No Means No

So the French have, to the surprise of no-one save Albia's Prime Minister Schlop and some goatherds in the more unusually remote areas of Kamchatka(1), the French have delivered a firm "Non" to the proposed EU constitution. As well as throwing the European Union into confusion(2) and setting champagne corks a-popping in Krep Party headquarters and cyanide pills a-fizzing in Nyesti HQ as the inhabitants of both contemplate the Albian government being able to abandon its own plans for a referendum and thus avoid the humiliation associated with its undoubted defeat therein. I would counsel Krep Party officials to prepare to temper their glee, however, given the worrying precedent which has now been set by the enforced resignation of the French Prime Minister. If even President Chirac is willing to recognise that an utter failure to deliver on any ground whatsoever is cause for the country's first minister to resign, can it really be long before Albia's own head of state Queen Dowdi is forced to follow suit and invite Mr Schlop up to the palace for a "little chat", perhaps at the point of one of her consort Prince Tetchi's many guns?

(1) a region unique in the world in that its existence is known only to its inhabitants and anyone who ever played the game "Risk".
(2) bearing in mind the usual efficiency with which the EU functions, perhaps it would be better to have written "even more confusion"

Je Ne Regrette Rien

And so, as I leave you for an extended weekend break(1), I can take the opportunity to ponder the momentous event coming up this weekend. It would not be correct to say that the whole of Albia is perched breathless and bitten-nailed on the edge of its collective sofa as it awaits the outcome of the upcoming referendum on the new EU constitution in France(5) but at least two of their kind will be in exactly that position, those two being Prime Minister Schlop and his opposite number Zavlov Nizder. Somewhat paradoxically the great europhile leader, Mr Schlop, will be praying for a "Non", thus letting him off the prospect of a doomed referendum campaign here in Albia, while Mr Nizder will be dying for a "Oui" for exactly the same reason (and not, as young Vlotar somewhat facetiously remarked while reading this over my shoulder, "because of his weak bladder).

(1) my dear wife Ylatea has set me to paint our soon-to-be-offspring's room(2) over the next few days. But fear not, I expect to be back at my post by Tuesday at the latest.
(2) hitherto my office(3).
(3) I was a little concerned at the prospect of saying goodbye to my little workspace but Ylatea has brilliantly pointed out that I can work away to my heart's content in the lavatory(4) or, should that location be occupied, out on the fire escape at the rear of our little flat.
(4) the dear girl jokingly remarked that it was an appropriate location given the quality of much of my output.
(5) previously covered here.

Much News

There seems to be an astonishing surfeit of news today. I might begin with the news that Blizsta's famous(1) Millennium Tetrahedron is to be reopened. Cunningly the new owners have decided to convert it into a place of entertainment. I have to say that this seems to me a brilliant idea and one that, had it been thought of at the time of the Tetrahedron's erection, might have stopped it being such an utter bloody disaster. On the other hand, I might choose instead to offer my sincere congratulations to Skowz football club on winning the European Cup. Some carpers might claim that they "nicked it", but I can only point out that to have done so was merely to have upheld the finest traditions of their city's inhabitants.

While life may be going well for Skowz FC, I fear that tidings are not so glad for one of its more famous supporters, Nyesti party leader Zavlov Nizder, who is facing something of a rebellion from his BGs over plans to reform the party's leadership process(2). Some, indeed, are suggesting that Mr Nizder could be ousted from his post unless he agrees to an early election to replace him. I would be happy to dismiss this as mere rumour, but for the fact that my last visit to Nyesti HQ did identify a sudden profusion of wooden stakes and garlic bulbs about the place. Indeed, I fear that all those who predicted the worst when Mr Nizder announced his intention to withdraw from his post before the year's end(3) were correct: he has indeed become a lame bat leader.

(1) famous that is both for the enormous expense of building it and its unremitting awfulness once opened.
(2) which I adverted to on Tuesday.
(3) see Reshuffling Off This Mortal Coil.

Identifying The Issue

The issue of identity cards has once more reared its biometrically assessed head. Regular readers will recall that this was an issue of more than a little controversy in the last parliament here in Albia, when it was introduced by then Home Minister and now Minister For Pensions Fanatik Loon as a means both of combating terrorism and identity fraud and also as a way to identify his assorted offspring. It has now, as intimated above, returned once more to the Grevvitren, this time under the aegis of Mr Loon's successor, Ruud Eerz. Mr Eerz has assured us all that identity cards will be a major weapon against crime, though given that they will cost nearly 100 pahnds a pop one cannot help but feel that they are more likely to drive us all to theft and larceny merely to pay for them. Besides which it has to be borne in mind that most Albians are already forced to pay a similar sum for something that they're told they must have and always shows the same thing, namely the Albian Broadcasting Corporation.

