stuart little
Established Member
This is TOO true to be a joke!
Joke Thread 4
- Thread starter Noel
- Start date
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stuart little
Established Member
I hope she doesn't see this!Was her name Margaret, I think that could be my wife
niemeyjt
Established Member
We've been married 66 years and the first 65 were fine
flying haggis
Established Member
but the fuel supply companies built the refuelling infrastructure.... but people with EVs expect the government ie the taxpayer to provide their refuelling infrastructure whe in reality it should be down to the "fuel" suppliers !!
I think you will find that the government is not installing any charging infrastructure. It is all being done by independent companies.
Terry - Somerset
Established Member
There is a difference.
In the early days ICE was affordable only by wealthy folk. They were entirely capable of paying whatever was required to provide re-fuelling facilities. Others relied on rail, horses or legs. Many doubted the need or even the future for ICE except as a wealthy mans plaything.
In the 2020's most folk expect access to personal transport - there are 30m private cars in the UK. Many are concerned (understandably) about costs and convenience of ownership. Whether or not we individually doubt the need for EV, the government are mandating transition.
If provision of adequate charging facilities is a material barrier to ownership. incentives will be required - either to improve the charging network or subsidise the cost of EV ownership.
At some point provision of charging facilities will become self-financing and investment by the private sector in pursuit of profit will eliminate the need for subsidies. IMHO we are now very close!!
In the early days ICE was affordable only by wealthy folk. They were entirely capable of paying whatever was required to provide re-fuelling facilities. Others relied on rail, horses or legs. Many doubted the need or even the future for ICE except as a wealthy mans plaything.
In the 2020's most folk expect access to personal transport - there are 30m private cars in the UK. Many are concerned (understandably) about costs and convenience of ownership. Whether or not we individually doubt the need for EV, the government are mandating transition.
If provision of adequate charging facilities is a material barrier to ownership. incentives will be required - either to improve the charging network or subsidise the cost of EV ownership.
At some point provision of charging facilities will become self-financing and investment by the private sector in pursuit of profit will eliminate the need for subsidies. IMHO we are now very close!!
Doug B
Shy Tot
John Brown
Freeloading Social media influenza
How is any of that relevant to the ",joke"?
If we all drove EVs, and somebody invented the ICE, there wouldn't be a refuelling infrastructure in place. Who would or wouldn't finance it is irrelevant. It's a silly internet meme that appeals to the anti EV community.
stuart little
Established Member
Oh well, there goes THAT suggestion!!!!!!!!!!
The_Yellow_Ardvark
Established Member
Thank you Mr Aardvark for saving us from another top gear section of the joke thread
Doug B
Shy Tot
Cozzer
Established Member
"Lord and Lady Fitzhugh-Fitzhugh...."
"The Duke and Duchess of Intarsia..."
As the notables entered the dining hall, the uniformed lackey on the door dutifully announced their arrival to the sumptuous dining hall.
"The President of the United States of America..."
Yes, the great and good of the world were in attendance, for the extra special event organised by Prime Minister.
"The King and...er....his niece of Mahogania" droned the doorman.
They just kept coming. The chance to discuss the finer points of climate change, the worldwide refugee crisis, and a free 18 course meal was too much to refuse.
The lackey on the door now read aloud from a card. "The Russian President has declined your kind offer of hospitality, but has agreed to allow his Ambassador's equerry to attend...." Holding the card at an angle to his face, he then addressed the chap...
"No, mate. Can you leave your umbrella over there, pal, if you'd be so kind....Cheers..."
"The Mayor and Mayoress of Casterbridge....."
Our PM was now mingling like a good 'un, squinting at some of the name badges in order to recognise some of the lesser-known guests.
"Ah, your niece, you say! Well, my dear, you're very welcome! Are you on the King's side of the family, or....Oh! You don't know..Well, that's...anyway, excuse me, I must mingle some more..."
"The Count of Del Monte..."
The PM then found himself facing the bloke from the Russian Embassy. "Awfully sorry, old chap - the fellow at the door should've shown you where to leave your umbrella. We don't want anyone to trip up now, do we? Oh...you do! Oh, you Russians and your sense of humour! Anyway, must mingle..."
"Sheik Mohammed Ali Mohammed Muhammed BenAli...er...Mohammed..."
Within 20 minutes the room was heaving with high society from all over the globe - Royalty, government and religious leaders...it was a stunning success for the Government, and our PM was delighted with the response. Sky, the Beeb and ITV had turned out in droves to report on events, which had promised to put all previous summits to shame.
