Rob Roy, General Borchester and the Great Sedition thread….

[T00ts]

Yabba yabba! Sign here, you've got the job!



Better be careful when you interview General Borchester later. His ticker might be able to take the strain  ::  ::  ::

I'll go get changed then!   :dncg:

[DeppityDawg]

Do you think leather from head to toe would be enough protection?

Yabba yabba! Sign here, you've got the job!



Better be careful when you interview General Borchester later. His ticker might be able to take the strain  ::  ::  ::

[T00ts]

Well, as you know, General Borchester offered me a commission, but I turned him down. I've taken a role as a correspondent instead and a position has become available as my XO. It requires a girl with a cool head and good communication skills. Certain...ahem....dancing talents might come in very useful too  ::



You need to understand the risks though, Toots. Where we are going, we'll be close to the action and you could be injured by stray Irn Bru bottles or flying false teeth. Are you up for it?

Do you think leather from head to toe would be enough protection?

[cromwell]

Well I've come a little late to the battle had other things to do,Manchester is actually fine and untouched,meanwhile a place that is the home to an alleged football team lies in ruins .

Marauding armies like so many others under the impression it lies in Manchester wrecked it and moved on,meanwhile Thomas short of funds to support any further action has resorted to raising cash by entertaining the public.

https://m.facebook.com/1136889065/posts/10215654990424599/?sfnsn=scwspwa&extid=heBwCDeou5RVjeOP&d=w&vh=i">//https://m.facebook.com/1136889065/posts/10215654990424599/?sfnsn=scwspwa&extid=heBwCDeou5RVjeOP&d=w&vh=i

[DeppityDawg]

:cry:  :cry:  :cry:  :cry:  :cry: I was left behind and yet I have a very useful strategic position near Generally Cheeky Honorary Quarters. I feel sure I could create a useful intervention in secure listening, but if you just want me on mess duty - forget it!  I'll just isolate until it's all over.

Well, as you know, General Borchester offered me a commission, but I turned him down. I've taken a role as a correspondent instead and a position has become available as my XO. It requires a girl with a cool head and good communication skills. Certain...ahem....dancing talents might come in very useful too  ::



You need to understand the risks though, Toots. Where we are going, we'll be close to the action and you could be injured by stray Irn Bru bottles or flying false teeth. Are you up for it?

[T00ts]

:cry:  :cry:  :cry:  :cry:  :cry: I was left behind and yet I have a very useful strategic position near Generally Cheeky Honorary Quarters. I feel sure I could create a useful intervention in secure listening, but if you just want me on mess duty - forget it!  I'll just isolate until it's all over.

[DeppityDawg]

On day three, the Pensioners army makes good progress. With their bladders emptied and their scooter batteries fully changed, General Borchesters force moves rapidly north up the M6, past Birmingham, and by late afternoon has reached Stafford.



However, the opening confrontation of the conflict occurs over 100 miles to the south, as John of Gwents force of ex miners, steelworkers and sheep shaggers receives word of the unemployed Cornish rabble led by Papasmurf approaching from the south. Realising that he must prevent these n'er do wells from passing to join up with the Scottish seditionists, JoGs force moves to block the route north where the M50 joins the M5.

Papasmurfs peasants, coming over the rise at Strensham, just to the north of Gloucester, is surprised to find this force of Loyalist Taffs in his path, and the fight quickly evaporates out of them. By the time Smurf has formed them into battle line, half his forces have deserted, suddenly remembering that they have an urgent appointment with the foodbank, or that they have to sign on in the morning. Realising perhaps that discretion is the better part of valour, Papasmurf does what all English traitors have done for centuries when judgement catches up with them, and flees to France to eat garlic with JF (Johnny Foreigner, to you non squaddies). The Taffs charge what remains of the disorganised rabble, and having not represented much of a fighting force to begin with, the battle is quickly won, leaving JoG free to continue his march north to join up with General Borchester.



