Tuesday, 16 December 2008


Yup – P has totally sussed out women.

He understands them now – can outthink them – bloody easy.

Just pretend they are in charge and go along with any krap they come out with. Let them get it out of their systems – and let the bollocks run its course.

For example:

P mentioned Christmas to Mrs P – asked what we are doing this year – suggested what fun it might be.

And she went totally bloody ape-shit; chucked her toys out of the pram and the pram through the bleedin’ window

Made P write a list of all the stuff we are NOT going to do this year – a list of rules – made P stick it on the wall for everyone to see.

The List of Not to do:

1. No watching telly
2. No boxing DVDs
3. No arguing, whining or complaining
4. No sitting around doing nothing
5. No Christmas dinner
6. No noise or loud talking
7. No screaming
8. No fighting
9. No going to bed at 2 o'clock in the morning and getting up all grumpy 'cos we all knackered


Then a list of stuff we MUST do:

1. Everyone takes the dogs out for walks
2. Visiting folks
3. Phoning folks
4. Curry take-away instead of Turkey
5. Organised games
6. We all sit down together every evening and read quietly

So I write out this krap – (she dictates and P writes it all down) and I stick it on the wall – with celotape all around it.

Trouble is – the kids come along and add comments in red ink – stuff like:

“No Tiny Tim”

“Dear Ebenezer……”

“Love Scrooge….”

“No breathing……no laughter…….no life……”

“No grandparents……”

“No Christmas”

But here’s the psychology P Club:

P went with it….didn’t complain……nodded sagely at the wisdom of the list……promised to keep to its strictures……

Next thing – Mrs P takes it down (after a week) – and announces that she’s going to have Christmas after all…….and that she feels better now.

Hoorah for Bleedin’ Christmas.




Saturday, 13 December 2008


Dear Members of The P Club

Please note

If any of my lovely club members receive a message on their blogs, which appears to be from The P BUT, is:

Full of profanities

Not witty
Many references to body parts

Then – it is not a real message from the P

There is Scottish man called Dave – he has a little moustache and blond hair. Those messages are from Dave.

He has a blog – which nobody visits, but him. P has popped over to his little Blog - left a few messages and Scotty Dave has pooped his pants.

He admires The P

And want to be The P

He has mirrored The P’s blog
Mirrored The P by mirroring The P’s profile.

He is obsessed with The P and wants to be The P

So be warned.


Good/witty/inspiring messages = Mr P

Sad/profane/uninspiring messages = Scotty Dave

Sunday, 23 November 2008


So I walk back to the car – carrying my blue bag and all of the papers. I was worn out despite the fact that all I had done was wait for the decision.

The Head Master pulls out of the car park – sees me, stops and winds down his window.

He’s done it before you know. It’s bloody ridiculous to see him get off like that. Do you know his history?”

Well, actually I did. I knew what he had, in the past, been accused of, and what the disciplinary reports had said about our teacher. To summarise, let the record show that:

1. After provocation he had attacked a teenager in the school, and had caused some physical injury, although not serious. There had been an internal enquiry, and our teacher was disciplined. The boy did not wish to press charges;

2. He had spat at a child, again after provocation – there followed another internal enquiry – with a caution given to the teacher;

3. On a school trip there had been an altercation and a child (16 years old) had his nose broken – there was circumstantial evidence, which pointed towards our teacher – no one was saying anything and so the matter was dropped.

Our case was the forth incident.

I knew all of this before I went into Court – and had fought tooth and nail for these matters to be hidden from the jury. The Judge decided that they were highly detrimental and that the case should be brought on its facts alone.

So – P Club – the case was not as clean, straightforward as it appeared.

I said to the headmaster that I did know the teacher’s history and could understand why the case had aroused so much emotion.

With that – the headmaster swore and sped off.

I got to my car and drove home.

Another day at the Office.

As for our teacher – his last comments to me were that he was going to have a serious chat with the headmaster - to put him straight - to ensure that his career was put back on track.

Our case is now at an end P Club…..hope you found it entertaining, enlightening and enriching.

Justice in the raw.

Sunday, 16 November 2008


The Jury go out.

P has a little chat with our teacher – he presses me for my opinion – I say “It’s all gone very well…but one never knows” – he then recounts some of the things I said in my closing – “Herculean strength” – “the message a guilty verdict would send to society”. He liked it all – some of his friends compliment P on the way the cross-examination was carried out – “very clever” – “you nailed it”.

I say nothing more.

Anyway – these are tense times – I hate the wait whilst the Jury is out.

P goes for a wander – a swift walk around the Court – then out into the park – keeps his eye open for the nutters – just in case they want another pop. I can’t go too far in case the verdict comes back.

So I give it half an hour.

As I walk back into Court the usher is waiting at the door – “Verdict is in”.

We take our seats; I look around at our teacher – he is ashen faced – gives me a nod – his family are all there – in the public gallery – tense – apprehensive.

In they walk – 12 good men and true.

The Foreman stands and we have the usual verbal formalities. I maintain an impassive expression throughout.

Verdict is announced: “Not Guilty”.

The Jury look at me and I retain the expression – win or lose – the same impassive expression. It’s my shield.

There is a bit of a commotion and I turn to see our teacher standing to his feet – gives me the thumbs up – beaming – I also see the headmaster storming out of the Court – with some others.

Outside I speak to the teacher – he is overwhelmed – his wife and friends are hugging and kissing him and then they all gather around – thanking me, shaking my hand – unsure whether to hug me too – they fidgit and decide not to. There is talk of champagne and celebrating. But not for me.

As I go to leave the teacher says to me; “The little bastard deserved it….the little shit.”

With that.

I go back to the Robing Room to get changed and to think things over.


Saturday, 8 November 2008


Must take this carefully.

Truth is – a lot of barristers are stuffed shirts – have never mastered the art of being likeable as well as persuasive. Too much up their own arses to be real, normal and human. They prefer to sound like barristers – educated chaps; addressing a jury in a reserved and distant manner.

I don’t like that.

Better to win people over with a bit of wit – a touch of eloquence – some magic and charm. Of course the meat of the matter is the evidence but the delivery is the sugar that sweetens the pill.

Let the boring buggers be boring – Mr P is never that. Dullness don’t win votes on a jury.


In a criminal trial before a jury – I always start with a mantra:

“The defendant doesn’t have to prove anything – the prosecution brings this case and they must prove it beyond a reasonable doubt so that you are sure….sure….that the defendant is guilty of this crime. You must not rely on gut feeling, or a mere sense of guilt, but must look to the evidence. That evidence can be direct or circumstantial. You must rely on the evidence and the evidence must support the prosecution case so that you are sure of this man’s guilt. You cannot leave an important case like this to chance, there is too much at stake.”

I always kick off with that stuff – a jury might not necessarily know it. The judge will include this in his summing up – but it sounds better from me.

I then rabbited on about how difficult a teacher’s job has become – how society has seen deterioration in standards of behaviour – the lack of respect – the rise in knife crime – blah…blah…. It’s all true – all verbiage bollocks – but it would have a profound effect on a sensible jury.

Most ordinary folks would support a teacher, and I make it clear that I support all of the teachers who gave evidence in this court.

I then remind them of this kid’s behaviour – unprovoked – the foul words that were spoken (I say them again....and observe the jury grimacing). I say that this is the sort of thing teachers have to put up with everyday…they need and deserve our support.

And here’s the important bit: the summary of my main points – I signpost them right at the start – give them titles – headings – and take each in turn slowly. I say – I have THREE main issues – THREE – and they are simple points – here they are:

1. Being hurled to the floor;
2. Being grabbed around the neck;
3. The evidence of the boy.

I watch as the jury members write the three issues down – and underline them on their pads. Then they wait….patiently for me to start with issue number one. It’s there blinking at them on their writing paper – the paper demands words.

I am winning already. They are with me – I am simple – at their level – I am one of them.

Point One: Being hurled to the floor

I detonate my bombs throughout.

Who saw what happened?

One teacher only…..nobody else….and he was standing 200 yards away (of course he bloody wasn’t ! he was 20 yards away…..but was too hard headed to correct his error….and the prosecution were as dim as a 10 watt light-bulb to take issue with it).

And he says he saw – the lad (who was 10 1/2 stone and 5’ 5”) being hurled through the air backwards but miraculously sustained no injuries to the back of his head. It cannot be true, and I point at the defendant – “look at the defendant – he’s not a big man – not a latter day Arnold Swarzeneger (bit cheesy I know) – to have done this – he needed a piece of magic or Herculean strength. It just didn’t happen – how could it have? We must reject this evidence, as being entirely implausible.”

