Dougal Pontias McNasty

The ingnominious end of the world's most wanted man

2011-05-04T12:50:00.001+01:00

I have just returned from a further sabbatical in the southern uplands of ‘Peru’ where I was visiting Professor in Hirsute Studies and Toupee Base materials at ‘Lima’ Polytechnic. During my enforced absence (necessitated by compromising photographs and a particularly virulent venereal virus) I was able to contribute significantly to the eventual ignominious end of the most wanted man in the world.

Suffice to say that the provisions of the Official Secrets Act prevent me from talking about the specific details of my role in this matter, however following the intervention of the Confederation of British Industry I have been granted special dispensation by Her Majesty’s Government to use whatever means necessary to publicise the role of British products in bringing about the downfall of the gentleman in question.

We at the McNasty Wig and Hosiery Emporium are quite rightly proud of the quality, sophistication and successful ongoing deployment of the “McNasty Wild and Hairy” ® range of cranial and facial hairpieces complete with built in satellite location system. This range has of course already been successfully employed in the apprehension of one Mr Salami Insane, it was particularly gratifying to note that even the jerk of the hangman’s noose failed to dislodge the “McNasty Supergum Pate Attachment System” ®.

By the same token I am especially gratified by the success of the “McNasty Red White and Blue Super Rotating Merkin” ® which was employed to such excellent yet invisible effect on Friday. There is no doubt that had it been televised it would have roused many a British patriot. Indeed I have it on good authority that it caused quite a stir in Royal circles given that the groom was expecting the usual ‘Hollywood’.

It is most pleasing that British ingenuity has been instrumental in assisting a young middle class social climber on the occasion of her marriage to the world’s most eligible bachelor.

The flight of the grumble bee

2008-12-16T22:56:00.010Z

I spent this morning scrabbling about amongst the cob webs, dead pigeons and Mrs McNasty's discarded old and slightly shrivelled PVC underwear in the attic this morning searching for what passes as the McNasty Christmas Decorations. It is a physical law of the Universe that the uninspired assortment of tinsel, barely visible winking fairy lights, paper chains and cracked baubles that were thrown into a dark corner the previous January all disappear down a worm hole sometime during March only to be spewed out during October in an altogether different part of the attic.

As a result of their travel through space-time, various parallel Universes and probably Clapham ,the assembled mass of wires, tin foil, glitter and artificial fir tree all smell of old twigs, dust and Mrs McNasty's discarded old and slightly shrivelled PVC underwear.

After twenty minutes or so of fruitless searching and sniffing accompanied by a continuous barrage of abuse from Mrs McNasty who was holding the ladder I happened upon a book that I had not picked up in years, Captain W.E. Johns excellent "Biggles flies a desk". Skimming through the pages I was transported back to the sepia tinted memories of my boyhood.....

Biggles sighed loudly, threw down his pen and leant back on his chair. "Bally Purchase Tax, I can't make head nor tail of it Algy. Oh how I wish the bally war had never bally well ended; give me a tight spot with Ginger any day of the week!" Across the office Algy looked up from his ledger and grimaced, "Sorry old sport this is the best that the War Department could do for us. We were just too expensive to keep on, particularly given your propensity for pranging kites and high class prostitutes."

"Well it's dashed unfair, two days we've been cooped up in this hell hole, not a bimbo in sight and my scarf is beginning to chafe!" retorted Biggles coquettishly, "what's wrong with pranging high class ladies in any case?"

"I think it was more the kites that worried the C.O." explained Algy with a touch of derring do.

Biggles reached for his pipe and began knocking it out absent mindedly into Ginger's coffee mug. "Thing is, old chap, I'm not cut out to fly a desk. I feel slightly ridiculous sitting here and this dashed flying jacket gets mighty warm."

"Your helmet looks slightly ridiculous too", quipped Algy.

Biggles snorted, "makes me feel less self conscious."

"Well you could leave the goggles off, must make reading those tax projections bally difficult"

Biggles scowled, and after stuffing his pipe with fresh tobacco began the suck, blow, suck, blow lighting ritual that was so familiar to so many high class ladies and unfortunate schoolboys. With a sigh he turned his attention back to the Purchase Tax projections of John Howard (Printers) Ltd, publishers of the Royal Flying Corps Training Manual and Biggles personal favourites, Kite Pranging for Beginners and The High Class Lady's Almanack.