Far to the north, a different problem presents itself to BYT, leading the fearsome force of Jock lassies. Crossing the River Tyne at Blaydon, they are unable to resist the glittering prize of the Metro Centre, lying undefended on their left. Since all the Geordie lasses are busy fighting each other with handbags and broken bottles in the city centre, the lassies decide it would be rude not to, and within moments, the familiar refrain of "I'm just going to pop in here for  5 minutes", or "I'm just going to have a quick look in there" are echoing across the Tyne. BYT, unable to prevent a mass looting from breaking out, shrugs her shoulders and joins in herself. 17 hours, 23 coffees, 11 trips to the nail bar, and 36 toilet visits later, the northbound carriageway of the A1 becomes an endless column of women, staggering in stilettos and pushing trolleys, prams and anything else with wheels on it, laden with clothes, shoes, hats and endless amounts of sparkly shite that looks nice but is absolutely no fecking use whatsoever. So endeth the Scots lassies expedition into England.



Meanwhile, as Rob Roys army of pissed up Jocks approaches Manchester from the north, news arrives that a large force of Paddies has landed at Liverpool, led by none other than his erstwhile forum enemy, Gerry T, and is now making its way across the M62 intent on ending centuries of British colonial rule in Ireland. Thomas is too shrewd to be taken in by this, though treacherous bastard he is, even he knows colonial rule ended in Ireland some time ago, and that Gerry is only interested in his "exports". This represents a significant danger to the uprising, as it is certainly possible that Gerry might come to an "arrangement" with General Borchester that might be in both their interests, leaving Thomas himself with a dangerous foe on his right flank. However, the issue rapidly takes care of itself, since by evening, Manchester is now full of drunken Jocks and pissed up Paddies. The initial Celtic Soul Brothers atmosphere soon evaporates, and the toxic mix of the Paddies, spoiling to get at the "dordy braddish", the Jocks, who haven't had a proper scrap since the previous evening when they sacked Preston, and 600, 000 gallons of alcohol, soon leads to an enormous fight at the Circus Tavern in the city centre. In a maelstrom of bottles, chairs, pianos, tables and anything else that isn't bolted down, the fight continues into the early hours. By the morning, Manchester is in ruins, not that anyone notices much of a difference, and the Jocks are victorious, but at a price. Gerry has fled, and his army have been defeated, but Thomas has lost a quarter of his force, mainly to head wounds and alcohol poisoning.



And so, as the third day of the conflict draws to an end, the dress rehearsal battles have been fought and the main players are moving into their final positions. The Pensioners army has spent the night north of Stafford, with JoGs force not far behind. Early on the morning of the 4th day, the Jocks, nursing mighty hangovers, leave Manchester heading south, and less than 20 miles now separates Thomas's treacherous Jocks from the ancient Brexiters.

[Borg Refinery]

Netflix has acquired the rights already



Nicholas and his trans-pennine expresstrannies have been trapped by a signed contract promising indy to the scots...along with a pile of haggis (laced with arsenic) and oatcakes, on top of a well hidden set of pitfall traps somewhere around nottingham.

[Thomas]

So faithful readers, as day 2 of the revolt draws to a close, the situation is as follows. The Jock Seditionists have passed through Penrith, following the now familiar pattern of drinking the town dry and picking up any gap toothed Cumbrian floozy who is willing for the army wagon train, before continuing on to Lancaster.



The Pensioners army, by a series of improbable improvisations and several thousand mobility scooters, have managed to reach Watford Gap services, where an extremely long queue has developed for the conveniences.



In the meantime, a worried General Borchester has learned of a new development in the South West, where a new Cornish contingent of old bikers, unemployed day care centre workers, glue sniffers and general work shy layabouts under the command of a blue faced crank in a pointy hat called Papasmurf, is rumoured to be marching north up the M5 to join the revolution and off any pearly old Tories they can get their hands on.



This is balanced by news that an Army of Welsh sheep fiddlers, bar brawlers and brexiters has been raised by a mad old scientist and inventor called John Of Gwent, a Welshman who is convinced he is actually English, even though the English don't want him anyway. Having got as far as the Severn Bridge and with limited knowledge of the world outside Wales, they are unsure which way Post European Union El Dorado is supposed to lie, and as day two draws to an end are consulting the large map at Aust Services. It seems likely that these two opposing Armies will run into one another at Gloucester.