Ultimately – it’s his word against the defendant’s – a 50/50 scenario – not enough to convict this man. What can tip the balance? The evidence of the boy himself”. See later…..


Point Two: Being grabbled around the neck

The evidence was that it’s easy with a struggling and lunatic kid to lose grip and to momentarily fall outside of “Team Teach”. There were no markings around the neck. The headmaster confirmed the fallibility of the Team Teach system.

Point Three: The evidence of the boy

And I read out his statement – slowly. The statement does not say that the teacher attacked him but it says it was an accident.....



P appeals to their common-bloody-sense, and what a guilty verdict will mean for society:

A kid kicks off – trashes the room and attacks a teacher….and..THE TEACHERS GETS PUT INSIDE……NOT THE KID.

The kid swaggers off – boasting to his mates.

What a symbol of our society – what a message…...what a mess.

We must resist this at all costs.


The judge sums up the evidence fairly.


Oh- the prosecution did a krap, erudite and dull closing speech....

Thursday, 23 October 2008


Nearly there P Club....keep with it....the dénouement is imminent.

Let me tell you about my client: the schoolteacher.

He was a very normal, unassuming sort of geezer - not demanding, not slagging anyone off, just straightforward - a normal bloke - keen on sport - loved football, loved his wife - loved being a teacher.

I really liked the man. We got on like a house on fire – he even laughed at my jokes – and went along with everything I said. Some clients can be a total pain in the arse.

He did appear at times a tad listless, slightly disengaged from the process - his mind distracted. But he was keen to answer my questions and to assist me in any way.

Obviously - he was stressed out by the whole thing and had not enjoyed his suspension from work, knowing that his career and reputation were hanging in the balance. He managed to hide his stress very well, but he was nervous – by Gawd – I could tell that.

He was accompanied to court by supporters - and his wife came too. The whole gang of them were great - buzzing with anticipation and eager for our chap to win.

Barristers cannot train their clients on what to say in the witness box - coaching is forbidden in the UK. But I always say this to my clients:

"Tell the truth - simply tell it like it happened. Don't get annoyed by the other side's barrister - don't get angry and upset. You will be attacked, and called a liar, but you mustn’t let it get you down. At all costs do not get angry because that's what they want - a reaction - to prove that you are a voluble and violent man. Regard it all as a bit of a game, and never ever take personal offence as to what is said. The barrister has no personal dislikes he’s just doing his job."

The teacher got up there and was as good as gold - came across as sincere and hardworking - he told it just like it happened; no guilding the lilly and no colouring of detail.

He had indeed been let down by the school and judged before the facts were known - but he did not attack the headmaster in any way - on the contrary he uttered words of support throughout his evidence.

The Crown’s barrister was totally krap – as weak as dishwater – a wimp of the highest order. Some barristers should have been solicitors – they lack personality in the court – lack courage and the biting will to win.The Crown Barrister attacked him - called him a "violent aggressor", "a liar", and "a bad teacher and a danger to children". But our chap just took it mildly and said that he was sorry to hear those words.

I also called 2 other teachers in the school to give character references for him. They declared that he was a thoroughly sound teacher, who cared deeply about the kids, worked long hours and was passionate for his job.

The man did extremely well, and I know that he made a very good impression on the jury.


So to my closing speech

Friday, 10 October 2008


Sorry folks for the long delay between posts – but there have been some issues back in Italy which The P has had to deal with. Totally back now….and on with the show.

The Headmaster was called as a witness. He seemed a very decent chap – but nervous in the witness box. The other side’s barrister leads him gently through some of the evidence, and out of the blue the headmaster starts talking about our chap's earlier assaults on kids. Weird - because he had been told by his barrister not to mention any of this; and I was assured that he would not.

Well up I stands – very quick – I do not want the jury to hear this. I demand that the Judge sends them out whilst we sort out a legal matter. Out they go. I argue that this is “Bad Character” evidence by the back door and should not be admitted. None of the allegations are proven and certainly our chap has never been charged for any crime....ever.

The Judge agrees with P – and the Headmaster is advised to stay off the subject. The sick thing is that I had already had this matter dealt with in the Court before the headmaster appeared.

So eventually I get to cross-examine the headmaster. He certainly was nervous and smiled weakly at me as I rose to my feet. I acknowledged him with a nod and a half smile. Like I said – a decent bloke – doing a difficult job – no way am I going to tear into this chap. So I give him respect and take things calmly and slowly. The Jury would expect no less.

It transpires that he did not witness the incident – was in his office at the time – just saw the aftermath. Found kid lying on the floor crying, sobbing and teacher wandering about wondering what to do...bemused and befuddled.

So I asks him what was the point of his evidence.

Apparently it was to explain to the Court the strictures and mechanics of “Team Teach” – the system for controlling wayward and unruly kids. So I says to him:

So difficult to prevent your hand moving from the child’s back and arm isn’t it? – Especially when he’s struggling.”


“Not fool proof is it – “Team Teach”


“You weren’t surprised to see the boy sobbing on the floor – it’s quite usual to see upset kids at this school, isn’t it?”

Quite usual”

“You didn’t see the teacher hit the boy?”


“Throw him to the floor?”


It transpired too that in the aftermath, although the child was looked after - picked up and ailments administered to, the poor old teacher was left to get on with it; he was asked to return to the class,on his own, to carry on with the lesson.

This was against the rules of the school: he needed another teacher present with him, as all of the children are disturbed and "behaviourally challenged".

On that day He was later suspended - without being afforded the opportunity of putting his version of events.

I put all of this to the Headmaster who meekly agreed that they had got it all wrong, dealt with it badly, and had let the teacher down through lack of support.

And that was it.

But as the headmaster was getting out of the witness box – he turned to the jury and said:

“I would never employ this man again….he has hit other children……he is not right…..”

He had to be forcefully removed and was still shouting and pointing at our teacher as he was ejected from the court.

What a scum- bag.

The Jury heard and saw the whole bleedin' thing.

Thursday, 25 September 2008


The second witness for the prosecution was a young support teacher who was in the class with our teacher when all this kicked off. In this sort of special school -each class must have two teachers present.

Her evidence was that our teacher did not handle the situation in accordance with the restraining method of “Team-Teach”, which gives instructions on how to deal with unruly kids.

Her evidence was that:

-He grabbed him (the boy) around the back of the neck (not allowed by “Team Teach”);
-Threw him out of the classroom in a very violent and dangerous manner;
-Continued to abuse the boy outside of the classroom.

She got into the witness box.

Trouble was – she was such a nice ordinary girl – one who commands the sympathy of decent folk i.e. the jury. Her manner was hesitant, a little timid, but nonetheless forthright.

No point laying into her – the jury would hate me and be embarrassed for her. Best I could do was to lay some incendiary devices and detonate them later in my closing speech.

So I ask her some questions:

Grabbing boy by the back of the neck

“Was the boy violent and aggressive?”

“Yes - he was dreadful.”

“Were you frightened?”

“Not frightened but concerned for the other boys in the class.”

“They need protecting and important to get him out of the classroom?”

“Yes, very important.”

“The safety of the others was a priority?”


It all happened so quickly?”


“To operate perfectly within Team Teach, can be very difficult, with such an aggressive violent boy? We can’t expect teachers to get it 100% perfect.”

“No, it’s not easy

Threw him out of the classroom in a very violent and dangerous manner

“Why didn’t you help Mr Jones (our teacher – not real name) in dealing with the boy?”

“I had to control the other boys.”

“Quite rightly, and you had a major task to contend with? Could have got out of hand very quickly?”

“Yes, very easily”.

“Had to focus on the other boys?”


“Watching them was important at that time?”

“Yes – I was worried what might happen.”

“More focused on them than what was happening between Mr Jones and the boy?”

“I had to be”

“You didn’t see the boy being picked up and hurled out of the room did you?”

“No but I saw him lying on the floor outside as if he had been pushed”

“As if he’d been pushed. So you didn’t see him being thrown or pushed out of the room?”

“No – but its obvious he had been pushed”

“Given the general mayhem and his aggression he could have fallen over by accident?”

“It’s possible.”

Continued to abuse the boy outside of the classroom

You stayed in the classroom to protect the other boys?”


“Didn’t venture out?”

“No – I had to keep the boys in the classroom”

“And there was lots of yelling outside?”


“The boy and Mr Jones?”

“Yes – and others”

“So – lots of voices – all a bit confusing?”


“You didn’t see Mr Jones abuse the boy, verbally or physically because you were in the classroom focused on the other boys.”