"D'y know Algy", Biggles observed, "One day someone will look at what we did just after the war, and they won't believe that we spent hours and hours flying a desk, poring over tax projections when we could have been buzzing round the sky avoiding our responsibilities, shooting the hun and having a jolly good time."

Alas my brief sojorn was rudely interrupted by the sound of Mrs McNasty complaining that her new pubic wig was chafing and that if i didn't hurry up and find those decorations she would be forced to review her plans for the evening and stay in to help me put the darned things up. Call me old fashioned but I still believe in the true spirit of Christmas and whilst I have been known to applaud Mrs McNasty's often fertile imagination, I believe that it is essential to keep artificial icicles, tinsel stars and spray on snow well away from the fevered perversions of a middle aged Brunhilde and her bondage swing, so with a reluctant sigh I put the book down and resumed my search for a battered cardboard box.

Tales from Grandfather Hamish

2008-08-21T17:18:00.010+01:00

I was reminded today of a story that my old Grandfather Hamish used to tell me when I was a boy, it concerned his old Captain when he was a humble infantry soldier during the First War; a Captain Wellbeloved. He always used to tell this story whenever the Edinburgh Tattoo was on the telly, saying that “Captain Wellbeloved new what he was bloody talking about” and “why don’t you turn this rubbish off Mother!” I have rendered the story here as closely to my Granddad’s own words as I can recall them.

“Captain Wellbeloved was an Officer, anything but a Gentleman and a madman as you might say. We were scrapping furiously in the trenches during a particularly hairy attack, we had just pelted across no-mans land with machine gun rounds whistling, humming and buzzing above our heads to storm the forward German trench.

As the Captain removed a bayonet from a squirming kraut’s gut he lifted his head, gave a puzzled frown and exclaimed “What’s that bloody racket?” To a man everyone including the hapless Gerry cocked an ear, and soon drifting with the smoke of battle across the fifty yards of mud that we had just temporarily claimed for George V came the sound of bagpipes. In the middle distance there stood a lone piper kitted out in the overstated magnificence of full highland fig, silhouetted against the dawn sky. The black fur of his bearskin rippled in the wind, his kilt flapped gently about his knees. The piper stood there immobile like a massive three horned beast, the sound of the pipes swirling with the mist that had begun to descend eerily upon us. For a brief moment the sheer omnipotence of the music along with the pumping adrenalin threatened to overwhelm me as I choked back a tear.

“What’s he playing?” said Wellbeloved.

“I think it’s ‘The Soldier’s Lament’ Sir”, ventured a voice cracked with emotion.

Well I’ll give the c**t something to lament about; making a f*cking din when decent people are trying to slaughter each other peacefully!" And with this he snatched a rifle from Corporal Clap, checked the breach, drew a bead on the piper and squeezed off a single shot.

The noise of the pipes died slowly like the whistle of a kettle removed from the fire. Those of us in the trench, covered as we were in mud, guts and blood were appalled, as one man we stared open mouthed in horror as the day stood still and time appeared to stop as if the bullet had somehow mangled the very clockwork of the ever expanding universe as well as the poor piper. Then gradually the swirling mist cleared and we saw the white faced piper scrambling down the bank back into our trench clutching his wounded pipes. “Got ‘em in the bladder!” yelled Wellbeloved triumphantly, “never could stand the f*cking pipes; just an excuse to p*ss decent music loving folk off in my opinion, bloody Kings, Generals and politicians like the f*cking noise they make, must remind ‘em of shagging the house cat or whatever they did at f*cking public bloody school!” And with that he went back to the job of bayoneting Germans.

We never did find out who the piper was, where he came from or what he hoped to achieve by playing “The Soldier’s Lament” whilst we all fought desperately for twenty five hundred square yards of Belgian mud. However, I suspect that if the piper had showed his bladder again within aiming distance of Captain Wellbeloved that his sporran would have developed a serious leak.”

At this my Grandfather would always issue a little chuckle and then deliver his final word on the subject. "And that is why I have never, ever had the inclination to take up the bagpipes."

Tory Blair heads for retirement and notoriety

2007-06-22T16:20:00.000+01:00

So Tory Bore is about to leave Downing Street, not that he has spent much time there lately. From what i have seen on the TV news he appears to have been on a round the world 'Hey I'm Tony, I'm really great, give us a job' tour, with his frightful spouse in tow.