Further succour for General Borchester is offered by the news that an Army of Jock Lasses led by a former dominatrix turned care worker called BYT, whose Army of Scots ladies armed with brooms and rolling pins have been spotted on the A1 just south of Alnwick, intent on battering their wayward husbands and boyfriends to stop pissing it up, get back home and mend the f**king fence. However, the General's hope is soon soured by the warning that BYT, known to imbibe of the odd bottle of Buckfast or six herself, heading an army of angry Jock bints, is unlikely to be any less dangerous than the Seditionist Jocks themselves.



So as night falls, the various armies are manoeuvring into position for the mother of all battles. Dawgpower has good odds for anyone interested in a flutter – please have your cards available and log on to http://www.dawgpowerfunds.com">www.dawgpowerfunds.com



This is starting to become the post-modern UK version of the Halleluyah Trail  ::  ::  ::

 ::

The Pensioners army, by a series of improbable improvisations and several thousand mobility scooters, have managed to reach Watford Gap services, where an extremely long queue has developed for the convenienc

Apparently there was a fat cockney transvestite with them .All he wanted to do was eat drink and be Mary.

In the meantime, a worried General Borchester has learned of a new development in the South West, where a new Cornish contingent of old bikers, unemployed day care centre workers, glue sniffers and general work shy layabouts under the command of a blue faced crank in a pointy hat called Papasmurf, is rumoured to be marching north up the M5 to join the revolution and off any pearly old Tories they can get their hands on.

While we scots are waiting patiently for the english rabble to arrive , General Thomas got an e mail from a bored local housewife , 43 looking for some hot action.



So i sent her my ironing . That `ll keep the lazy woman busy.

This is balanced by news that an Army of Welsh sheep fiddlers, bar brawlers and brexiters has been raised by a mad old scientist and inventor called John Of Gwent, a Welshman who is convinced he is actually English, even though the English don't want him anyway.

John of gwent invites general thomas to a party , and tells him to dress to kill.



Apparently though , a turban , beard and backpack wasnt what he had in mind!

[Streetwalker]

Borchester the Jocks are drinking towns dry and hoovering up all the crumpet while our lot play wacky races with mobility scooters .   Im putting in a transfer request

[Sampanviking]

I was looking for Cromwell to step in and save the day, but it appears he is too occupied with his Nude Model Army, to give a tinkers about anything else.



As for Sampamski - well he's to busy calling Moscow to keep them fully informed and well, never was one to get his hands dirty......

[Borchester]

So faithful readers, as day 2 of the revolt draws to a close, the situation is as follows. The Jock Seditionists have passed through Penrith, following the now familiar pattern of drinking the town dry and picking up any gap toothed Cumbrian floozy who is willing for the army wagon train, before continuing on to Lancaster.



The Pensioners army, by a series of improbable improvisations and several thousand mobility scooters, have managed to reach Watford Gap services, where an extremely long queue has developed for the conveniences.



In the meantime, a worried General Borchester has learned of a new development in the South West, where a new Cornish contingent of old bikers, unemployed day care centre workers, glue sniffers and general work shy layabouts under the command of a blue faced crank in a pointy hat called Papasmurf, is rumoured to be marching north up the M5 to join the revolution and off any pearly old Tories they can get their hands on.



This is balanced by news that an Army of Welsh sheep fiddlers, bar brawlers and brexiters has been raised by a mad old scientist and inventor called John Of Gwent, a Welshman who is convinced he is actually English, even though the English don't want him anyway. Having got as far as the Severn Bridge and with limited knowledge of the world outside Wales, they are unsure which way Post European Union El Dorado is supposed to lie, and as day two draws to an end are consulting the large map at Aust Services. It seems likely that these two opposing Armies will run into one another at Gloucester.



Further succour for General Borchester is offered by the news that an Army of Jock Lasses led by a former dominatrix turned care worker called BYT, whose Army of Scots ladies armed with brooms and rolling pins have been spotted on the A1 just south of Alnwick, intent on battering their wayward husbands and boyfriends to stop pissing it up, get back home and mend the f**king fence. However, the General's hope is soon soured by the warning that BYT, known to imbibe of the odd bottle of Buckfast or six herself, heading an army of angry Jock bints, is unlikely to be any less dangerous than the Seditionist Jocks themselves.



