Last week, David Macaroon, the incumbent Mayor of Badgertown held a fundraising Gala.
In a bid to raise money for the upcoming council elections, he auctioned a host of items.
'Whatever possessed the King of the Badgers to agree to host this dinner?' I remarked to the Old Monkey 'Surely, he is not supposed to show political bias?'
'Unfortunately, Sir, as you know, the King of the Badgers is always short of cash. Mister Cameroon has promised him a job on the planning commitee.'
'And what is Mig, my Chef, doing cooking for these arrivistes, without my permission?'
'I did check, Sir, and I am afraid it is his day off.'
'We let him have those?'
'I am afraid so, Sir.'
'I am astounded!' I declared, 'Why would the Badfort Crowd ever agree to this?'
'Well, Sir, I have it on good authority that Mister Cameroon thought that he was getting a good deal when they said they would only charge a penny per person and lay on a big feast of Scob Fish. But Mister Hateman is charging a shilling a head to the Badfort folk for the opportunity to throw Duck bombs at them. Should I warn Mister Cameroon?'
'Normally,' I pondered, 'I would say that it is our duty to warn people of the potential nefarious activities of the Badfort Crowd. But perhaps, in this instance, it is the chance for these Gala-goers to learn a salutary lesson.'
'I fear the winner of this auction may be somewhat disappointed. I find Mister Smeare's daubings a bit of an aquired taste.'
'Yes,' replied the Old Monkey 'His paintings never seem to capture your grandeur, Sir.'
'How dare they!' I exploded 'I never gave them permission to borrow my traction engine!'
'It isn't actually, Sir. Apparently it's a dirty old traction engine borrowed from Butterskin Mute and painted gold.'
'But that's fraud! They are claiming it is mine!'
'It seems they don't mind turning a blind eye to a bit of fraud, Sir. Providing it is done by the right people.'
Many of you will have noticed that I have not been posting,
tweeting, and generally imparting wisdom very much this year.
I am afraid that this is entirely down to the tardiness of
my Social Media Manager. He has the simple job of chronicling my various adventures
and posting my missives, but has, instead, insisted on footling away his spare
time writing some tedious fictional story of his own.
‘I have had this idea in my head for years now, could I just
have some time off to write it all down?’ he pleaded.
What’s it called?’ I asked.
‘The Witch’s Bones,’ he began.
‘Stop right there!’ I demanded ‘I can tell it’s going to be
utter nonsense. Magic and tosh like that, is it?’
‘Well, sort of…’
‘Do you honestly think that people would be interested in that,
rather than the very important goings on here at Homeward? Do you think that
they want to hear some, totally unbelievable, fiction about a silly old woman claiming to have magical powers or the real life adventures of an
extremely rich, philanthropic elephant?’
‘I suppose, when you put it like that, it is a bit far
fetched to think anybody would read it, but I would really like to have a try?’ he whinged.
I have agreed to let him have a sabbatical, providing he
promises to post updates on the most important events here at Homeward.
You can read the nonsense he has been writing here:
Meanwhile, I’m off to open the Christmas Fair at Monkey-and
–Engine-Room-Wood, and to see the Panto that the Crookball people are putting
on at Lonely Tower. I’ll have to drive past Badfort in my traction engine, so
I’ll be on my guard against that duck bomb throwing Beaver Hateman!
Beaver Hateman is absolutely furious that another revolutionary has brought out a new book on the same day that his own opus, unsurprisingly called 'I HATE UNC', has been published.
Unfortunately, REVOLUTION by Mister Russell Brand is vastly outselling Mister Hateman's tome.
'This Russell Brand guy is just a bloomin' champagne socialist' declared Mister Hateman. 'An I don't like the way he mimics the way wot I speak!'
Mister Hateman continued, angrily, 'Yeah, he go on the telly, and twitterin' and all that, going on about how he's a revolutionary but, I ask you, as he ever got his hands dirty? As he ever thrown a duck bomb at Unc? No he has not! And here he is taking the food from the mouths of real anarchists, like me, ruining my book sales! Seriously, if he really wanted a revolution he’d be doing it, manning the barricades with us - not just bloomin' talking about it and writing bookie wookies about it. Meanwhile we have to get on with
doing the revolution for him - and it's really hard work I can tell you.
I'd like to see Mr Brand take a kickin' up from Unc!'
As you know, Treacle Tower was once an important centre for the manufacture of Treacle - until it got so full of the stuff that production ground to a halt.