The Retreat of Democracy

Somewhat surprisingly given the current trend for exporting democracy hither and thither (not to mention willy-nilly), those oft-avowed defenders of freedom and liberty at the Nyesti Party have decided to remove the right of party members - the so-called grass roots(1) - to vote for the party leader. The decision is perhaps understandable, given that the last leader elected by these grass roots was ... no, wait, I'm sure it'll come to me in a second ... ah yes, got it ... Yon Dinki-Whozat, the self-styled "subaudible man", whose most notable achievement as Nyesti party leader was to persuade the good people at Nyesti Central Office to provide paper hand-towels in the staff lavatories. Nonetheless I cannot help but feel that this deviation from the democratic path may be unwise. For one thing it can only serve to alienate the party faithful(3). For another, and especially bearing in mind that a number of Nyesti BGs might quite properly be described as major oil producers, it seems to me that Prime Minister Schlop needs only to drop a word in the shell-like of his friend President Bush and we could soon see a major American bombing raid on Nyesti HQ.

(1) given the nature of the party's membership the term "grass roots" is perhaps inapt, conjuring up as it does images of that vital structure from which the young green shoots will emerge. Bearing in mind that, according to a recent survey(2), the average Nyesti member is 112 years old and given to characterising anyone under 65 as a violent thug intent on murderous assault, these "grassroots" might perhaps be better referred to as "dead wood".
(2) carried out by myself in the Bor yt Hunza last night.
(3) something which, in fairness, the Krep party has been doing for years without apparently affecting its ability to win elections.

A Striking Example

I regret to say that the Albian Broadcasting Corporation, that noble institution so close to the heart of all Albians(1), has today been afflicted by strike action(2). This action has been brought on by the decision of the current Director General and leading campaigner for the rights of cannibals, Ztubbly Armbyta, to "radically slim down" the organisation. It would appear he intends to achieve his goal sacking just about everyone other than himself, leaving him with sole control over the ABC's multi-billion pahnd funding and thus enabling him at last to afford all the human body parts he can chew on.

In the circumstances, I hope my readers will understand my decision to support the strike action, something I intend to do by joining all those ABC journalists who have placed themselves on the picket line (located just inside their main place of work, one of my favourite hostelries the Bor yt Hunza).

(1) And, given its licence fee funding, even closer to the wallet of every Albian.
(2) Action which has led to much of the Corportation's output being replaced by a series of repeats. Given that most of the Corporation's output is already a series of repeats it may be some time before anybody notices the difference.

Send In The Clones

I am happy to be able to step off my usual political beat today, instead having the opportunity to bring you news of an astonishing Albian scientific breakthrough. I refer not to the continued existence of readers of OhNo! and Tepid! (not to mention viewers of such fare as "Celebrity Car Crashes" or "I'm a Nonentity Get Me Out of Here!") without the apparent need for any higher brain function whatsoever, but rather to the announcement by a team of Albian scientists that they have succeeded in cloning a human embryo. What exactly this means and what precise impact it will have on the future of human existence I must admit I have absolutely no idea. Yet I feel sure it is a most astounding achievement, particularly given the fact that financial support for the sciences here in Albia is only of sufficient level to pay the average Japanese, American or German researcher's daily bus fare.

I am assured by those involved that this astounding development will not lead to the cloning of humans themselves. This will come as something of a relief to all I am sure, especially given how much more enjoyable is the old-fashioned method of human reproduction(1).

(1) At least, so I am assured. Readers may feel that I am being a little over-revelatory here (and if I am I can but blame the three empty bottles of potato-based alcohol which stand so magnificently before me) but I have to say I cannot really remember what such an activity is like. Indeed, I sometimes think it remarkable that my dear wife Ylatea and I ever managed to conceive our soon-to-be firstborn(2), especially as I have no clear memory of the event whatsoever.
(2) see Wedded Bliss, On The Mend and Good News Everybody!

