Chapter Twenty Three - Royal barf!

In April of this year Prince William with marry Kate Middleton at Westminster Abby.

Like at any other wedding, one member of the family will probably consume one too many lager shandys before getting their cock out on the dance floor, and quite literally making a right royal tit of themselves. Let’s face it; every family has at least one. The favourite to do so as it stands (in my mind) is Prince Harry priced at 2/1, closely followed by the Duke of Edinburgh at 3/1. Prince Andrew remains a bleak outsider at 10/1.

Speaking of Harry, it will be curious to know how he intends to perform his best man duties. Will he be as sober as a judge or as drunk as a Lord? My money is certainly on the latter. But seriously, if you’re compelled to place a cheeky bet on this year’s wedding of the year then look no further than your regular high street bookie. They seem to have this market more cornered than David Haye on Audley Harrison, only without the fighting. (Note to self, set up market on whether Phillip and Charles will come to blows during the reception.)

There are dozens of different specials you can throw your money away on. These include the obvious such as the colour of the bride’s dress and the colour of the Queen’s hat, to the down right stupid such as whether the wedding car will break down or if Kate’s father will cry walking her down the aisle. Incidentally Paddy Power seems to think the colour of the dress will be ivory, and the Queen will wear at light blue hat. I’d like her to turn up in a flat cap, waistcoat and replace the corgis for greyhounds. Maybe that’s just me having grown up in Lancashire.

The same Irish bookmakers have it odds on that William will wear his RAF uniform. Fair play on that one in my opinion, but I think it will come as a surprise to many that the couple have broken away from tradition, and instead the groom will actually get a choice as to what he wants to wear on the big day. He has decided to instruct his best man to pick the suits. Don’t be surprised to see them both in either an SS uniform or a fancy dress toga outfit. Surprisingly none of these were obvious choices at Patrick’s bookies, but instead you can get great prices for William to wear a Burberry suit (33/1) or one from M&S (100/1.)

Amazingly the people’s republic of potatoes and leprechauns has dared to set a price of whether the couple will be divorced by 2020. 10/1 says yes. Now I’m a patriot to this great country and find it shocking that anyone would set up a market on such a thing. As a betting man even I am personally refusing to put money on this… so I’ve got my mate to do it instead. I’ve also opted to take a chance on whether the couple will have a child before April 1^st, 2013. Unfortunately there are no markets that offer a choice of where the couple will conceive, or what position.

But if you’re like our republic friends from across the western sea, and are finding the whole royal wedding build up a bit too much then take a look at what a local small business woman has begun selling.

Royal wedding sick bags are available from www.lydialeith.bigcartel.com (no joke) and come in either the patriotic colours of red and white or blue and white. They’re perfect to keep holding onto if you’re feeling just that little bit queasy as William and Kate lock lips for the first time as husband and wife. At £3 per bag, not only is it the best wedding souvenir in the market but it’s most almost certainty the best royal wedding investment you will ever make.

Chapter Twenty Two - May the force be with you. Amen!

It was announced this week that Ladbrokes are offering odds of 4/1 that 390,000 people will list ‘Jedi’ as their religion in next month’s census.

That seems like a very tempting offer, especially when you consider 390,000 Star Wars fans (who else?) did exactly that ten years ago, and the figure is expected to rise this time. May the force be with them.

There is no reason why we should take this forthcoming 32-page document seriously, especially when we have to provide so much information to both public and private companies to purchase the simplest of items anyway. I have half a mind to list my name as Captain Kirk Woodward.

Over the past ten years companies in both the business and retail sectors have acquired so much information about ourselves, they could easily conduct their own census based on the information we have already provided. If you have a Tesco Clubcard, then they know exactly what you buy and how often you buy it. Ever wondered why you get a voucher for half price off your favourite brand of cereal? It’s not a coincidence. They could easily estimate how many people are living in your household judging by the amount of food is bought. Combine that with NHS medical records that will no doubt have your height and weight on file and could then be used to determine if you buy for a family of five or if you’re just a fat bastard.

Then there are your National Insurance and Income Tax details that the government ALREADY HAVE. It begs the question how hard can it be to combine all that information together, along with company questionnaires, to save us the trouble of filling in another fucking survey?

I can’t express my point much further than what I am about to write next. As I type this out my Dad is going about renewing his car insurance. He has been on the phone for the last twenty minutes, passing on what seems like a million and one different pieces of information about him and the rest of the family. Why does a car insurance company need to know that he has a 17-year-old daughter, who can’t drive and has never applied for a provisional licence? Why do they need to know who his parents are and that one of them is in a care home? And WHY do they need to know your occupation? I’ve never understood that. Unless your Jenson Button or Lewis Hamilton it doesn’t bloody matter, and even then I can’t see Hamilton using his McLaren racing car just to nip to the shops for a pint of milk, loaf of bread and a porn mag.

Back to my original point, the census is outdated. It is an early version of Big Brother Britain that has existed since 1801. Except in the early nineteenth century, no information was taken other than a head count in each household. Since 1841 more and more information was required, such as the names of each person. These days, in a post-internet age, there is no reason why a government user of Facebook couldn’t collect all this information about us.

Census’ are like piss poor surveys anyway. The 1871 census asked if any member of the family was an imbecile, an idiot or a lunatic. Seriously! Why does a census also need to know if you own a car, and has done since 1966? Is this not on the DVLA’s records? And for the LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, why did the 1991 census ask if your house had central heating installed?

Insane!