“No I didn’t – but I was told about it.”

“Who told you?”

“The Headmaster.”

“I wont ask you what he said, but you personally didn’t see what went on outside?”


I thought she was a well-meaning teacher but had been subjected to a little persuasion. I was very content with how her evidence went and she was non-the wiser – I had not attacked her – called her a liar – or tried to wreck her story.

It required stealth.


I haven’t seen knuckles since our encounter in the car park – he never had much to say anyway.

But I did see fat geezer:

During the lunch break I spotted him in a park near to the court; sitting on a bench – doing nothing much. I was sure it was him – so I thought:

Give him a bit of surrealist cognition.

I am not going to pursue a charge for the punch but I do want to disturb the idiot....freak him out a bit.

So drawing on dialogue from “HUNGER” by Knut Hamsun, which I often do in situations like this, I bound up to him, and with an entirely manic expression on my face I say:

“Hey it’s Mr Happolati from St Olaf Place.”

He looks at me bewildered.

“Wow...it is Mr Happolati….how are you after all this time? How are things with you? How are tricks? How’s life with you?”

Suddenly – he twigs – realises who it is (me-with cut eye) and starts to rise up, looking very disturbed.

So I say “Mr Happolati I see you are losing your book.”

He’s looking confused and moves away.

“Mr Happolati let’s chat…. don’t go ...it’s there on CCTV…all of it…Mr Happolati….. it’s all there….on CCTV……Mr Happolati……you are losing your book…”

By this time he’s virtually running away from me. So I run after him a little way shouting “Mr Happolati ……..Mr Happolati…your book……come back…you are losing your book.”

P Club - I know – it’s entirely weird. But that’s how I like it.

Doubt that I’ll see him again.


Thursday, 18 September 2008


What was slightly surprising about this case was what occurred on the way to my car after the excitement of day one in the court. Never happened to me before or since.

Very much a one off - so not going to make a very big fuss of it - just one of those things.

This case was in a city with a port – a large city – a rough-house sort of place - a great city for being a defence barrister (so they say) as most of the jury are criminals themselves and are likely to be sympathetic to fellow crims (so they say). I don’t believe a word of it myself. But this place is not the sort of place, which attracts the finer elements of society.

Anyway – there I am walking back to my car in the deserted multi story when two oiks walk out of the shadows. One youth – short hair – tattoos (I know – just a typical British youth) – the other was older – fat geezer.

Gawd this sounds clichéd.

Old geezer goes:

“You’d better not get that f****** paedo off....”

So I says:

“Sorry – who are you again?”

Old Geezer goes:

“Never mind that – you get that f***** off and we’re going to f****** hammer you…and him….”

So I says:

“Well that’s something to look forward to.”

So next thing – youth with the knuckles punches me in the face.

Catches me above my left eye – I wasn’t expecting it – but if you’re going to be a smart-arse then its best to either get your retaliation in first or run.

Anyway – I just legged it – all the way back to my car.

They didn’t follow me. I don’t know who the hell they were – and I have never troubled myself to find out.

No point fighting back – can you imagine the headlines:

“Barrister for accused teacher, assaults family of child in car park” (Presuming - that's who they were...but I don't know).

Not a case winner.

So the next day in court – I appear with a nasty cut above my eye (I had a bit of scar-tissue there – and it ripped open) and bruising all around it. I could see the judge eyeing me suspiciously – but the jury seemed amused.

Being British nothing was said and we


No - I havent pressed charges - and not going to either - what's the bleedin' point.

Tuesday, 16 September 2008


So the Prosecution call 3 witnesses: two who saw what happened plus the headmaster who saw bugger all.

However, P had to first deal with a problem: the Crown tried to bring in a witness statement from a teacher saying that our Teacher had roughed up kids before. So this was an issue for the Judge as P reckoned that this was “bad character” evidence by the back door. None of it was proven, he was never charged and in any case it was total bollocks. So we had more legal argument.

The Judge refused to allow it on the basis that it was utter krap – He didn’t quite use those words but I know that he was itching to.

First witness for the Crown

He says he saw our Teacher lift the boy up by his shoulders and throw him 15 feet onto his back – just outside the classroom.

He says he saw our teacher run up to the boy as he was lying on the floor in a foetal position and go as if to kick him. The teacher had a very angry expression when he did this.

So – he gets in the witness box.

I could tell that he was old school and arrogant – obviously didn’t like our teacher and more importantly didn’t like Mr Pineapples.

Mr P has a bit of a London accent – a bit of a cockney – born within the sound of Bow Bells.

He’s thinking: who the bloody hell is this so-called barrister?
He’s not one of us – no public education - no Eton, Harrow or Oxbridge;
He’s a barrister by dint of primitive animal cunning;
Sponsored through Bar school by the Kray Twins or Mad Frankie Frazer.

So – I lay the accent on a bit thicker – he gets prickly – and defensive.

I suggest that his witness statement is full of errors, wrong and incomplete – which he denies and with a sad shake of his head assures the court that his statement is 100% accurate.

This is GREAT – because P has noticed a typing error: instead of saying he was 20 yards from the scene – the statement says – 200 yards from the scene. This must mean he was standing as far away as the school car park.

This is impossible.

But he wasn’t prepared to admit an error to this cockney wide-boy and when I read the statement he did not correct the 200 yards cock-up – he had dug himself self into a hole and wasn’t prepared to eat humble pie to get out.

So far so good.

Hurling the boy through the air

He then assures us that the boy was picked up and hurled backwards through the air (his words) – so P says that the boy is 5’ 5” and 10 ½ stone – the teacher is 5’ 8” and 11 stone. Strangely the boy was gripped by his shoulders.

Were you surprised by this Herculean feat of strength?”

No – not at all” he says.

I could see that the jury were.

Any injuries to the back of his head?”


Bit surprising?”

No, not really

The pretend kick

“The boy was in a foetal position and wouldn’t have seen the kick?”

“Oh he saw it alright”

"But the boy had his hands over his head in a foetal position?"

"He could see alright."

“How do you know?”

He must have

“But you were 200 yards away weren’t you and not close enough to see anything?”

“I could see what was going on”

“He wasn’t kicked was he?”


“So all of this is irrelevant isn’t it?


The Angry Face

“Would you be angry if you’d been called “wanker” “c***” and “fudge packer”.


“Kicked in the testicles and punched in the face?”


Why not?”

“I am a better teacher – we can’t allow ourselves to get upset by these things.”

“Perhaps a tad inconvenienced?”


This was the Crown's Star Witness.

Thursday, 11 September 2008


And on we go....

The boy himself had given a statement about what had happened. The statement had been taken by the headmaster one hour after the event.

Good evidence?

Damn - YES.

But the Prosecution had not disclosed it.

Can you believe that? It was so obvious that they just wanted to nail this teacher – a man of impeccable character – no previous convictions for anything – a guy doing a difficult job – in a very difficult school. And they were hell bent on jailing the poor bugger – fair means or foul.

The boy’s statement was tucked away in a list of Undisclosed Information – hidden from view.

P had to request to see it and low and behold it basically supported the teacher’s version of events: the boy admits to kicking off – whacking a kid – trashing the room – hitting the teacher – cursing, screaming and yelling – also that the teacher bundled him out of the room – he fell over by accident and broke his wrist and collarbone.

"It was an accident." The boy said so himself - a 15 year old - the victim without any mental illness said so.

Of course he says that the teacher provoked him and that he should not have been manhandled in this way. But what the heck.

So – I says to the Judge “Your Honour – this witness statement should be adduced as evidence as it gives the “victim’s” full account of what happened.”

And the Prosecution objects; they say that the boy’s evidence is unreliable because he is such an unruly child and in the interest of justice it would not be right to reveal it to the jury.

Well bloody hell – 50% of witnesses in British Courts are unruly and unreliable – but that doesn’t automatically disbar them from giving evidence.

So the jury goes out and we have a full-scale legal argument in front of the Judge, who has to decide whether to admit this crucial piece of evidence.

P is forced to bring a “Hearsay Application” on the basis that the boy is indeed unable to come to Court (because he certainly would not turn up), and if he did he probably would throw a tantrum and leg it from the dock. In the interests of Justice - it should be allowed as evidence.

P stated that the Prosecution’s reason for excluding this evidence was farcical and disingenuous. If the statement had supported their case they would have exhibited it as their main line evidence….in the blink of an eye.

The Judge agreed with me, and so in went the boy’s witness statement, which was to be read to the jury.

But P Club…..look how keen the Prosecution were to nail this teacher.

Can someone explain this to me.....from a sociological point of view?