All of this has of course been paid for by the grateful British taxpayer, grateful, so my sources in the "Gut and Bucket" tell me, because they see anything that takes the appalling Cherie miles out of harms way as worth paying for.

It is so refreshing to hear that the man who has been responsible for 'improving' education and health care provision in our great country should be so modest in not claiming his rightful place as a great war leader. Tory through extreme skill, insight, determination and eagerness to play lapdog to Dubya has helped to create numerous life ending opportunities in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Responsibility for the deaths of brave British soldiers and innocent civilians apparently lies firmly at the door of the late Mr Sadand Insane and the Tallymen. Somehow Bliar always manages to find others to take responsibility for unpleasant matters; we all remember of course that Mr Greg Dyke and Mr Gavin Davies, of the appallingly biased BBC, were responsible for the death of Dr David Kelly and how Gordon Brown is responsible for the roaring success of our economy. Oh how we laughed.

To more important matters; i have been delighted lately at the sudden rise in popularity of the use of the word 'Merkin'. Of course at the McNasty Hosiery and Wig Emporium we have been using the word for years; indeed the 'McNasty Monster Merkin' has long been a best seller; we take only the finest fur from the north american beaver and weave it, a strand at a time, into a base of finest silk, building up a luxuriant hair piece that takes so long to manufacture that only the wealthiest minges can afford it. Of course we can deliver in many shades and degrees of curl. My more discerning clients have long enjoyed the pleasures of being a natural blond during lunchtime charity events , somewhat darker for cocktails and a ginger minger for dinner and wife swapping.

People in glass houses

2006-10-13T12:15:00.000+01:00

Yesterday, with Mrs McNasty out at a dungeon warming I enjoyed a most peaceful evening at home in the McNasty flat, listening to Wagner. I countered the natural tendency of Herr Wagner's compositions to induce psychotic illness by flicking through the November edition of Hairpiece and Queens; which contained its customary article about my friend and client Sir Elton.

The TV was flickering in the background and you can imagine my appalled astonishment when I recognised out the of the corner of my eye that dreadful toady, backstabber, all round good egg and weirdo the MP Simon Simon on the TV news. Skilled and nifty use of the TV remote and careful aiming of my left boot at the on/off switch of the gramaphone meant that i was able to catch the tail end of the report, in which i learned that said Simon Simon had posted an apparently amusing and tasteless video clip of himself pretending to be the Lord Chief Biscuit of the conservative party Mr Deidre Cameroon.

This was available for viewing at the www.youtube.com web site, sadly it is no longer in the public domain as it seems that Mr Simon has removed the offending video clap due to a number of complaints; fortunately the BBC saw fit to broadcast most of the offensive material at least twice. The video clap featured Mr Simon Simon dressed in a baseball cap pretending to have what i believe is known as 'street cred' and 'rapping' as it is known in hep and happening musical circles.

I believe that Mr Simon Simon's objective was to bring a plague upon the house of Cameroon which, it has to be said, has been having too good a time of it lately what with the Prime Minister Mr Tory Bore's continuing rise in the unpopularity polls and Mr Straw's much publicised offensive in the interest of community unity and racial harmony.

The most offensive part of said sordid 8mm home cine offering was in my opinion where Simon invited interested parties to sleep with his wife!. Who in their right mind would want sloppy seconds from any female with such appalling taste as to marry this obnoxious pile of puss? Give me Mrs Cameroon any day of the week; you will struggle to find such a fine and fragrant piece of totty this side of Mrs Thatcher i can tell you!

It's a good job that the fop haired, stripe suited dollop of dung that is Simon Simon represents the parish of Erdington and not Walsall East for if he was my MP i would invite him to sleep with Mrs McNasty, which i am sure would render such complete psychological damage that Mr Simon might even see sense and drop his support for Mr Gridiron Brown in favour of a proper leadership candidate; someone as appealling and appalling as Harriet Hardman perhaps?

Anyway enough ramblings, i have to put the finishing touches to a new hairpiece; a McNasty Long, Foppish, Floppy and Greasy with option baseball cap fastenings which by sheer coincidence i have to deliver in Erdington tomorrow morning.

Veiled threats

2006-10-10T14:33:00.000+01:00

I have been considering the recent controversy surrounding Mr Jack Straw the well known party game and current leader of the House of Commons here in the UK. Those of us who keep up to date with current domestic affairs were somewhat puzzled by le Straw's stated view that he felt 'uncomfortable' when talking to women who wear 'the veil' whilst visiting him at his constituency surgery in Blackburn, Lancashire.

