I am still stuck with the Badfort Crowd, abusing my hospitality.
It looks like I will have to put up with them for sometime, as the roads to Badfort are still impassable.
However, we have all hunkered down in the Great Hall and to pass the time we have had some interesting discussions by the fireside. We have been debating the momentous changes that have taken place over the past decade here at Homeward.
One of the biggest changes has been that of globalisation, something that I thoroughly approve of. For now, has not Homeward become an example to the world?
“We now live in a wired, interconnected world!” I declared “and my message of caring capitalism and good citizenship can be decimated to all!”
“Your propaganda you mean, Unc!” retorted Beaver. “Still, two can play at that game – Badfort TV is now a world wide information channel - exposing your bullying to all!”
“There is always a cloud to any silver-lining. One has to accept the fact that your anarchic nonsense will be ignored by a larger audience.” I mused.
“Your only jealous because of the money pouring into Badfort TV’s coffers from the rights to show Dwarf Throwing!” smirked Beaver.
Who would ever have guessed that dwarf-throwing would become the International sport that it has? I find it a vile and detestable exhibition but it has proved popular all around the world. I put this down to the Badfort Crowd allowing foreign players to compete on the Badfort teams. Each time a native joins a team their home country is hooked.
“Of course, the other major change of the last decade has been that of economic migration. My prudent handling of the economy of my vast domain has meant that Homeward has become the premier place for those wishing to build a better life!” I remarked.
“Huh, more likely it was your decision to pave the streets with gold wot done it!” countered Beaver.
“Well, something useful had to be done with the surplus!” I argued.
“Yeah, but look wots happened – everywhere you go you here the voices of those Brits! Before long we started getting British shops on the streets. Then the local baker became a British baker. Then you would hear about people having got British nannies or gardeners or Brits painting their houses. Bloomin’ Brit builders! – doing us Baddies out of construction work!” spluttered Beaver.
As you know, Badfort is a ramshackle affair and the Badfort Crowd are well-known for their shabby building methods. They also have a habit for demanding most of the money up front, and then disappearing with it to buy copious amounts of Black Tom.
I thought it probably for the best that they could no longer inflict their ‘skills’ on the citizens of Badgertown – but I forbear to remark on this lest it send Beaver into a temper tantrum.
“Mind you – I like the food they have brought with ‘em. I like the Scob Fish and Chip Shops that have sprung up all over the place.” mused Beaver.
“Globalisation has had another great benefit,” I added “the tourist trade has increased substantially over the last decade with the lowering of air fares to Homeward. It has become the premier destination for the cognoscenti who appreciate the magnificence of my towers. So much so, that Dubai attempted a to emulate its glory – a rather pale imitation of the grandeur of Homeward, I fear.”
“Oh yeah, we made a packet out of Badjet Tours! Until you spoilt it all!” grumbled Beaver.
Beaver was referring to the dodgy airline that he set up offering cheap Stag tours to Badfort. The reason that he was able to run such a low cost service was because his aeroplane was a miserable and rusty affair - a positive death trap. This did not deter the Brits, however. They were too obsessed with the thought of all that cheap Black Tom. Of course, Beaver and his gang completely fleeced them along the way. They charged 2/6d just to use the toilet on the plane – a bucket in the tail plane!
I had to put a stop to it. The Brits were marauding around Badgertown drunk on Black Tom and leaving a trail of destruction and vomit. The plane being made of a sooty black material meant that they left carbon footprints everywhere, as well.
“Still, it was a good scam whilst it lasted!” laughed Beaver taking a surreptitious swig of the Black Tom that he thought that I was unaware was hidden in his sack suit.
I took a snort from my bucket of cocoa and pondered the inevitability of further evenings in his tiresome company.