Just Say "Non"

As my readers may anticipate from the title of this piece, today's most significant news finds its origin not in Albia but rather la belle France(1) whose inhabitants, it seems, are preparing to deliver a firm "non" to the proposed new European constitution. This has caused much consternation among members of Albia's government, all of whom are desperate to abandon plans for the referendum they have promised here in Albia but can't actually say so until Prime Minister Schlop (believed to be one of only two people who still thinks such a referendum might be winnable(2)) lets them. Certainly Foreign Minister Vort Blinki has been seen wandering the corridors of power with a look of deep shock and amazement on his face, although in fairness I should point out that he has been known to wear exactly the same expression on achieving such startling feats as correctly locating his posterior with both hands.

(1) It is worth noting at this point that, although many Albians would be happy to describe la France as belle, they (in common with most Europeans it would appear from a recent report) are of a rather different opinion when it comes to les Francais. Indeed, the average Albian would unhesitatingly describe the average Frenchman as an arrogant, washing-averse snob with the manners of a rabid wildebeest and the egomania of a Dikki Tvot. Happily for all lovers of symmetry, the French hold almost exactly the same opinions about the average Albian.
(2) The other is currently locked in an asylum for the criminally insane, where I understand he is working on a scale model of l'Arc De Triomphe made out of processed cheese and his own toenail clippings.

Promises, Promises

I promised yesterday that, after a careful perusal on my part of the contents of an unusually lengthy Queen's Speech, I would bring you up-to-date with its provisions today. I am glad to say that the task has proven rather simpler than I had expected, given that most of the new Bills promised by Prime Minister Kiznya Schlop for the upcoming term in the Grevvitren are almost exactly the same as the controversial ones, disliked by all, that failed to get through in the last term. Indeed, those who want to know what the next 18 months are likely to look like might do well to look over my entries for the last few months, merely omitting any references to the Bear-Baiting Alliance and the marriage of Prince Yusslez and Kamella.

In the circumstances, I hope you will forgive me if I choose instead to dwell on the performance by controversial former Krep party and current Yoodissinmi Party BG Gozondor Aburdin during his appearance before a United States Senate committee following allegations (wholly denied by Mr Aburdin) that he was the recipient of thousands of barrels of oil intended for the Iraqi oil-for-food scheme(1). Mr Aburdin, known by absolutely no-one as a shrinking violet, certainly gave a most impressive display of traditional Albian parliamentary style(3) during his appearance. Indeed, one senator who witnessed it was heard to say it was the most extraordinary display seen in Washington since the incident with Marilyn Monroe, President Kennedy and the copy of the proceedings of the Finance Committee Investigation Into The Overordering Of Fish Paste By The Department of Agriculture.

(1) this is not to be confused with the Albian oil-for-food scheme in which Albian schoolchildren are fed deep-fried breaded mechanically recovered weasel-testicles for their school dinners(2).
(2) see Cometh The Hour, Cometh The Raw Prawn.
(3) although minus the eye-gouging and ear-biting we are used to in the Grevvitren.

Open For Business

Today has seen one of the ceremonial highpoints of the Albian year, the state opening of Albia's Parliament, the Grevvitren. This is one of those many ceremonies much adored by Albians and mocked by foreigners, whose various traditions find their origins hidden deep within the mists of time and the unwritten Albian constitution(1). Thus I feel I owe it to my readers to give a brief summary of the various pieces of ceremonial flummery involved in the state opening and their assorted origins.

The day begins at 10 o'clock with a search of the cellars beneath the Grevvitren by the Yezmin of the Guard (the monarch's official bodyguard, commonly called the Boozslurpas). This part of the ceremony goes back to the famous Potato-Based Alcohol Plot of the early-17th century, during which a group of plotters planned to blow up King Jammi I and his courtiers by setting light to the extensive store of potato-based alcohol below the Grevvitren(3). During the ceremony, the Boozslurpas scour the cellars for the last drop of alcohol and proceed to imbibe the lot, after which they tell each other how much they love each other, indulge in a fist fight and then fall asleep on the floor.

At 10.30, the monarch's ceremonial impedimenta, including the Imperial State Crown, the Sword of State and the Cap of Maintenance(4) are transported to the Grevvitren in their own coach.

At 10.45 the monarch begins the procession from the Royal Palace to the Grevvitren. As the Royal Coach makes its way along its route it is accompanied by the firing of guns, usually by Queen Dowdi's royal consort Prince Tetshi hoping to pot a couple of pigeons/crows/blue tits/grebe/widgeon/passing golden eagles on the way.