The poor fellow, no doubt already worried at having to visit a northern town where there are ten thousand holes, does not enjoy having conversations with women who prefer to spend their day looking at the world from the rather austere ,abeit black, textile equivalent of a Royal Mail letterbox.

I can understand the poor chumps misgivings, it is most disconcerting having a conversation with a pair of eyes staring at you through a slit; as I can testify. My readers will no doubt be familiar with Mrs McNasty's prediliction for 'exotic' dress and will sympathise with the sheer terror that can ensue when confronted with the female form dressed completely in black with eyes glinting menacingly through the eyeholes of a rubber balaclava.

However on this occasion I find myself unexpectedly agreeing whole heartedly with that great espouser of common sense and considered argument Mr Mutley Prescott, and like him I must take issue with Mr Straw's comments. Surely if a person (or even a foreign visitor) in a free country wishes to dress in a particular manner then that is a matter for them. If they wish to wear jeans and no bulky jacket whatsoever whilst embarking upon a perfectly innocent journey upon the London Tube then they should be allowed to do so. If a person were summarily executed for exercising their legitimate personal freedom in this way then there would quite rightly be an outcry. Similarly this maxim should apply to women who wish to wear 'the veil'. It is important that every woman should be free to be subjugated by their religion, by their men folk or as in the case of Mrs McNasty by their own deeply disturbed and unusual sexual tastes.

When I last met Mr Straw I have to say that i felt vaguely uncomfortable at the way that his eyes, red veined and watery, bulged out of his bottle ends at me. If he had been wearing a veil I would only have had to avoid his gaze and wouldn't have been distracted by his halitosis; perhaps he ought to consider investing in a McNasty 'wild and beardy'. This ever popular temporary face fungus is fashioned from goat hair, which is particularly effective when wet as it's distinctive smell more than masks the effects of the numerous cups of tea drunk while conducting surgeries to help anonymous undercover extremist terrorists claim their rightful benefits.

Business in the McNasty Wig and Hosiery Emporium has not been too brisk just lately, I am thinking that I might apply for a post as 'An Enraged Spokesman for the Muslim Community' as there appear to be plenty of opportunities and employment in this field at the present time.

May the 4th be with you

2006-05-04T13:21:00.000+01:00

A beautiful sunny day here at McNasty Towers, i intend to sip cold beer under the shade of the blossoming lilac trees while leafing through my latest copy of 'Hairlo' magazine. I note that it contains an intriguing article entitled 'Toupe or not toupe - an investigation into the latest hair weave technology'. I fully anticipate this to be the usual rubbish touted by the rip off merchants in the hair weave industry. Of course as a purveyor of quality rugs to the gentry, celebs and politicos of our great land i am not an unbiased observer. But surely anyone with any sense has realised by now that this so called latest technology is nothing more than a scam designed to prey on the vanity of those too insecure to accept that their bodies and associated accoutrements are wearing out, and heading downhill to the crematorium or boot hill faster than the legs that can no longer carry them. Just ask the fine tunesmith, party giver and tantrum thrower Mr Elton Bog who was once famously 'treated' at one of these exclusive establishments; when he emerged his poor bonce looked as if it had been dealt with by a potato peeler and his eagerly anticipated new barnett was as sparse as the hairs on the scrotum of a Xoloitzcuintli (http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/xoloitzcuintle.htm). I told him later at his coming out party that his money would have been better spent if he had invested in a "McNasty middle aged special"; a new model toupe that i had quite recently patented and which to this day is popular with politicians and men of the cloth. Not only does it have that permanent unwashed, unkempt, slightly dull and lifeless appearance, but by dint of the ingeneous incorporation of a mini shredder it is able to dispense noticable quantities of dandruff directly onto the shoulders of both the wearer and innocent bystanders. It is cheap to run, requiring only one A4 sheet of scrap paper per day, and the wearer could certainly never be accused of being mutton dressed as lamb.

But enough of this, I'm off to my hammock before Mrs McNasty arrives home and begins nagging me to begin decorating the dungeon again.

The Gravy Train is leaking

2006-05-02T12:45:00.000+01:00

I have spent an enjoyable bank holiday weekend, resting, pottering about the McNasty flat and being thankful that Mrs McNasty is away for a BDSM masterclass weekend in Somerset. However I have been troubled for most of the weekend as i puzzled over the state of our current government here in the UK.