Tuesday, 9 September 2008


I hate the Law.....honest-ta-Gawd - it's getting on my knockers - it really is..

Being a Barrister is just no good anymore – why don’t I get a proper bleedin’ Job?

This week I have had two cases adjourned – yesterday because the Court had listed 3 cases on the same day and took 5 hours to decide what to do – whilst I sat with my lunatic client discussing football and the evils of the Police; today – the defendant wasn’t sure that she was insured for the Court case and my clients couldn’t guarantee that they would receive damages if they won.

So – P got sent home.

What bollocks is this?

Still – let me tell you about a case I completed recently. I think we need a big debate at P Club – something to get our brain cells jigging it.

Most of my clients are either mad (paranoid schizophrenia is the catch-phrase) or basically bad (plain evil). However, I do chase some serious Crims around the globe, which is quite satisfying. I detest those who rob and defraud big sums of money whilst setting up family members to take the Can if it all goes pear-shaped.

Check out The Proceeds of Crime Act (and shiver with fear)

But P Club – listen to the following little tale – and P will do it in parts. It’s not jam-packed with gore or action or intrigue – but it does say a lot about our society.

You will not be titillated or thrilled – but I hope my little case will engender a major philosophical debate.


Our teacher had been charged with ABH (Actual Bodily Harm) against a pupil. A very serious matter –suspended immediately and had been sitting at home, fretting his heart away for 9 months; facing a prison sentence – and the end of his career.

He was bricking it.

So along comes The P.

Our Scenario:

Our teacher – teaching in a special school for emotionally disturbed and behaviourally “challenged” kids – those the State Schools couldn’t deal with. Coop them all up under one roof – let them smoke – swear – fight – and live it up. Give them lots of rope – few rules – many privileges.

Teacher teaching one day in the class. Door smacks open mid lesson and in runs behaviourally “challenged” kid – kid smacks a kid in the face –spits in the face of another kid and calls the teacher:

“Wanker” – “fudge packer” and “c***”. (What is a “fudge packer”?)

Why did he do this? What's his game eh? Why so naughty?

Dunno – nobody knows – but he is emotionally disturbed and “challenged” – so with that label he has to dish out a bit of shit now and again – just to keep it all going.

Our teacher tries to protect the other kids – bundles nutty kid out of the room – nutty kid punches teacher in the face and knees him in the bollocks. A computer goes flying - and two other kids kick off.

Mayhem - screaming and yelling -

As kid is bundled out he falls into the courtyard outside the class – lands badly breaking his wrist and collarbone.


Police are called and our teacher is charged with a serious crime.

This is P’s case.

Quite straightforward as ABH’s go – but the psychology was truly complicated (As we will discover).

What-cha-think so far P Club?


Sunday, 7 September 2008


The Summer has gone.

Strange that

I can't recall it ever arriving.

Anyway - what's with this constant bleedin' rain? Is this the global warming effect?

Yesterday - me and kid Pineapple played a game of tennis in torrential rain. It never let up the whole time. Every time I served - the rain poured into my eyes and the ball skidded along the ground as if on ice.

It was quite a laugh really, and I appreciate that we did look like a pair of lunatics. One old bloke (me) and a young bloke (kid P) running around in deep puddles chopping at a sodden ball.

But By Gawd - we are British after all - and a few torrential downpours wont defeat us.

The little monkey beat me.

Still - there are folks suffering floods - and a few drops of rain at tennis is nothing in comparison.

Saturday, 30 August 2008


I can:

1. Click my tongue so loud that it sound like a shot-gun going off. It's amazing.

I get folks to sit quietly and then - "POW" - I click it. Always - always - always - they are amazed. P used to be a bit of a busker on the streets when He was a kid - and used the click to punctuate songs. The click can be heard 100s of yards away.

Awesome skill.

2. P can wiggle His ears. Totally brilliant skill. Some folks can wiggle theirs but they have to move the muscles in their faces to do it.

Mr P?

Just pure ear wiggle. No face interaction.

Folks are amazed.


Fear The P and His Skills.

I wonder what talents you have?

Monday, 25 August 2008


I loved every minute of it. Not that I saw every one – but you know what I mean.

Two weeks of sport – how can we knock it? P was utterly addicted to every thing. If you didn't enjoy the Olympics and were not enthralled by the sheer brilliance of it all - then you might as well give up on life right now.

Here are the thoughts of The P regarding the Olympics:

1. Britain invented most sports – it’s true – and sport is finally coming home to rest with us…..it’s true home. We achieved 19 Golds – bloody hell – that is unbelievable. Forth in the medal table – just pipped by Russia. A little country like us.

Don’t it make you proud to be British? And what a nation the British are:

· Inventors of the English language – the language of the World;

· The Industrial Revolution – started with us – while the French were sitting around their dinner tables sipping wine, eating Frog’s legs after ploughing the fields The Brits were reinventing the world;

· The Home of Parliamentary Democracy;

· The greatest modern musicians, poets, writers, actors – a nation of artists;

· The creators of Chicken Tikka Massala

· The inventors of the telephone, television, penicillin, the world wide web etc.. etc.. etc..this list would go on and on…

· The most impressive Empire known to man – and we gave it all up – we set countries up and then left them to get on with it – like America, Australia, India – they all belonged to us but we let them go. – because of our inbuilt humanity;

· The Rule of Law and The Common Law – the Mother and Father of legal systems – copied by many (The USA) but bettered by none.

And now the world knows that the true winners of the Olympics were the British. Imagine how many Golds we would have won had we the demographics of the USA.. Wow - zillions....probably all of them. Apart from Baseball of course.

2.Baseball? What? An Olympic sport? I know the Brits invented this game as well – but we disowned it yonks back.

I know it’s incredible – but yes – some clown allowed this pathetic travesty of a game to be described as Olympian. I mean – who plays baseball?

Okay – the Yanks play it and the Japanese – but that is all. Oh yes – and the 6 year old girls in every Primary School across this land of ours. Yes – the Olympics can be surreal as well as inspiring.

And beach volleyball? That is another joke.

Why not beach crochet? Or darts? Why not Beach Darts with fat beer swilling blokes showing their builders’ arses in cut-off tight jeans?

It’s a winner.

3.All this talk of London not being able to match the Chinese and the efforts of Bejing.

Okay – the Chinese games was truly the greatest so far – in terms of organisation and spectacle.

But there has been a lot of emphasis on the Opening and Closing Ceremonies – and hand wringing, with gnashing of teeth as to whether we (The Brits) can match what the Chinese did.

But do you know what? These ceremonies are Utter Krapp – embarrassing overblown farces. The P never watches them – apart from the first 10 minutes when the boredom level reaches its height.

Who gives a stuff about a bunch of lycra wearing loonies – climbing up a tower, waving their gloved hands in time to some drone beating a drum? I don't give a monkeys for all that cobblers and neither should you.


Seen them – and they are rubbish. Don’t want to see fireworks thanks – especially not on the telly.

The Olympic games are about SPORT – courage, competition, endeavour, skill and endurance – not about idiots running around letting off firecrackers.

I hope London isn’t fooled into even attempting to emulate that big waste of money.

Please God – don’t let the Big Brother mentality rule the Games of 2012 – with the Beckham-isation of every event. Simon Cowell and his cronies want to get their hands on the ceremonies and have the X-Factor and Rock Stars running the show.

Britain is more than this – although our 8 minutes of “Whole Lotta Love” was excellent – let’s leave it at that and show Simon Cowell and Beckham the door for 2012.

4.Phelps – 8 golds – he did good – but his sport allows him to swim in all of these races – the true great is Ben Ainsley – the sailer – 3 Golds in three consecutive Olympics. If he had 8 chances at a Gold medal – he would win them every year.

Phelps is to be commended – but he has massive feet and hands and produces only a third of the lactic acid produced by everyone else so his body doesn’t tire like normal folks – he’s a freak of nature.

5. Tennis - a strange sport to have in the Olympics perhaps - but what an inspiration Nadal is: he wins Wimbledon and then wins the Gold Bleedin' Olympic Medal. And he looked chuffed to bits to win it.

He is a winner and a credit to his sport.

Unlike that Flop - Haired miserable Scottish gitt Andy Murray. The little gett gets knocked out in Round One. He just couldn't be arsed. The Olympics were not important enough for the smile-less one.

I reckon I could beat him at tennis - I really could - he has no heart and no gutts.

Pathetic. That guy will Never win Wimbledon.

6. Scotland. Calls for the Scots to have their own Olympic team. Yea right. And what are they going to win next time? A Gold for tossing the caber - or swinging the haggis; how about Boozing - they are sure to win the Gold for that.