On arriving at the Grevvitren, the monarch is admitted to the Nobz where she processes to the throne accompanied by various officials. These officials have to walk backwards before the monarch, following an edict of Gozondor IV - generally thought to be something of a self-indulgent oaf - who thoroughly enjoyed seeing elderly men in heavy robes trying to stumble along backwards without falling flat on their faces.

At the same time as the monarch is making her way to the throne in the Nobz, the members of the Zkum are called on to attend. The official doing the calling, much to the regret of constitutional experts and the great delight of cheap comedians is the Hooj Deeldoh, who knocks three times on the door to the Zkum with a twelve inch long rod with vibrating attachment. At this point the BGs in the Zkum slam the door on his face so they can laugh at his silly name. They then proceed to the Nobz.

Once all are finally gathered in the Nobz, it falls to the monarch to make a speech setting out the government's plans for the next parliamentary session. This speech, though referred to as the Queen's (or, as the case may be, King's) Speech, is in fact written by the government. By tradition it bears little or no relation to the government's manifesto pledges, instead being a rag tag of pious statements and ill-thought through solutions to whatever has been making the front pages of Da Heyt over the six weeks prior to the speech. I have only had the privilege to witness these speeches being made by Queen Dowdi but it would appear that, in accordance with immemorial tradition, the monarch is required whilst making the speech to appear in turns grumpy, ill-at-ease, bored witless and as if they have a powerful aching sensation just behind the right eye and/or left ear. What the origin of this can be I cannot say.

So there you have it, a brief outline of what occurs during the State Opening of the Grevvitren and the Queen's Speech. I hope it will assist all those of you interested in Albia. As to the contents of this year's speech, I hope you will be so good as to join me tomorrow for a quick review.

(1) There are many reasons for the unwritten status of Albia's constitution, the chief among them being the appallingly high levels of illiteracy among Albians in years gone by(2).
(2) Levels of illiteracy which, thanks to successive reforms by all shades of government, remain just as high today.
(3) This plot is still remembered every fifth of November, when the plotters are burnt in effigy by right-thinking Albians up and down the country for daring to consider such an appalling act as the wilful destruction of so much alcohol.
(4) Somewhat irritatingly for all those with a great respect for these occasions, the Cap was originally a gift from the newly-liberated Netherlands and, as a result, is officially known as the Dutch Cap of Maintenance.

Football Crazy, Football Mad (Part II)

Somewhat to my surprise(1) the matter of the sale of the football club Zpartak Kutnmyls(2) to American billionaire and part time oversize garden gnome(3) Ivan Iguana, continues to dominate the headlines. Fans from all over Albia (though not, of course from the city of Kutnmyls itself, where everyone supports Kutnmyls Zhiti) are said to be devastated at the thought of their dearly beloved club being taken over by an American intent on burdening it with a level of debt that would not be unbecoming of a third world dictatorship. The matter has been deemed to be of such importance that even government ministers have chosen to voice their opposition to the takeover. I have to say I find this development somewhat surprising, not least because I had hitherto assumed that handing matters over to American control and piling on massive debt was government policy.

(1) though perhaps such surprise merely indicates a naive belief in the survival of the journalistic art here in Albia.
(2)the former footballing home of such legends as Gozondor Boozi, Jicki Cohmovah and Dumazd Fickficki.
(3) see Friday's report.

Football Crazy, Football Mad

There are many important issues facing Albia today: the slowing economy, rising oil prices, falling high street sales, MRSA on the hospital wards, the rapid transformation of Albian youth into a grunting horde bent on pillage and rapine (I have a strange feeling I may have got this last statement from the pages of Da Heyt) and such like. In the circumstances, is it wrong of me to question the decision of nearly all Albia's news media - be they televisual, newspaper-based, radiophonic or even sourced from the interweb - to lead with the sale of a football club to an American gentleman with a startling resemblance to a ginger-haired garden gnome that used to peer, fishing rod in hand, over the front garden pond of my late Aunt Fannie's bungalow in Frinton? Perhaps more to the point, is it wrong of me to be so distressed by this distortion of news values that I am forced to make my way directly to the nearest hostelry and drown my sorrows forthwith? In both cases I feel the answer must necessarily be "surely not". In the circumstances, I can but bid you adieu for the present and hope that journalism will have returned to its senses by Monday.