It was only once I had emptied the tower of this comestible that it became usable as living space again.
Some enterprising dwarfs moved in and decided that, rather than try and save any manufacturing function, it would be far better to find a usage that did not involve all that hard labour.
Treacle Tower soon became the financial epicentre of my vast domain.
No one knew exactly what it was that the dwarfs did in that tower, and, I suspect that many of those dwarfs did not know either. Basically, it seemed to involve some sort of sophisticated form of gambling - with the pensions from the dwarfs in the many other towers. Everything all went swimmingly, until the dwarfs got a bit reckless and bet on some rather long odds. I have to admit I share some guilt for the fracas that followed. As long as the dwarfs were able to pay their rent, I turned somewhat of a blind eye to the gambling going on, although, I did not approve of it, of course.
I am rather aggrieved that having let them off having to pay rent for a number of years these dwarfs have behaved in a disgraceful manner.
They formed the Treacle Tower Independence Party (TTIP) and are insisting on having a referendum to decide whether they want to stay part of my vast domain!
When everything was going well for them, the dwarfs were happy to live in the penthouse apartments at the top of the tower, whilst the badgers who serviced the tower, and took positions as their servants, lived in the flats at the bottom.
Their leader Nigel Savage, as you can tell from his name, emigrated to Treacle Tower from Lion Tower. He bought and sold second hand commodes at Treacle Tower Market before becoming the leader of these disaffected dwarfs. He has declared that no more badgers should be allowed in from Badgertown, and that any badgers in the tower should either go home or face having their welfare and housing benefits removed!
The TTIP built a moat around the tower and insisted that only they were allowed to fish in it - but this plan backfired when they filled it full of alligators, to stop immigrants coming in, and they ate all the fish.
Now everyone is having to get out of the train at Ironside Tower and wak around Treacle Tower to get to Lonely Tower.
I have warned them that if they continue with their plan to declare independence, I will allow no further trade with them. But they say they don't care because there are still lots of suckers trusting them with their pensions!
Sadly, because there are so few badgers left to clean the tower it is becoming a TIP!
Bad 4 television has been accused of exploiting contributors and pandering to prejudices about tax avoiders with it's new reality show set in Goldblock Tower.
The first episode of Avoiders Tower made for extraordinary viewing. It
showed residents discussing schemes for avoiding paying their rent to me. It also featured meetings with their accountants where they planned how to take advantage of various tax loopholes and tax avoidance schemes.
After the first episode aired, Desmond Moneybags, a banker who featured in the show, told the Homeward Gazette:
"They said they wanted to film for a TV show about how great community
spirit is in the tower. I participated in the show on that belief. But this programme has nothing to do with community, which you can tell
from the title. It's all about people in the tower quaffing champagne, getting huge bonuses, eating caviar and dossing around all day. It makes people out as
complete arses !"
Ivor Goldsack, who claimed during the film to have got three times his salary in bonuses and squirreled it away in Monaco, came to his front door and chatted to
neighbours but was reluctant to discuss the documentary. "It's all nonsense,"
said Ivor. "I only doubled my salary - I was just boasting to impress the other members of the golf club. My wife lives in Monaco and she owns me - so everything I earn is legitimately untaxable !"
Another resident, Rich Ascroesus, who was watching a dwarf polishing his front-door knocker, said: "I'm just a cleaner. I launder money on a hot cycle for the other residents. I pay my taxis - I mean taxes."
It's disgusting," said Hyacinth Lottadosh, who featured in episode two in a
subplot that followed the tower's dwarf throwing competition. "It's not a fair picture of what
the tower is like. All the dwarfs who were thrown got half a crown each - and they were very grateful for it, I can assure you. A lot of them are living off the benefits and the whole event raised five pounds and five shillings. A dwarf can easily live off that for a whole year you know ! They are making us look terrible, which we are not. There was one shot of me guffawing and knocking back the champers when a dwarf landed on his head - well, it was funny!"
The broadcaster rejects claims that residents were tricked into taking
part by claiming the programme was all about community spirit. Beaver Hateman
insisted there had been no significant complaints from the participants "Well just those that don't like the old tax man seeing their shenanigans! " he claimed. He also defended the name of the programme, which has upset many
householders. "The majority of residents are tax avoiders," he said.
The executive producer of Avoiders Tower, Hitmouse, denied on
Tuesday that the makers had "bribed" the residents with promises of an expenses paid Champneys weekend spa break.