It's ridiculous.

We will have an Olympic team for the Isle of Wight next - or even the Isle of Sky - how about a team from Greater Manchester?


We are the British Isles for Gawd's sake - let's keep it that way.



Mr P will stop there – but P Club you get my drift – was my drift caught?

This Olympics was the greatest by far – it was two weeks of sheer brilliant telly.

Now – I guess it’s back to the boring old football.

Wednesday, 13 August 2008

Girls - Boys Further evidence

Here's another example:

For all you PAEDOPHILES who are finding their way onto this post - because you have searched for "Boys and Girls" on the internet: let me tell you - you are being tracked. You are ill.

You are not normal - you look it - but you know DEEP INSIDE that there is SOMETHING NOT QUITE RIGHT...with you

You scum-bag suckers.

Little girl P's love doing their homework and have organised a homework chart - which they fill in and tick off when the work is done.

Little boy P's?

"Homework....explain that one to me again.."

The other day - P is working on the computer early. Little P lad comes in - hands me a filthy piece of paper, obviously been used to grease the hamster cage.

He says:

"Farth....fill this in...it's important for school."

I says:

"What is it and when has it got to be in by?"


"It's my selection of my subjects for GCSE (exams) for next year and it had to be in by last week...and so you musnt hold it up...it has to be completed right now."

I says:

"Hey this is important...and we need to think about it..."

He says:

"Why are you holding me up? This form has to be in...."

See what I mean....


Whistle while you work.

P’s lads are on a youth camp this week.

So P has to do all of their paper rounds. And here I am: the oldest paperboy in the South of England.

I’ve just finished – and I am totally cream-crackered. But I enjoy it: the thud of paper on carpet – the clipping letterbox snapping shut – the crunch of boots on driveway – the barking dogs and twitching curtains – it’s all joy.

Trouble is

…..my boys aint so enthusiastic…the little Philistines.

If you only knew the weekly hassle I have in getting the little blighters out of that door, and down the road to deliver the bleedin' papers. They just don’t want to do it. Sometimes when it’s peeing down with rain – I end up doing it for them. And that is krap….and weak.

We have a system:

My daughters put the leaflets in the papers and my boys deliver. And the contrast between male and female is never starker than in this division of labour.

My girls come home from school - and the first thing they do?

They get the leaflets done. You should see them – no hesitation – no blubbing – no complaining – they just get right on with it. The task is completed days before schedule. So perfunctory in their approach.

But my boys? Oh me Gawd – anyone would think I was subjecting them to weekly torture.

Why is this? Can someone offer an explanation as to why the girls just get on with it whilst the boys' energies are directed towards wriggling out of it?

My other system

I have another system for getting jobs around the house done.

Mrs P was complaining that she was doing ALL of the work whilst we (me and the lads) were watching the boxing and football and generally lazing. So I sorted out a rota – with every kid (and me) getting a job to do every day – it went up on the wall – with days at the top and jobs down the side – with the name of the worker put in each box.

Honest-ta-Gawd – it’s a brilliant system.

My girls love it – and enthusiastically tackle each job – can’t wait to see what jobs they have for that day….and just get on with it….no blubbing and complaining…

Anyway – within days the chart is covered in arrows and lines and crossings-out. The girls know nothing about this and are as perplexed as I am. So

I say to the boys:

“Okay – what’s all this krap on the chart?”


“Well – I swapped two jobs with him and then he swapped one with him over there and then we didn’t think it was fair to give us that job on boxing days and so we crossed that one off and changed this one for that job…and anyway the girls aren’t doing as many as us…which isn’t fair, and so we tried to even it out…and then it’s also unfair that we have to walk the dogs on two consecutive days..and….”

I tell you P Club


This is not just my problem.

I went for lunch with an old mate today. He says to me:

“Mr P – how do you motivate your boys to do their school work; my daughter is fine and gets on with it – but my son just wants to play tennis and golf – what’s the answer?”

Bloody Hell. I don’t know – I am still working on it.


We treat our kids the same – no favouritism – all are encouraged – built up – praised etc….but there is definitely a difference between boys and girls.

Girls = organised, disciplined and serious minded
Boys = disorganised, and couldn’t give a stuff.

What’s the Answer P Club?

Mrs P blames Me. She says the good traits are inherited from her (discipine, eye for detail, getting the job done, seriousness) and the girls are lucky enough to inherit these characteristics from her. That it has nothing to do with being a boy or girl.

She says the bad traits are inherited from Me (anarchistic, unruly and anti-establishment) and the boys are unlucky enough to inherit these characteristics from me.

It's Utter Bollocks of course.

There is most certainly a difference between male and female.

Don't cha-think?

Saturday, 26 July 2008


So incensed P Club

Just been reminded that the National Opera House in UK gets a grant from UK Government (my arse) of £25 million each bloody year

Yea Gods

£25 bloody million Squid!!

Yea-Bloody Gods

I am totally in a crazed frame of mind about this.

Listen - P is a lawyer - and certain lawyers (the important serious ones) apparently should be loving Opera and all that Krap.


Let's face up to it: Nobody likes Opera; it's the Emperor's New Clothes syndrome: folks pretend they like it only to look good - to be seen to be a part of the establishment. And it's the bloody establishment who is choosing to spend our money on this garbage.

Shrieking in a foreign language like a bunch of pneumatic drills - wearing 17th century costumes and lurching about the stage pretending to do a bit of acting. That is Opera - pared back to the roots.

P went for a few drinks with some QC's the other day after a case I had been dealing with(QC's are barristers at the top of their profession). The talk was of private schools and the bloody Opera. They asked Mr P His views. What did P say?

"Dunno - I am into Boxing"


It was as if I'd just announced my membership of the Nation of Islam.

Name me one person...just one who actually likes Opera -for the artistic element and not for lathering the ego with "Look at me - I am sitting in an Opera House - listening to Opera - with all these Big Knobs....which must make me a Big Knob too."Go on - give me just one name.

Betcha-can't do it.




Wednesday, 23 July 2008


That's what she told me before I was dumped.

"You are addictive but no good for me.....goodbye".

And she did dump me - flicked onto the rusty scrap heap - one week before the wedding.

Seven days - rushing like a blue arsed fly - cancelling all the arrangements and all that krap. Mind in a daze – like a dream - a nightmare - dead man walking.

I then skidded into a downward spiral of grief. Yes - grief - I tell yee. And what a time that was (and it lasted over 2 years)... when I thought: - well - that's my life buggered up entirely; nothing's going to go right from now on.

Trouble was - I'd moved country - changed jobs - said goodbye to all my friends and family - big farewell party - good wishes - high hopes - speeches - high-fives - shed a few happy tears to start this new and exciting life and Great Expectations. At last Mr P had found His dream girl - this was the ultimate.


On His Arse - dumped completely - in a strange land and far away from all that I'd known and loved. And the world - slipped off it's axis.

The word on the street: it's all his fault - he's finally got his come-upance. So much humble pie eaten.

Such a long time ago now - and the memories have finally lost their sting....well almost. I look back and can still sense the unfocused bewilderment.

Sorry for getting so maudlin on you P Club....but do you know what? Thank God she dumped me. Me the loved and famous Mr P - grateful for that mighty kick in the teeth...for the years of confusion, sadness and bewilderment.

Why is P raising this spectre after these years?


But - don't you all find that life has so many disappointments - which in the moment seem so catastrophic but in the fullness of time turn out to be pure gold?

When fully accepted they form our character and provide that empathy to understand what other folks go through. Otherwise we are oblivious to struggle and harden our hearts in a pain free cocoon.

Don’t you find that?

That girl thought I was something I wasn't and would never have accepted the Real Mr P; a recipe for misery and constant strife.

Good-bleedin' riddance - and I say that without sour-grapes - but with the realisation of a lucky escape. At the time - it was a crushing blow - but in hindsight - pure miraculous intervention.

You got to give it to her though eh? "You're just like nicotine" - bloody brilliant.


There has been a request (from the colonies) for Mr P to stop being so lazy - and do a post.


P has been busy of late - BUT

He's going to hit you with THREE posts in quick succession.

Three I say.

Be prepared:


1. You're just like nicotine
2. My Court case
3. Cheer up you miserable little gett

Tuesday, 8 July 2008


I wanna be a STAR
I wanna go far
I wanna drive around in a big red car,
I said:
I wanna be a STAR

I wanna be a HIT
I wanna be It
I wanna see my name all BRIGHTLY LIT
I said:
I wanna be a HIT

I wanna be SEEN
I wanna be on screen
I wanna be the cover of a magazine
I said:
I wanna be SEEN

I wanna be a STAR
I wanna be a STAR
But I've only got a job......