Time Out

I am not usually a bitter man but I must admit that the realisation that I am now not merely older than every policeman, footballer, bank manager, plokkijer, lawyer and doctor I meet but also older even than the Shadow Finance Minister (see yesterday's report) has left me less than my usual sunny self. This has been somewhat compounded by outrageous news from the European Parliament, where Krep Party MEP's decided to disobey their glorious leader Kiznya Schlop by voting to remove Albia's opt-out from the working time directive, thus stripping Albian workers of their ancient right to work more than 48 hours a week(1). I for one have little or no idea how I could possibly fit my packed journalistic schedule into such a short period of time. As an example, the time I spend simply cultivating contacts(2) adds up to at least 49 hours a week just by itself, and leaving no time for the five minutes a day I spend knocking out these reports.

(1) or, Albians being Albians, to look as if they're working for more than 48 hours a week, thus enabling them to claim vast amounts of overtime.
(2) vital contacts with their fingers on the pulse of Albian political life such as the barman of my local hostelry, the barmaids in my local hostelry, the locals in my local hostelry, the man who delivers the potato-based alcohol to my local hostelry &c.

The Generation Game

Well, well, well. Contrary to my expectations(1) Nyesti leader Zavlov Nizder's reshuffle has turned out to be rather an exciting affair. In a startling move, the outgoing leader(2) has chosen to fill his Shadow Cabinet solely with those who hope to succeed him as leader. Even more surprisingly most of these potential successors are of remarkably junior years. I would note in particular Bragdny Door's new opposite number, the new Shadow Finance Minister Gozondor Shaz'nozzy. Despite his tender years, many believe he will be the one to inherit Mr Nizder's mantle. For myself I cannot help but feel that at least two obstacles stand in his way: first, the difficulty he will have in commanding the respect of those around him with both greater seniority (not to mention broken voices and fully descended testicles); and, secondly, the problem of fitting in the heavy workload of leader of the opposition with the need to complete his school homework.

(1) see yesterday's report.
(2) I use the term "outgoing" here in the sense of "soon to leave" rather than as the journalistic euphemism for "frequently very drunk at parties". In the words of one of his more famous relatives, Mr Nizder "does not drink ... wine".

Two Houses Divided

And so the battle to see which of Albia's political parties can be the first to tear itself apart continues(1), with senior Nyestis retreating from the shadow cabinet with remarkable rapidity(2). With the numbers of those retiring from the cabinet to, as they put it, "give their views on the way the party should change" (or, as everyone else puts it, "to prepare for a dash at the leadership") increasing almost by the minute, it seems that leader pro tempore Zavlov Nizder will soon have no-one left in his cabinet to appoint in his forthcoming reshuffle. Even Shadow Finance Minister Pompadur Lahsur has apparently let it be known that he wishes to take on a reduced role, though in this case the cause is merely an understandable desire to spend more time with his money by resuming his role as a prominent banker (indeed "complete merchant banker", or at least a similar term has been used of Mr Lahsur by more than one Nyesti following the alleged timidity of his tax-cutting proposals).

Meanwhile, Prime Minister Schlop has chosen to demonstrate his continued mastery of the machinery of government by outraging Krep party opinion once more, this time by appointing an unelected official as a junior education minister. The causes of this outrage have been many: first, the new minister will be a member of the Nobz rather than the Zkum; secondly, he has a reputation within the party as something of a "right-winger" on education (see for example his role in the introduction of top-up fees); and thirdly, he is Mr Schlop's pet cat, Narzissuz.

(1) see yesterday's report.
(2) among those withdrawing is, regrettably, shadow defence minister Yuge Ffattposchie. His absence will leave a very big hole in the shadow cabinet(3).
(3) though, admittedly, that hole was itself caused when Mr Ffattposchie sat down rather too quickly and destroyed a magnificent leather armchair and a large part of the floor beneath it.

Reshuffling Off This Mortal Coil

It has been a strange few days since the general election. All and sundry are calling on the man who won the poll, Kiznya Schlop, to stand down at once, while sundry and all are attacking the man who led his party to a third successive drubbing, Zavlov Nizder, for his decision to resign. Many of you may be surprised at this sort of topsy-turvy thinking, but I assure you that it is in no way abnormal here in Albia. Indeed, it is thinking along these lines that causes the average Albian to believe his obviously hopeless national football team will win the World Cup, his beloved Phydoh "car" is roadworthy and that anything on any of Albia's main television stations is suitable for viewing by persons over the age of five.