So as night falls, the various armies are manoeuvring into position for the mother of all battles. Dawgpower has good odds for anyone interested in a flutter – please have your cards available and log on to http://www.dawgpowerfunds.com">www.dawgpowerfunds.com



This is starting to become the post-modern UK version of the Halleluyah Trail  ::  ::  ::

     



And for anyone who missed the movie, you will excuse me for not standing.  

[DeppityDawg]

So faithful readers, as day 2 of the revolt draws to a close, the situation is as follows. The Jock Seditionists have passed through Penrith, following the now familiar pattern of drinking the town dry and picking up any gap toothed Cumbrian floozy who is willing for the army wagon train, before continuing on to Lancaster.



The Pensioners army, by a series of improbable improvisations and several thousand mobility scooters, have managed to reach Watford Gap services, where an extremely long queue has developed for the conveniences.



In the meantime, a worried General Borchester has learned of a new development in the South West, where a new Cornish contingent of old bikers, unemployed day care centre workers, glue sniffers and general work shy layabouts under the command of a blue faced crank in a pointy hat called Papasmurf, is rumoured to be marching north up the M5 to join the revolution and off any pearly old Tories they can get their hands on.



This is balanced by news that an Army of Welsh sheep fiddlers, bar brawlers and brexiters has been raised by a mad old scientist and inventor called John Of Gwent, a Welshman who is convinced he is actually English, even though the English don't want him anyway. Having got as far as the Severn Bridge and with limited knowledge of the world outside Wales, they are unsure which way Post European Union El Dorado is supposed to lie, and as day two draws to an end are consulting the large map at Aust Services. It seems likely that these two opposing Armies will run into one another at Gloucester.



Further succour for General Borchester is offered by the news that an Army of Jock Lasses led by a former dominatrix turned care worker called BYT, whose Army of Scots ladies armed with brooms and rolling pins have been spotted on the A1 just south of Alnwick, intent on battering their wayward husbands and boyfriends to stop pissing it up, get back home and mend the fucking fence. However, the General's hope is soon soured by the warning that BYT, known to imbibe of the odd bottle of Buckfast or six herself, heading an army of angry Jock bints, is unlikely to be any less dangerous than the Seditionist Jocks themselves.



So as night falls, the various armies are manoeuvring into position for the mother of all battles. Dawgpower has good odds for anyone interested in a flutter – please have your cards available and log on to http://www.dawgpowerfunds.com">www.dawgpowerfunds.com



This is starting to become the post-modern UK version of the Halleluyah Trail  ::  ::  ::

[johnofgwent]

This is actually the most sensible and coherent post I've ever seen from DeppityDawg  



PS I just noticed it says Daffy Duck underneath my name on the posts. Is that auto-generated or have I earned it somehow? Had my name been Hypergoose Honk Honk would it still say Daffy Duck?

Joe 90 here



You want the short version ? The forum admin has been inventing new 'ranks' (the thing that used to be called new member, seasoned poster, etc etc and allocating them manually.



And no, I mean the real forum admin. I've got most of the same powers, but im just the IT guy here



Would you prefer Hypergoose HonkyTonk ? I'm sure it can  be arranged...

[johnofgwent]

Ok



You're talking 2024.



That gives me three growing seasons.



Right now, amazon.co.uk will deliver ricinis communis seeds to a dropbox. LOTS of them.



Yes, I just looked.



 Yes I know, in a dark cubicle in a basement of a former Georgian manor house that's nowhere near Cheltenham an underpaid analyst is picking up the phone and telling his boss that mad bastard marcher is looking up.how to stockpile his toxin of choice again. Hi guys, have you fixed the fence to stop the sheep getting in yet? I'd hate to have to come round them up again ...



Back to my point ...



Three growing seasons and a couple of £120 drones should provide me the means to terminate the progress of any number of pitchfork waving rioters in a world mad max would regard as quite sane really....



I'm off to relocate my greenhouse.