In a BURGER BAR.....

So far........


Isn't this how the world is these days?
Is this all we aspire to?
My kids love Big Brother!
What is happening to us?

Wednesday, 25 June 2008


No doubt.

P lives in horse country - the little blighters are everywhere - clip clopping down our country lanes...snorting in our hedgerows and krapping on the road.

No issues.

Unfailingly, P is polite - moves the dogs away - slows down the car - doffs his cap (if he had one it would be doffed). The model of propriety, decorum and Good Citizenship. Horse riders smile at The P, doff their caps and acknowledge P's gentitlity.

That's the way it is. But P lovers - hear the words of The P -

Hear them.

Once P lost it with a horse - and this is a moral tale for you all. Have you ever lost it with a horse?


P was in his Volvo Estate - couple of kids in the back - mate in the front - coming back from "Dads and Lads camp" - mates and P take their lads for a weekend of camping, footie, camp fires and lager....in the country.

So...we come around a corner in the car - to find two big beefy women on two beefy horses. Big arms - big legs - big thighs - big enough to snap your spine like a twig(the women I mean).

Beefy gals signal furiously to The P to slow down - lot of arm waving - lot of grimacing - lot of guffawing...lot of pointing.....ANGRY BIG WOMEN.

So P slows down but then copies all of their arm movements, the waving, the grimacing, the pointing and the guffawing. A wonderful spectacle to behold: P in full flight. BRILLIANT.

So beefy girls clip-clop up to P's car - stand by P's driver's window on their horses and calls P an "Ignorant Gitt". Well P lovers - that was it!!

P had started.

P waits for horses to clip-clop to back of His car and lets it ripp on the car horn. Absolutely wacked that horn.



Hitting that horn - totally wacking that bleedin' horn.


And wow! SEE those horses MOVE! See those girls hit that saddle.

It was like the bleedin rodeo had come to town.


Like the wild west - BUCKING BRONKOES......big horses and big gals - red faces and fury.....HIT THAT HORN...MR P.

My Gawd - those horses just legged it well down the road...and them big girls? Well they were MAD as a bag of squirrels.

But once they'd gathered their wits, they came galloping back towards The P. So P hits the horn again....BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP....and off they go once more like a bleedin Rodeo.

Hey NEDDY...whoa Girl......BUCK THAT PONY.

Then P drove off. Fun over.

How juvenile was that? Unbelievable! What an example to the kids eh? Kids said:

"Dad..that was mad".

My kids still laugh about it - but my mate was dumb struck. He's moved to Australia now, but I bet he will carry the image to his grave of those big beefy girls and those big horses - doing the rodeo......in sweet, sweet olde England.

I am sorry for 99.9% of the bad I have ever done in my life; but sorry for my actions that day?


Horse riders: be polite to us road users.

Road users: be polite to polite horse riders.



Sunday, 22 June 2008




But having kids (especially girls) - P's used to it. But here's the story:

Contacted an old pal by email out of the blue. Tracked him down and wanged off a message - nothing elaborate - just "Hello ole mate..." that sort of thing.

Heard nothing for weeks - and then he replied....

....and what a shocker...what a reply!! Oh me Gawd - Bloody-Gobb-smacked I was.

Because instead of saying "Hey me ole mate...long time no-hear...." oh no nothing that prosaic - instead the cheeky bugger said:





P picks himself up of the floor and replies - suggesting a few events to trigger his memory:

1. You remember - we worked in the summer camp teaching drama to students for 6 weeks - every year ?

2. We shared a room? - (for bleedin' heck's sake)

3. P always in trouble - snogging too many girls- nearly got sent home every year?

4. We went to Blackpool together for a day?




So P sends another email:

6. P introduced you to your wife? I was with some other bird...nice looking...I even stayed at your wife's parents' house...with you....you.... YOU DICK.



Oh, it's on it's way back? Nice one - starting to come back eh? That's just great...I am so bleedin' grateful.....oh joy.....how bloody impressive.



So P Club what does this all mean? What lessons can we take from this sad little story?

The obvious one: Perhaps P isn't memorable. We are heroes in our own minds, but to others - just so forgettable.

Mere mist....non-entities.

But this can't be true... P would stick in your mind. BELIEVE ME. P is not easy to forget...He is after all "The Famous Mr Pineapples". So that cannot be it.

So what else? What else explains this vile forgetfulness?

The reason must be this: (and it's shocking):


But that is so foreign to The P....so alien that is has shaken me all up.

I spend a lot of my life thinking about what has gone before: collecting and organising the past: friends, former girlfriends, things I felt and said, lessons learned - all that sort of krap.

I divide and order my life in blocks of events, of people, places, times, dates. I apportion it into eras and play it back like a video in my head.

The past is always with me - hanging like a worn and easy coat.

I remember so much - but it all adds up to make me what I am. What has gone helps me understand and interpret what is happening now.

Am I normal in that regard? I used to think I was. Aint so sure now. Perhaps I am unique. Perhaps strange and odd?

Come to think of it Mrs P don't live in the past like me - to her - what is past has passed. She thinks I waste my life thinking about what has gone.

Bloody hell - it's been an eye-opener...let me tell you.

As for my ole mate? Forget it.....he's history.

Monday, 16 June 2008


Ten things you need to know about The P - hit me with your 10 things......HIT ME

1. Have an Italian family - wine producers - Northern Italy - and here's the thing: None of the Weird Buggers drink wine. I swear to Gawd it's true. We have thousands of gallons of the red and white stuff in the cellars and the pillocks wont touch it. P takes friends to Italy to play tennis - they are the only daft sods who will drink the wine. They get fundamentally pissed before breakfast. Once played tennis with a mate who had drunk 11 glasses of red before 9 o’clock in the morning - I hammered him on the court and rubbed it in big time - THE SOAK. P's family couldnt give a monkeys who comes to the Italian houses - gang of Hells Angels? Didnt even notice them.

2. P has had a lot of beatings in His time - for instance: got caught in a park once - sitting on a bench - approached by gang of 5 idiots - asked P if He could swim (strange question no doubt)...P's mates had legged it by then. P said "Yea....and?....." Next thing - one of the dicks had booted P in the face and the rest joined in, kicking and punching big time - P got a major beating. This is life in the UK. Does it resonate??? Does it??

3. The Greatest Compliment paid to The P: "You treat everyone the same you do..."

4. P's best friends (at the sake of sounding Krap) - His wife and kids. P dont allow them to run around amok (the kids) - and He keeps good control. But the kids actively want to be with P and Mrs P - we have such a Bleedin' Laugh. Kids are the greatest. So much bad stuff happening to kids in society today - neglect and selfishness. Makes you weep.

5 P loves: kind and considerate people - it is a STRENGTH. A cliche - but Notice how folk treat those who are not important to them e.g. waiters -anyone who acts in a superior manner towards those folks gets the P write off. Dicks and frauds. Everyone is equal - regardless of class, status, job....Preach it P.

6. P used to break into houses (in His youth). Did a few jobs - broke in - didn't steal a thing - simply re-arranged the furniture. It was my surrealist phase. Never got caught. Have never stolen a thing in my life...

7. P has a bag full of faults: main one - gets bored easy and takes risks to perk things up. Can get depressed with the same old shit. P needs noise and activity. Is manic in the morning - ridiculously cheerful - plays "All Right Now" top volume 7am. Missus P - is not "Alright" at 7am and kicks P's arse big time. P has radio or music or TV on in every room. It masks a death wish - the whisper of time passing....passing......passing....drown it out....drown it out.....drown it out...

8. P thinks 1970's Rock is the greatest: T-Rex, Bee-Bop Delux, Black Sabbath, ZZ Top - OH Good Gawd !!

9. P hates Public Schools and Public School Boy twerps. We must have a meritocracy. If these privileged little shits get a leg-up when it comes to Oxford and Cambridge then the little toads need to earn it. Any comprehensive kid should need 3 Bs to get in whilst the Public School boy shit needs to get 4 As - it makes sense don’t it?

10. P loves sports - boxing is the most noble of them all. Every kid must be taught how to fight - P allows his boys to scrap - never discourages it. P kids have had some brilliant public scraps. Most notable one - in centre of Rome. Beating two colours of poo out of each other whilst the liver lilied Italians formed a circle and watched. Best entertainment those pillocks had had in years. P had to break it up as it started to get out of hand. P in a great mood and tried to take on a few of the crowd. None of the Buggers interested. Pathetic.