In any event, this inverted mode of thought certainly runs deep in Albian politics, with Mr Nizder's Nyesti party deciding to demonstrate their unity and strength by plunging into a no-holds-barred leadership contest and Mr Schlop's winning cabinet going "mano a mano" (as my old friend from my time covering the Nixon administration Dick Cheney would have had it) over the re-shuffling of their jobs. The result of this latter piece of political infighting is that the reshuffle has been largely devoid of interest save for the swift return of Mr Fanatik Loon from exile(1). Mr Loon now becomes the Minister for Pensions. He is believed to have been appointed to the post as the only BG who genuinely cannot see any problems with Albia's pension system.

Finally, to all those who have asked, I am happy to say that young Vlotar has now been released from gaol(2), having paid what I understand is the usual penalty in these cases, namely a small fine. Interestingly, in Albia it is the custom for such fines to be paid directly to the arresting officer, in the form of cash, cigarettes, potato-based alcohol or any other readily saleable goods. For students of the Albian tongue, I should note that the term for fine is "briyb".

(1) For details of which see The Blameless Game, No Escape, Visa Vis, A Loon With A View, Home All Alone and The Thais That Bind.
(2) For those who missed his arrest, details can be fund here.

Governing Passions

And so we have a new government and one that looks remarkably like the old one, despite the fact that the figures would suggest that hardly anyone could bring themselves to vote for it. Undeterred, Prime Minister Kiznya Schlop addressed the cameras at lunchtime, informing the nation that he had spent the last few weeks listening to what the country wanted and promised to put those desires into effect. How lucky it is that the desires he identified were exactly the ones featured in his party manifesto. For myself, I had not realised that the country's deepest yearnings were for student top-up fees(1), compulsory identity cards, the rendering of all jokes about religion illegal and a guarantee that Albia's forces will invade any country America's President tells them to, but there you have it.

The Nyesti Party's Zavlov Nizder, meanwhile, has spoken from the battlements of his ruined castle, informing the nation that his party has now made a reamrkable recovery, advancing as it has from being hopelessly marooned on 33% in the polls to being a real challenger to the government on 33% in the polls. Indeed, it seems the party has followed its leader's example - it is no longer dead, it is instead "differently alive". At the same time Drid Party leader Yin Flok has claimed that Albia has now entered a new era of "genuine three-party politics" ... although that does not seem to have stopped the Drids from being the party that always comes third.

For now, I am afraid I must retire to bed. Like many election nights, it has been a long and sleepless few hours, filled with accusations and recriminations. Sadly for me, these have originated chiefly from my dear wife Ylatea, who is understandably distraught of the arrest of our good friend Vlotar yesterday. At one stage she began to bemoan the thought of "the father of my child being imprisoned like a common criminal". I attempted to comfort her by pointing out that there was no danger of my being arrested but sadly this only seemed to redouble her grief. It reflects well on her that she takes the distress of a friend like young Vlotar so deeply to heart.

(1) an extra fee students will be required to pay every time they want their beer glasses filled. It is expected to bring in billions.

UPDATE!
Just as I made my way to my bed (or rather, the sofa - Ylatea was somewhat insistent on this point) I learned that Zavlov Nizder is to stand down as Nyesti leader, having failed to secure a victory for the party. I am sure he will be missed, though I must admit I am not as yet sure by whom.

A Little Excitement

Today has been a day of some excitement but not, I regret to say, in relation to Albia's General Election. In fact the greatest level of anticipation the polls have generated is among those who have wagered significant sums on the likelihood of a record low turnout. Those, like myself, who avoided placing a wager on such an outcome(1) will be heartened to hear that the latest news from the postal votes points rather in the opposite direction. Indeed, from a glance at the names attached to the ballot response forms it seems that postal voting has succeeded admirably in encouraging those who might not normally be inclined to exercise their franchise, including several unborn children and significant numbers of the recently deceased.

Enough, then, of elections. The excitement to which I referred in my opening line concerns a matter, I regret to say, much closer to home. I am afraid that young Vlotar has been arrested. Unbelievably, it seems that someone has allowed my good friend's cybercafe to be used for the purpose of transmitting unseemly material over the interweb. Having been in charge of the place during Vlotar's time away in Frelsveorthig looking after my dear wife Ylatea(2), I confess I feel a little responsible. I can only imagine that one of those charming young ladies who so kindly offered to look after the place at night(3) must have allowed some ne'er-do-well to take advantage of their kindness and permitted them the use of one of the computers. It is a sad world indeed.