"The Duke and Duchess of Sussex..."
"Ah. Oh well, never mind" thought the PM.
The whole event had taken months in the planning. It was designed to put the UK back on top of the world stage, almost back to Empire status...and with it promote our PM as a statesman of note. In fact, not just the Man of the Moment. The Man of All Time.
The meal seating plan had been a challenge. Forget the Montagues and the Capulets - that would've been a walk in the park in comparison.
Our PM had been mingling for about an hour now, and then one of his aides - actually one of the many MI5 operatives attending - whispered in his ear that the first course was ready to be served.
This was it.
"Pray silence for your host, the Prime Minister...."
The chance the PM had been waiting for.
After all these years, all the trials and tribulations of office, this was his moment.
Everyone was seated. There was a hush in the room.
The PM smiled at his 200 plus guests, and slowly rose to his feet to deliver the speech of his career. Nay...the speech of his life.
Nothing, but nothing, must go wrong now.
As he rose, he managed to slide the Russian guest's umbrella away with his right foot, and hoped nobody had noticed. A strange thing to bring to such an event, he thought...
"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome, welcome, welcome! What an honour to greet you all here, representing your various peoples around the world! I am truly, truly overwhelmed!"
A polite ripple of applause interrupted his opening.
The PM raised both his hands in order to regain the silence. "Please, please...you're too kind...I'm going to start my speech with...well...the most vital and important issue facing us all today...."
He'd rehearsed this speech many hundreds of times. Every word, every slight momentary pause, every visual furrowed brow and slight stumbling of phrases had been timed to the split second. Yes, once you can feign absolute sincerity, you'd got it cracked.
His 19 year old daughter, seated to his immediate right, had also been versed over the weeks. The right lipstick. The right hair. The polished, dazzling white teeth and the smile to light up the room. The dress....ah yes, the dress.
Designer, suffice to say. None of your TK Max rubbish. Cost a small fortune. Many, many consultations and fittings. Revealing, low cut, but not enough to raise eyebrows, let alone anything else. But Penelope - for 'twas her name - was a big girl.
She knew how important all this was. God knows, she'd been lectured enough. A pleasant but talentless teenager, she'd realised that if her father was going to achieve worldwide fame, she could milk the system for all its worth - Hello magazine, TV talk shows, maybe even her own clothing label. She needed to be noticed by the world's press....
She'd decided to dispense with the bra a couple of days before, ordering that the dress be altered to suit. As a result, she'd managed to squeeze certain parts of her anatomy into it - not enough to be uncomfortable, but noticeable. Very.
Her father's speech was going down well. He was in full flow, the assembled throng in the palm of his hand. Nothing was going to be allowed to go wrong.
He was home and dry. The world was his....
Penelope reached for her glass of wine, and in doing so, knocked a small teaspoon off the table.
Sliding demurely off the side of her chair, she reached for the spoon..."I can reach..."she thought, "just a couple of centimetres further...."
The spoon pinched delicately at finger end, she slid back into her seat.
It was that very moment that the designer dress gave up holding its treasure, and both of Penelope's generous breasts glistened in the room's exquisite lighting....
"Oh my God!" flashed through the PM's mind. "Oh my God! No! NO!"
Panic struck. He had to divert attention away from his daughter. Instantly! Oh God! His mind raced. Sweating now, he yelled in his best stentorian tone, the only thing he could think of in that split second.
"Look! Look, everyone! Look! In the garden! On the grass! It's wonderful to see! Through the french windows, over there! Everybody! Look! Now!"
Unfortunately for him, on the lawn were two dogs....
"The Duke and Duchess of Intarsia..."
As the notables entered the dining hall, the uniformed lackey on the door dutifully announced their arrival to the sumptuous dining hall.
"The President of the United States of America..."
Yes, the great and good of the world were in attendance, for the extra special event organised by Prime Minister.
"The King and...er....his niece of Mahogania" droned the doorman.
They just kept coming. The chance to discuss the finer points of climate change, the worldwide refugee crisis, and a free 18 course meal was too much to refuse.
The lackey on the door now read aloud from a card. "The Russian President has declined your kind offer of hospitality, but has agreed to allow his Ambassador's equerry to attend...." Holding the card at an angle to his face, he then addressed the chap...
"No, mate. Can you leave your umbrella over there, pal, if you'd be so kind....Cheers..."
"The Mayor and Mayoress of Casterbridge....."
Our PM was now mingling like a good 'un, squinting at some of the name badges in order to recognise some of the lesser-known guests.