You tell us your 10 facts - go on you lurkers....have some guts....tell us your 10.

Tuesday, 10 June 2008


What a day I had yesterday:

European Football Cup - Italy lost 3-0 to the bleedin' Dutch; got the dogs draped in the Italian flags - little good it did. Made the kids laugh - but no Voodoo magic there.

But that's not the worst of it. I smacked my head with the car door again.

Getting in the car - opens door - heavy - SMACK - straight in the head. Got a cut going from the top of my left eye to half way down my nose. Get in the car - blood streaming down face - kids concerned.

"What happened dad?"

"Smacked my head with the car door"

"Why d'ya do that dad?"

"Cos I'm a pillock".

Kids dabbing head with tissues - clucking concerns.

Get into the house - wife sees me - and absolutely cracks up....laughing, .....no sympathy whatsoever.

Trouble is: got to give a closing speech in Court today. What do I look like? Like a man attacked with a machette. Suspicious.

Is it only me that smacks car door in the head?

Last time I did it - September. Wife had her two (very nice) friends to tea (husband and wife). Mr P had never met them. Came back from work about 8 o'clock - parked car - closed car door and then opened it again to get my bag.


Hit head so hard - I fell and lay on the grass for a couple of minutes in a daze.

Eventually walked into the house - with mud all over my trousers and a lump on my forehead the size of a golf ball - blood trickling down my shirt as well.

Walks straight into kitchen and wife introduces me to the friends.

"Oh - me Gawd! What's happened to you" - hand on mouth - startled - concerned.

"Hit the car door in my head".

The whole room just cracks up - laughing - even these new friends - who I've never met - no decorum whatsoever. And not one of them suggested I lie down - have a glass of water - think it through. Stuff like that.

Just made em all laugh. They were borderline cheering.

I mean - Bloody Hell!!

Still it broke the ice I suppose. There they were - expecting to meet the famous barrister - and what do they get?

An idiot.

Don’t know what the Judge is going to make of me today.


That's life eh?

Saturday, 7 June 2008



How many times has The P been down the school for cosy chats with headmaster - senior teacher - form tutor?

P needs His own room down there - so when problems brew He can pop out and say -"Trouble? Here I am - let's sort it."

Yesterday...little P in school. Big lardie mouthing him. Totally out of the blue. Problem is that kids know my boys are boxers and the idiots try it on in front of their mates. To look the part - the hard man.

The Little Ps are not the biggest of lads in the school but they are not at all small. They are all fit as whippets and have real muscles. So anyone picking on a little P - is either a mentalist or on a death wish.

So little P shrugs and walks away (Mr P's advice - walk away - stay from trouble).

But lardie - then shouts out some filthy stuff about little P's mother (who he's never met - and knows nothing about). Can you bleedin' believe it?

Little P turns - says "What?" - nothing more - just "What?"

Lardie gets all arsie, more mouthing, and Lardie makes a big MISTAKE: he takes little P on and comes at little P with hands down.

BAD BLEEDIN' MOVE. (I wasnt there - it's just what I've heard).

So little P hits him with a straight right and then a left hook. So easy it's laughable.

Listen P club - If you're going to crack someone (and I say this to my boys) - you must do it with bunches of punches; never one punch in isolation - always a combination. Your combos must be hard wired into the system - and that comes through practice and repetition; so a left hook always follows a straight right, and a body punch follows in turn.


Anyway - lardie - gets hit hard and falls on his arse in the dirt.



Okay - so Little P hauled before headmaster and suspended.

Can you believe it? SUS-BLOODY-SPENDED

P comes home from work finds little P waiting on the stairs for Him - worried - scared to tell P the latest school news. Little P does his story - says he's sorry - for all the latest trouble etc....etc...

Scared that I'm going to be disapointed with him.

Well P is very disapointed.


Little P should have followed up with a left to the body and then a knee in the teeth.

If you don't let pratts like that feel the pain - well next time - who knows eh?

Anyway - so it's off to school for P - for another cosy chat.

Saturday, 31 May 2008


It is so bloody trendy to knock the Yanks. To rave about their Iraq war and how fat the buggers all are. Okay the reason they care so much for their teeth is that they need them to eat all that food.

But - In the History of the World has there ever been a more BENIGN Superpower?


P has an American friend - only one (not got many friends anyway). But she is an absolute delight - I tell yea. Unpretentious, interesting, caring and ...well....just plain normal.

A breath of fresh air in fact. She is probably characteristic of the whole nation.

Ask yourself this: would you rather be friends with those lazy French? (More of this on another post). It's a no brainer.

Let's be honest, the Yanks try hard to be liked. For Goodness-Sakes they have learned our language - just to get along with us. That's how much they care.

We don't charge them money for using it and we should (a sort of rent) - but we don't because they are our friends and we let them off - we are proud of what they have achieved in such a short time with our encouragement.


Okay - so 97.3% of Americans are obese with 67.9% morbidly obese - but listen P Club.

America is NOT the cause of the world's problems - and idiots who say as much are.....just plain stupid...idiots. Like that Conceited Pillock George H Galloway. His Vanity....his vanity knows no bounds.

I just despise those fools who are so anti-American they are willing to embrace and give succour to Islamic Terrorism.


Those Islamic states would lock and torture every one of us for just being human. Islam? I am begining to dribble at the mouth with rage as I think of it.

Those women's rights groups who denounce Israel and big up Islam! They are to be pitied for their foolishness.

What utter utter tyranny. If God is in all of that then I am a bleedin' Monkey's Uncle.

President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran? Crazy Name - Crazy Guy. Is America the only nation who takes seriously his threat to obliterate Israel? (apart from Israel).

Anyways - let's give the USA a break eh?

Okay –

- so they believe every bleedin' word you say,and take everything literally;
- and are gullible as hell.;
- and they like eating burgers;
- and follow the most pointless "sport" known to man - baseball (only primary school girls play it England - it's called "Rounders")....

But at least they have done some good for this world...unlike those lazy self-loving French. What have they ever given the world...apart from indigestion?

This is real wisdom.

Friday, 30 May 2008


Some folks have suggested that The P is a "softie".

Well P followers this is true: P is a softie towards kids, all kids, dogs, cats and stuff, and all folks downtrodden, disadvantaged etc...

But Bleedin' Hell.

P is the scourge of the Evil Doer.

Ever been in a London cab? Bollocks can those Geezers talk? And such Krap.

Tactic: talk the Bollocks of them first.

P gives them the double barrell - before they can even spout their own Bollocks.

I swear to Gawd - it works. P hits em with His views on everything - between the eyes - even before they realise that P is a bleedin' Loony - they have heard the Words of The P ...


Hear Yee Hear Yee Hear Yee

P was in a Cab a few months back - arseing His way across London (late for Court..so Frenzied mood) - from Southwark Crown Court to the Royal Courts of Justice on The Strand. This Geezer Cabbie picks up The P.

Geezer gets the full-barrelled Bollocks of the P - without any hesitation. After 10 minutes uninterrupted P Boll-Erks - the Geezer goes:

"Hey I know you. I had you in my cab years back - about 1999 - you were going on about a Christmas Party when you got totally rat-arsed - poisoned by alcohol..."

Do you know what?

The Geezer was right. Though The P WASNT "rat-arsed" - He just got poisoned.


The Words of The P - remembered by the London Cabbie. There are 50,000 London Cabbies - how surreal for this One to remember The Words Of the P?


P has had it with being a softie - from now on it's Inner Cabbie - kicking the butts of the Evil....

Right on this Blog.

Pre-pare-yourselves....you Evil Doers.....for the Wrath of The P comes swiftly etc..

Saturday, 24 May 2008


It's True: P grabbed a Granny - a real live oldie.....She's in the shed sucking mushed pears through a straw; she walks the dogs; reads stories to the kids.


Okay - so P exaggerates - but He did try to kidnap a Real Granny.

It was Yesterday evening; P in car with two of his female imps (8 and 10); windy; drizzly.

Country road.

P drives past old lady walking along lane with two young kids.

A long way from anywhere.

P carries on driving - a mile - then conscience strikes. P turns car around and heads back towards old lady with two young kids.

Imps say "what-cha-doing-dad?" "Where-we-going-dad?" "This-aint-the-way-home-dad?"

P sees old lady with two young kids - slows down, stops, lowers window and says:

"Would you like a lift?"

Oh Me Gawd: "Would you like a lift?"

That's all: "Would you like a lift?" Not very frightening.

Not like I've threatened to torch her zimmer-frame.