(1) perhaps by cunningly succeeding in getting themselves barred from the majority of Blizsta's bookmakers in advance, say.
(2) see Note (1) to At Long Last.
(3) see Backing Off para 3.

The Final Countdown

And so Albia comes, finally (and I can hear peals of heavenly bells as I write this), to the last day of campaigning for tomorrow's General Election. Even as I type, the last few hands are being shaken, the last few posters are being erected and the last "pledges" are being made. As I have noted previously, this campaign has been remarkably incident-free: Deputy Prime Minister Rrrowr has failed to maul anything other than the Albian language, Shadow Finance Minister Pompadur Lahsur has avoided any embarrassing gaffes about public spending or preferring to be hung from an electric pylon by his own testicles rather than have to send his children to the local state school(1) and Drid Party leader Yin Flok's bumbling has been treated as the charming byproduct of his newly acquired status as a father, rather than an illustration of his unfitness for anything other than occasional appearances on television quiz programmes. For the minor groups, the Bear Baiting Alliance have failed to bait any bears, Fathers For Headlines have failed to chain themselves to any barricades, Da Redz(2) show no sign of making a breakthrough and Berot Yolik-Lesk's Vanitas party seems in danger of disappearing into a hole even darker than its leader's tan. Given the need for me to unearth news of the sort likely to pique the interest of my readers (a need of which I am frequently reminded by the Head of News) I can only hope that there is still time left in the campaign for something a little more enthralling to occur. On which note, I regret that I must leave you while I go in search of some eggs and rotten tomatoes, and start filling some prophylactics with purple flour.

(1) This silence on his part has, I understand, been achieved thanks to the decision of the Nyesti Party's antipodean campaign manager Bruce Urthy to have Mr Lahsur locked in a coal-cellar in his north-coast constituency.
(2) Albia's Green party. Sometimes Albian can be a deeply unhelpful language.

Of Marginal Concern

And so Albia enters the last (ah, what a marvellous word that is) two days of the general election campaign. Over the remaining hours, Albians in marginal constituencies will doubtless be nervously scanning the streets, fearful of yet another encounter with a representative of one of the three main parties, eager to kiss their babies, press their flesh or, indeed, harangue them at length about (depending on party affiliation) the evils of Albia's current asylum rules/the joys of fatherhood/how the war with Iraq was (a) completely justified and (b) not something they should worry their little heads about now. Those of us dwelling in non-marginal constituencies, in contrast, can look forward to being completely ignored as we have been for the rest of the campaign.

I, at least, can be thankful that I will soon be in all the parties' good books. Now that my dear, and really rather heavily pregnant, wife Ylatea is back by my side(1) I can look forward with renewed certainty to that time when we shall be one of the "hardworking families" whose virtues those of all parties have been keen to praise. Yes, whoever wins the election I will, following the birth of our child in August, be able to swan past those hardworking couples and singles, young people and old, safe in the knowledge that I am one of the politicians' chosen people, while they are merely the dregs of humanity, dragging Albia down and sullying its beautiful streets. I am sure you will appreciate that for me, as ajournalist, such a remarkable reversal of public status is a "consummation devoutly to be wished".

Finally, may I apologise to all those who glanced at the interview I referred to in yesterday's report. On reflection I realise it might have been to my readers' advantage for me to note that the whole was reproduced in Norwegian. I shall, of course, endeavour to supply a translation but, bearing in mind my levels of dedication, my readers might be best advised not to hold out excessive hope.

(1) I picked her up from her relatives in Frelsveorthig yesterday(2).
(2) I am happy to report that Ylatea's family greeted with me with all their traditional warmth, showering me with gifts on my arrival(3).
(3) admittedly, some of the fruits and vegetables they threw at me in their eagerness to favour me with their gifts were a little overripe, but luckily most of them wiped off without staining too badly.

In My Absence

As I mentioned last week(1), I am off today to pick up my dear wife Ylatea from her relatives in Frelsveorthig. This, sadly, means that my readers will have to survive the day bereft of my usual witty and insightful dissection of Albian politics. For those for whom my absence seems too appalling to contemplate, may I commend a recent interview I gave to Arne Hjorth Johansen of Bloggblogg, which can be found here.

(1) see Note (1) to At Long Last.