been feeding herself lately. And it also

turns out the sticking pins in voodoo dolls of the post-war welfare state creating Prime Minister Clement Attlee also hasn't worked. So it's not looking good, John. The economy is now 4.3% smaller than before the crisis. Admittedly, this could be worse. It hasn't entirely led to everyone throwing away all their plasma screen televisions and instead building outside toilets wearing trubby hats and dying of typhoid. So things clearly have been worse in the past. But of the G7 nations, only Italy has done worse in recent years

than Britain. So once again, the bugle says, thank you Silvio, thank you for everything. Your emails now and this one comes in from Jethro Stevenson, who writes, dear Andy, John and Chris, in the latest edition of the Bugle, listen to Alan Martin explain that he has the ability to detect imminent pun on the slots and offer to act as a pun canary. Yeah, it's prepaid.

You've seen quite keen on that idea, John. Well, I thought it was a great idea. Anything that can stop those from happening on four Andy. Really? It's got to be worthwhile. Please, just stop fighting nature, John, and also stop fighting the will of the people. And by the people, I mean one person.

His proposal was that on detecting a pun run, he would start screaming as a warning to the pun of us. However, right, Stgethro, if Alan is really to be a canary, then for accuracy sake, his method should be to sit in the studio constantly singing or screaming at the top of his voice, until he detects a pun. then for accuracy sake, his method should be to sit in the studio constantly singing or screaming at the top of his voice until he detects a pun, at which point he should stop

and drop down dead. There you are. It's good having a mining history accuracy. I accept that he's only something that he could do once. However, it may serve as a lesson to John and Chris. puns don't kill, but lack of puns can and do. Well, that is excellent. Yeah, that's how it came out.

But very exciting. We have another email from Antarctic at Andy. Awesome. Antarctic and bugler. Sue O'Reilly says, dear the bugle, greetings once again from the Antarctic. I very much enjoy your recent coverage of Captain Scott's brave expedition and grew some death. It was a heartwarming thing to hear as I face

long, long months of big-trapped and frigid doctors with highly questionable go-workers. I'd probably be fine. It'd probably be fine. So guys, I've done two winters at South Pole Station since I last wrote to you. This year my podcast queue seems to play the bugle almost every time that I'm climbing on the station's roof to chip urine smelling ice from the bathroom steam vents. Well, that's sentence. Is that not what the bugle does for the world? Are we not the chipper of urine from steam vents for this planet? She says I draw no correlations from this and goes on to say,

I would just like to mention that if I fall down and slide off the three-story drop while laughing at you, my South Pole death will be entirely your fault. This is not likely because my work doesn't take me near the roof edge, but Andy's pun runs could quite possibly draw me closer. Cheers, Sue O'Reilly. There you go, Andy. You could be responsible for Sue's plunge into the icy tundra, or icy pundra.

People can't help it. Oh, John. John, oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no, the madness. Valupe me. Sue, don't jump. Don't jump, Sue. You quite enjoyed that, didn't you?

I could tell! You quite pleased with that. No, I hate it. Don't fight it, John. I hate myself. Sue, you've been repressing yourself too long, John. Don't jump! A number of emails picking up on the discussion of the Austrian village of f***ing last week,

which I guess we might have f***ing expected, and we brought it upon our f***ing selves. Oh no. And we've also been sent a picture of the Austrian politician Andreas Wanker, which, I don't know if this was part of the deal at the end of the Second World War, because in exchange we're having produced Hitler, Austria had to be cursed with swear words for people in places. I don't know, it's probably time to move on, probably. And also, with someone sent in a waffle shaped like a penis, you know I will put it up on the Twitter

feeding on the website and I think it's amazing what modern technology can do not only does it enable people to make waffles and then cut them into the shapes of wangs but it also enables us to share them with you. I'll devote with listeners. Do keep your emails coming in to... Oh wow. Oh, this is good boy. I'll take every time. Do keep your emails coming in to info at thebugelpodcast.com and don't forget this SoundCloud page. Where'd you? Which is SoundCloud.com slash the hyphen bugle. Bang! Nice handy.

Easily dunked that. My favourite webpage of all time. The only webpage. Yeah, it's really, I mean, I've got a tattoo of it. The problem is I have the tattoo done on my back so I can't actually see it and read it out, but um... The point stands. BOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOMBOOOM I'll produce a Chris, lost the London marathon, not even close. I watched that. Oh, you were Chris.

Those Kenyans had your eyes for grass. What happened? No, okay, I got sidetracked. You guaranteed victory, Chris. I got sidetracked by a girl who was running and Hula Hoping at the same time. Oh, that's right. During this took a phone call.

How can you not stop and run alongside a girl who is who will be putting 26 miles on the telephone? This is like Steve over at the Los Angeles Olympics all over again. I'm at least so great if the winner of the Olympic marathon took a phone call. I can't wait to talk now. I'm running in the marathon. I'll be done in about two and a half hours. I think if the Olympic 100 meters in 2008 had been another 20 yards long,

you saying Bolt would have taken a phone call. So I mean, very disappointing, obviously, not only to lose, but to take more than twice as long as the guy you want. And you've been claiming knee injury. I have. Yeah. I've got bad toes, well, bad toe, the David Hay excuse. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. But I just finished it. I did finish it. Yeah. Okay. So I finished. Should it be your loss? And loser. Loser. Yeah, put my hand up, I'm a loser. But thanks to all the bugles who sponsored a loser, by the way, very kindly. You can still sponsor Chris,

his Virgin Money, what's it called? Oh, you know what, for a second, I thought you were gonna know that. And top of you, virginmoney.com forward slash hackney empire. Virgin Giving, all Virgin Money. Virgin Money Giving.com, oh my god. I've got you Yeah, so if you want to sponsor Chris for being a total failure. Yeah

Well, I mean, I won't even worry about you by the end. Well, I mean, I know before Someone those Kenyans are talking about Chris Skinner being a definite potential rival. Yeah Yeah, I don't know where they got that from yeah Who do you think is going to be the next of the three of us to run a marathon, Andy? I don't know. I'm guessing it's not going to be me, John, because you know, a lot of sportsmen will see them interviewed and they'll be asked, do you think you've got a chance in this one? And they'll say, yeah,

well, you know, I wouldn't be if I didn't know I could win. And I take that view with marathon's. I just don't see the point in entering unless I'm going to actually win it. And I'm not going to actually win it, so I'm not going to enter it. One reason to win, I got sponsored by two Florence Nightingales. Really? Yeah, or the same Florence Nightingale twice. Yeah. And good that really. That's reason alone to, I think you have to report that in, Cove. And also, this was a center... The big, the treasure up. Also, a center to the bugle twitter feed was a picture of a banner that some buglers

had put up at around about the 22 mile mark, I think. A massive banner, hang out with a building saying, fuck you Chris. Must've been just the F*** you Chris. Ha ha ha ha. Must've been just the psychological boost you needed. I saw drag here, aching body towards the finish. There was so many confused people. Chris. Right, you have money.

What come on? That is a huge achievement. So I'm very sorry to any of the people who had put money on Chris to win. I know I've about 10 grand down on that, but well done for taking part. Well done. Thanks. Loser. That's all for this week's bugle. Do keep your emails coming into info at the buglepodcast.com or put those pictures up on the at hello bugleers twitter feed and don't forget the SoundCloud page. SoundCloud.com.

Slash, the hyphen Buegl. Oh, he's shot. Two for two. I'm a lovely wake. Please take us back, Mr. Murdoch. Please take us back. Please take. Don't jump soon. Hahaha.