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Peter Reynolds

The life and times of Peter Reynolds

Posts Tagged ‘West London

Young Jimmy’s Jolly In Peru

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There’s all sorts of perks to being a government minister you know.  If you’re young Jimmy Brokenshire then as part of your courageous “war on drugs” you get an all-expenses paid trip to Peru to have a good laff at the poor sods who’ve got themselves jailed chasing the white lady.

Jimmy's Holiday Snaps

Apparently, most cocaine in Britain now comes from Peru rather than Columbia so, of course,  it was vital for young Jimmy to get on a plane and do some fact finding.   What I’d like to know is did he find anything of decent quality or is it all crap like it is on the mean streets of Britain?  Did he rub it on his gums, sniff a few lines and get partying or was it bubbling in a spoon and blazed on a big glass pipe to get him rampant and raving and even more dangerous than he is at home?

The terrible story of Nick Jones from West London can be seen here.  He was caught trying to bring back two kilos of Peruvian Flake.  Sure, I feel sorry for him but it’s an extremely high stakes game.  He knew full well what he was doing and chose to take the risk.   Jimmy went along to gloat and use the opportunity for some easy propaganda.  I think he must have still been cracked out though because he told the BBC,  “The liability that you will be caught is very, very high”.  Now that’s some malapropism.  Maybe he’s got some other “liability” or likelihood on his mind or maybe he really was “very, very high”.

It makes me sick that this vile, baby faced punk is frittering our money away on his unjustified jollies.  The Minister for Crime Prevention is a disgrace, a prohibitionist,  a propagandist and a dissembler.  Probably the most dangerous man in British politics, I’d rather see Nick Griffin at the Home Office than young Jimmy.   He couldn’t be worse.  He couldn’t be more poorly informed.  He couldn’t be more regressive or oppressive or smug and self-satisfied.

Jimmy Visits A Peruvian Prison

In my wildest fantasies, maybe someone will slip a couple of wraps in Jimmy’s pocket and he’ll get busted at Heathrow.  A few weeks in Brixton would do him the world of good before his chums pull strings to get him off.  He’d be a better person for it.  He might have to face up to some realities rather than the deluded, fantasy world in which he lives.

Alternatively, maybe he could do the decent thing and swop places with Nick Jones?  Now that would be truly useful.  I’d be the first to recommend him for a medal.  Then, in a few years time we could send someone out to gloat over him!

Well I can dream!

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Walking The Dog 6

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So in the fourth week of July, summer has finally decided to show its face and very welcome it is too.  But not for Capone.  When God invented dog he forgot the sweat glands and made do with a long, long tongue and a predilection to pant – sometimes very noisily.

In fact, Capone is far from the worst or loudest in this department although it does seem to be something that particularly afflicts Staffs and similar breeds.  I sat in the vets the other day and this poor animal sounded like it was being slowly strangled, gagging and panting as if on the point of death.

You have to be so careful when you leave them in the car in this weather.  Tescos provides very little shaded parking and even with two front windows left wide open, I have to be in and out in a flash.  The only alternative is to tie him to the hitching post outside (you know, where the cowboys tie up their horses) but Capone, being the superstar that he is, attracts so much attention, so many “oohs” and “aahs” that it can take twenty minutes to break out of the conversations and escape.

Other than the arrival of summer, there is some truly momentous news to impart.  Capone has a friend, a companion, a permanent partner.  She arrived just a few weeks ago and has the same provenance as him, rescued by special forces extraction from the hellhole known as West London.  Only nine months old, she too had spent her life locked in some grotty flat for twenty-three and a half hours a day, released only for a short walk to the fag shop and back.

Allow me to introduce you to Carla.  Yes, if President Sarkozy can have one so can I and she struts and preens and prances as any good supermodel should.

On arrival Capone thought I’d finally found him the teenage sex slave that we’ve both been hoping for but being a gentleman he soon relented and has given her a warm and loving welcome.  It has to be said that this is not always entirely deserved for she can be a right little bitch at times – and I am moderating my language as much as possible within the bounds of accuracy.

After a few weeks proper exercise with a little discipline and training she has developed into a delightful member of the family.  All credit has to go to Capone for his wonderful temperament, forbearance and patience.  Even when they are both exhausted from a lengthy walk, the exuberance of youth still causes her to clamp his leg in her jaws, chew on his cheek or plant her nether regions in his face in the hope of a little playtime.  They playfight and tumble, chase each other and fight endlessly over sticks but they are now firm friends.

At first, when the obligatory rich tea biscuits were handed out, Carla would snatch, grab and my fingers would be in great danger.  Now she accepts these sweetmeats with all the delicacy and elegance of Madame Sarkozy taking a spoonful of foie gras.

Capone has taught Carla to swim.  At first she would try to jump on his back, then after a few frantic paddles she would panic and return to shore.  To Capone’s consternation she has now become a faster swimmer than him and she delights in letting him set off then plunging in and overtaking him to retrieve the stick first.

There is a remedy for this which has to be applied regularly.  It involves a trip to the end of Hayling Island, out of the calm waters of Chichester harbour, to where the surf thunders in and for my best boy and girl, the waves are twice or three times their height.

Here Capone’s great bravery and strength triumphs.  He will go out through anything, rising and falling in the swell, capturing the stick and returning to the shore through the white water and massive undertow where a frantic, near hysterical Carla promptly steals it from him while he recovers.

Just like a woman – but she is our little girl.

Capone has a good laugh as Carla gets her first real swimming lesson

Capone has a good laugh as Carla gets her first real swimming lesson