But - The face on the old lady: Shocked!! Startled!! Fearful!! About to be Attacked!! About to be shot, mugged - and worse!!

"No thank-you" she says.

"You sure? It’s no trouble."

"No thank-you" (indignant). Starting to look angry...angry with the Famous Mr Pineapples - can you ADAM AND EVE it?

So P drives off with the two cheeky monkeys in the car laughing and saying; "Dad - you are mental." "You really upset her dad...it's so funny...you tried to kidnap a grandmother..."


Kids went on about it all evening: taking the mick.

P does NOT look like a criminal: no tattoos on wrist or knuckles, no earrings, no gold teeth...infact a very pleasant looking sort of bloke.

No leering or menacing expression. Just trying to help the old lady with the two young kids.

And He had two cheeky little girls in the car: one in the front seat (smiling away) and one in the back seat (grinning). Hardly a danger to society one would think?

For Goodness-Sakes!!

What the Bleedin' hell is wrong with our society?

Or is it just Mr P - totally out of step?

I tell you: Next time P will succeed and then it's in the shed.....totally in. See how She likes that then eh?


P weenies - listen to the words of The P.....

The other day - P went to a Youth Court for the First Time.

What an eye-opener. What a revelation impartation to the mind of The P.

And He spills the beans right here, because these Youth Courts are a microcosm of the State of the UK and indeed of the whole of the Western World.

And we need to know about them.

P entered because He was in another Court across the road and was asked to pop over to mitigate on behalf of a youth about to receive sentence for a crime (P wont name the youth, or the crime). P never done this before - He does some crime - but only major, arse-kicking - intellectual varieties...as you can imagine.

The SICK THING was - everyone thought I was a SOLICITOR and kept referring to me as their "Friend". P is NOT a bleedin' thicko solicitor - and He is not a "Friend" at all.

First P cock up: He stands up to address the Tribunal. WRONG ! It's a Youth Court - we all sit down, nice and cosy - we never upset the Youths by being formal in any way. P told to sit down - Three Times.

Second P balls up: He addresses the defendant by full name. WRONG ! It's first name terms here pal - no scaring youths with surnames...no Siree.

The cock ups continued....but P successful and all that He asked for He got.

Youth very pleased - tearful and grateful - off he goes back home....chuffed.

But Listen.

The whole thing - geared towards making youths feel happy, at ease, languid. No big stick here - no fear - no need for respect - no bleedin' nuthing. The way the Court spoke to the youth was: softly, tenderly, sweetly - Fluffy teddy-bear style.

Youth Worker in Tow - (and allowed to speak for the youth) - Mums and Dads in Tow (allowed to speak for the youth), even youth allowed to give a little speech about how remorseful they were etc...and wont do it again etc...

And off they go - to do even more of the same crime. Cynical? Hope not - P hates cynics - but where is the teeth in all of this?

Victim suffered a great deal - P knows so - victim lost quite a bit of money and was badly beaten up in the process - despite this = NO COMPENSATION awarded.

Tough on Crime? You are having a laugh.

P spoke at length to the Court Ushers. Their view? The system lacked any sense of authority - any sense of awe - youths are allowed to play computer games on their mobile phones all the way through the trial - to give the finger to whomever they wished, to chew, laugh, fart, and scratch their bleedin' arses - as long as it put them at ease.

A good arse scratching can really chill you down.

But where was the tea lady? Wheeling her way though the Court - with cakes and bottles of Iron Brew (alcohlic version). This would be helpful.

Ushers said - it was the norm for parents not to turn up; youths are often on their own.

But P was shocked at the banality of the process, at the casual and ultra informal approach.

P is a liberal at heart - with a natural irreverence towards His betters - but we must have some respect for authority - Surely? Some sense of the Majesty of The Law?

Come on P Club - let's have a massive debate about this.

Tuesday, 13 May 2008


Mr P is having a mid-life....

Mrs P says "There is no mid-life crisis - you just find it hard to grow up"


P has evidence.

First - P's kids run the show, undermining the Control of The P. The prowess of The P - questioned by primary school girls and Italian-esque Teenage Boys.

THE EVIDENCE (and this will shock you):

P - in kitchen - 10-year-old girl - looking up at P:

"Dad .....is it you leaving the top off the peanut butter and the lid off the margarine?"

Tip - never plead guilty.


" Well I am not sure, but I did see someone with the peanut butter the other day and...."

"It WAS you Dad.....and it's really annoying....put the tops and the lids back on."

Then, after theatrically demonstrating how to put a plate in the sink, she skoots off.

A reprimand for P.....a telling off for The Legendary Mr Pineapples, from someone in pigtails, pink outfit and ballet shoes...


This is real evidence.


P taught His youths everything: tennis, squash, football, boxing.. how to put on shoes without undoing the laces....swearing, tattoos, you name it...THE BLEEDIN' LOT. All from The P.

Fishing: P out with lads - lads cast their lines....100 meters....P casts His line 75 metres.

Nothing wrong so far. But remember P club: Mr Pineapples taught these youths to cast.

Kid P says "Nice cast Dad...that was really great..d'ya see that boys?....Dad did a great cast..."

Chorus from other mini-P's "..yea..nice cast Dad...wow..."


Problem - youths are not being ironic or sarcastic. but genuinely trying to encourage The P..
...the Poor Old Git...
...the Ailing Old Fart..
...the Geezer needing Bigging Up....

Tennis: P gets arse whipped regular. Again - chorus from side-lines: "Nice shot Dad....wow....".


Boxing: P scared to have a spar with youths - concerned at being on arse even before munching down on gum-shield.




P is young - full head of hair - real teeth - good looking...fit...in shape..

But these kids are younger, better looking, cleverer than The P....fitter...

And even WORSE: they are kind, encouraging, helpful all of the way.



It's happening,

Sunday, 11 May 2008


P's out of the corner - ducking, bobbing, weaving etc..
Leads with a right - it's outrageous
Two double jabs
P ducks, smiles, trash talk
A tripple combo: left jab, right over the top, left to the body
Bleedin' Brilliant
Flash of lightening
A blur
Canvas burning up

But what's happening?
Oh Me Gawd - P is on the ropes
Ah !
It's a strategy
Wow! P's not hurt...

Round Two:

P out, ducking, bobbing etc.......Oh...My Good Grief.....He's still on the ropes...and..Oh Bleedin' Hell... I am Fed up of this now...Can't be arsed with this no more...

Listen P Club it was fight night last night: Little P fighting in the Smoke.

He WON...by a mile. P kid outworked other kid - landed 3 times as many punches - supreme work rate - total fitness - guts.


But Fight Nights are pretty Krap.

And you need to hear this.

They are mostly Black Tie affairs - Fat, ugly getts, - eating steak dinners on little round tables, nipping out for a fag ever 10 minutes - pissed as newts...and giving over the top support for the home boys. Under their frilly shirts: the Union Jack ripped into their skins.


What is dire is the roping off of the ordinary Plebs (like Pineapples) away from the action, away from the gents in the suits. P is miles away from His kid.

So what does P do?

Well, where as most other plebs wear jeans and Hally Hansen jackets, P has smart shirt, glorious tie and nice trousers. Enables P to march right past officials, through roped off area, sauntering towards table.

The more brazen - the more believable.

Once in, P has the run of the place, swans around,stands next to Ring...giving the verbals.

By the time the Buggers have realised that P is not one of the bow-tie dicks, but an unwashed tattooed pleb - most of the fight has been seen and fimed.

There then follows an ugly few minutes as they try to escort P out of the roped off area.

It happens every bleedin' time.

During the arguments P always points out that it's His Kid that's Providing the entertainment - so He is staying put.

This brings at least 2 bouncers - but it buys more time. Eventually - whole gang of folks arguing with The P - about how these frilly geezers have paid - and here I am - cheating them - outrageous - no sense of decency - report Me to the authorities....blah bloody blah..


After all this bull-shit krap, P walks off - but whole fight filmed and later loaded down onto YouTube.

Many of the fighers are gypsy kids. NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT AT ALL.

In fact gypsy kids (travellers) are the nicest kids you would hope to meet; it's the parents who are the nightmare: supreme drunkenness on the night and a tendancy to launch enthusiastic assaults on other gypsy families.

Last year there was a pitched battle involving four families which went on for over an hour in the car park after the show; police had to take them all away.

So THAT is a typical fight night.


But P's lad was such a great kid....fast hands and a granite chin. It pays to do the road miles - more you do - the better you are in the ring. Much energy is lost through nervous tension - so having the fitness helps keeps the nerves at bay - there is no fear of tiring.