Somewhere i have seen this before....

First there is Tony's sidekick the buffoon 'Mutley' Prescott, who has been caught with his pants down. This is quite a surprise to me as i believe that he is a keen advocate of the McNasty Undergarment Support System (MUSS); an ingenious design making the most of velcro and non-allergenic surgical tape. I'm not shocked that he is "a randy old sod" to quote his recent conquest Ms Tracey Sidebotham, and i am not shocked at his conduct with such attractive young(ish) totty. What shocks me is the fact that such a fragrant young lady should be even vaguely attracted to such an overweight opinionated oaf. There is no accounting for taste, perhaps Tracey enjoys being back scuttled by a tub of lard posing as a statesman but i have a sneaking suspicion that she simply sampled and enjoyed the exotic delights of the 'McNasty Merchant Seaman's Union Gimlet' which i supplied many years ago via mail order. I suspect that the upgraded 'McNasty Jaguar vibrating pubic wig' also maintained her interest. (In honour of the fat twat and his propensity for using 'two jags' unkind folk have been referring to him as 'two shags' but i suspect that he doesn't have a garage big enough to accomodate the actual number)

Next we have Mrs Patricia Hewitt, upsetting the nurses by claiming that the NHS has had it's best year yet; i suppose that if you measure success in terms of numbers of jobs lost, or amount of money spent (wasted) then she is probably right. Personnally i am fed up of hearing the sanctimonious drivel that emanates from within this apparently hollow human being. I am beginning to wonder whether she is in fact a cyborg, wired up to a control centre at number 10 and programmed to gush pro-Tony propaganda and spout meaningless statistics in a patronising tone (sic) when under pressure.

Finally we have Mr Charles Clarke, (who i presume must be a long term user of "McNasty's prosthetic ears", probably supplied through a third party reseller). Here is a man who claims that he is the right bloke to sort out the mess that exists as a result of his department releasing convicted foreign criminals into the community rather than deporting them. He is of course the right man for the job because he doesn't want to give up his hefty ministerial salary, his car, and the lifestyle to which he has become acustomed. To be fair to him, he inherited his department and its myriad problems from a prime exponent of the art of looking after number one (one D Blunkett esq), however, there is something dodgy about a bloke who is informed of such a major issue and promptly does nothing about it until he realises that the news has been leaked.

Of course Prince Tony, backs them all completely and will hear nothing of resignations, probably because he does not know the meaning of the word, even though i am sure that Gridiron Brown next door has tried to explain it to him a thousand times plus 50% income tax.

During the reign of the last Conservative government it became obvious that they would have to go, too many ministers making too many gaffs while lapping at the greasy brown sauce. It seems to me that the gravy train for this current lot of self serving, pompous, self righteous, preaching, "we know what's best for you", hypocrites is about to come off the rails.

When this happens I. Dougal Pontias McNasty, wigmaker, prosthetics expert, etc, etc, will celebrate by designing a new underarm hair fastening device for the German market.

The Apprentice

2006-04-21T16:56:00.000+01:00

After a hard day at the emporium where i supervised my assistant Josiah Quint as he fashioned a new truss out of a discarded Watney's Party Seven tin, a bicycle pedal and a hair net, i retired to the flat above the shop intent on rest and relaxation with a good bottle of single malt and some raspberry jam. No sooner had i settled in front of the TV to watch Colin and Justin in their eagerly anticipated masterclass "Two jessies go househunting in a Range Rover" than the telephone rang and i was reminded by my new friend the recorded voice on the BT alarm call service that i was due at the Nag's Nostril for a bit of a social and a meeting with my old mate Sir Alan Sacharine (or Aspartame if you prefer). He has been pestering me for the last eight weeks for advice regarding his new money making vehicle "The Apprentice", a highly popular televisual treat that is currently being broadcast by the BBC.