"Ah, your niece, you say! Well, my dear, you're very welcome! Are you on the King's side of the family, or....Oh! You don't know..Well, that's...anyway, excuse me, I must mingle some more..."
"The Count of Del Monte..."
The PM then found himself facing the bloke from the Russian Embassy. "Awfully sorry, old chap - the fellow at the door should've shown you where to leave your umbrella. We don't want anyone to trip up now, do we? Oh...you do! Oh, you Russians and your sense of humour! Anyway, must mingle..."
"Sheik Mohammed Ali Mohammed Muhammed BenAli...er...Mohammed..."
Within 20 minutes the room was heaving with high society from all over the globe - Royalty, government and religious leaders...it was a stunning success for the Government, and our PM was delighted with the response. Sky, the Beeb and ITV had turned out in droves to report on events, which had promised to put all previous summits to shame.
"The Duke and Duchess of Sussex..."
"Ah. Oh well, never mind" thought the PM.
The whole event had taken months in the planning. It was designed to put the UK back on top of the world stage, almost back to Empire status...and with it promote our PM as a statesman of note. In fact, not just the Man of the Moment. The Man of All Time.
The meal seating plan had been a challenge. Forget the Montagues and the Capulets - that would've been a walk in the park in comparison.
Our PM had been mingling for about an hour now, and then one of his aides - actually one of the many MI5 operatives attending - whispered in his ear that the first course was ready to be served.
This was it.
"Pray silence for your host, the Prime Minister...."
The chance the PM had been waiting for.
After all these years, all the trials and tribulations of office, this was his moment.
Everyone was seated. There was a hush in the room.
The PM smiled at his 200 plus guests, and slowly rose to his feet to deliver the speech of his career. Nay...the speech of his life.
Nothing, but nothing, must go wrong now.
As he rose, he managed to slide the Russian guest's umbrella away with his right foot, and hoped nobody had noticed. A strange thing to bring to such an event, he thought...
"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome, welcome, welcome! What an honour to greet you all here, representing your various peoples around the world! I am truly, truly overwhelmed!"
A polite ripple of applause interrupted his opening.
The PM raised both his hands in order to regain the silence. "Please, please...you're too kind...I'm going to start my speech with...well...the most vital and important issue facing us all today...."
He'd rehearsed this speech many hundreds of times. Every word, every slight momentary pause, every visual furrowed brow and slight stumbling of phrases had been timed to the split second. Yes, once you can feign absolute sincerity, you'd got it cracked.
His 19 year old daughter, seated to his immediate right, had also been versed over the weeks. The right lipstick. The right hair. The polished, dazzling white teeth and the smile to light up the room. The dress....ah yes, the dress.
Designer, suffice to say. None of your TK Max rubbish. Cost a small fortune. Many, many consultations and fittings. Revealing, low cut, but not enough to raise eyebrows, let alone anything else. But Penelope - for 'twas her name - was a big girl.
She knew how important all this was. God knows, she'd been lectured enough. A pleasant but talentless teenager, she'd realised that if her father was going to achieve worldwide fame, she could milk the system for all its worth - Hello magazine, TV talk shows, maybe even her own clothing label. She needed to be noticed by the world's press....
She'd decided to dispense with the bra a couple of days before, ordering that the dress be altered to suit. As a result, she'd managed to squeeze certain parts of her anatomy into it - not enough to be uncomfortable, but noticeable. Very.
Her father's speech was going down well. He was in full flow, the assembled throng in the palm of his hand. Nothing was going to be allowed to go wrong.
He was home and dry. The world was his....
Penelope reached for her glass of wine, and in doing so, knocked a small teaspoon off the table.
Sliding demurely off the side of her chair, she reached for the spoon..."I can reach..."she thought, "just a couple of centimetres further...."
The spoon pinched delicately at finger end, she slid back into her seat.
It was that very moment that the designer dress gave up holding its treasure, and both of Penelope's generous breasts glistened in the room's exquisite lighting....
"Oh my God!" flashed through the PM's mind. "Oh my God! No! NO!"
Panic struck. He had to divert attention away from his daughter. Instantly! Oh God! His mind raced. Sweating now, he yelled in his best stentorian tone, the only thing he could think of in that split second.
"Look! Look, everyone! Look! In the garden! On the grass! It's wonderful to see! Through the french windows, over there! Everybody! Look! Now!"
Unfortunately for him, on the lawn were two dogs....
tl;dr
Cabinetman
Established Member
Yes it was quite promising at the half way point, but then didn’t.
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