In this program twelve victims have been chosen to compete for a job paying £100,000 per year. As I explained to his royal sweetness in the bar early on in the series, i wouldn't work for him if he paid ten times that amount. "I know you too well old thing; you'd spend all your time breathing down my neck and checking up on me. You're a control freak and no matter how you try to dress yourself up you're still a market trader and proud of it! And you won't want anyone shouting the odds on your stall except your goodself." Of course he takes it in good part, as he and i have been good friends since the time that i helped him out of a tight spot by fashioning a particularly outstanding facial toupe just in time for his investiture at the palace; he'd managed to get his own face fur singed in a particularly dodgy deal with a bloke called Drake (or was it Raleigh?), something to do with Spanish Armadillo smuggling. Anyway the McNasty "Brash yet humble" design perfectly complemented his ready wit and repartee. Her Majesty was most impressed with my latest innovation; the tone control, which allows the wearer to choose the appropriate smattering of grey simply by adjusting a wheel built into the cufflinks of the wearer. Sir Sacharine was able to demonstrate various settings ranging from, "cute and amiable", through "impish yet masterful" to "worn out and vindictive".

I told him that if anyone should get the old heave ho from his televised barrow boy training school this week, it had to be the boy Sayeed; "You can't have two Alan Sacharines working together", I said. "But i like the guy", came the reply. "Exactly!", I countered.

Fur ever friends

2006-04-20T14:16:00.000+01:00

I could not help noticing that my old friend and his charming new wife were on the TV last night complaining about the fur trade again. The "McItsokyoucangetoffyourknees" are a dedicated pair of do gooders that never cease to amaze with their constant campaigning on matters that those of us who have a mortgage to pay either couldn't give a stuff about or are too busy keeping the wolves from the door to get involved.

I must say, that I, like so many of my friends from the Dog and Ferret, am horrified at the prospect of soft furry animals being used as adornment for the so called bodies of half-starved bony apologies for women that pass themselves off as stylish and sell the rights to their continuous weddings and hard luck stories to "Ok" and "Hello" magazines.

Having conducted a straw poll at the bar yesterday evening I can report that most of us would prefer to see a few buxom well fed wenches, such as Marylyn Monroe or Mrs Thatcher wearing a smile and very little else than a walking skeleton wrapped in leopard skin pouting moodily as she glides down a catwalk contemplating her next mug of cocoa. (Which i believe is their recreational drug of choice.)

So I'm right behind Sir Macca and his bird, good luck to them, they have my support, which is ironic when you consider that I am currently renovating one of his! Of course though he may deny it I can exclusively reveal that he has been a client ever since the late sixties when I had to knock up that ridiculous bushy beard for the "Let it Be" album. Since then we have enjoyed a very close hate, hate relationship as I have helped him through the ups and downs of his career. From the highs of "Ebony and Ivory" to the crazed depravity of "The Frog Chorus", McNasty has been somewhere providing soothing balm, hair nets and surgical support stockings for McCarthy. In fact in the word of one of the songs that i gave to him before he became famous it seems like only "yesterday", (although it was probably never), that he came personally to the emporium for a fresh supply of the almost orange dye that I normally use on my 'not quite ginger but so obvious it's dyed' range. He's also got me working on a custom truss for his upcoming 'Zimmers over America' tour....It's such a shame though that he spoiled his good name with those communist witch hunts all those years ago.....

Hard to be humerous

2005-07-18T11:14:00.000+01:00

It would be remiss of me not to mention the appalling events in London of 7th July 2005. It is hard to be humerous or to make any political or other comment when one considers that there are people throughout world who are grieving for loved ones killed in the name of God or righteousness by fanatical religious and cultural bigots. My thoughts and prayers are with the dead, the injured and their families and also with the politicians and leaders who seek to solve the problems that recent events have brought into the public eye.

There is no excuse for killing innocent people simply because their beliefs and values are not the same as your own.

This is true whether you are living in a cave, a terraced house in Leeds, a terraced house in London with the number 10 on the door or a sprawling white place with egg shaped rooms.

May those that embrace evil and those that do not challenge their actions rotate forever upon a spit roast in the devil's hottest sweatiest chip shop.

Olympics 2012

2005-07-06T14:40:00.000+01:00

What a land of golden opportunity! London is to host the Olympic Games in 2012 and I Dougal P. Mcnasty intend to make hay while the sun shines.

Of course I was involved in putting together the bid from the day when Lord Coo was persuaded to lead the team. Heading up the section looking after prosthetics, toupees, national dress and surgical stockings I was also drafted onto the security committee with special portfolio for concealed surveillance equipment and embrocation management.

With the success of this bid I fully expect to be appointed to head up some pointless Government quango as a reward for my loyalty and dare I say brilliance at foiling the Frenchies.

Superb planning and cunning McNasty design scuppered their ambitions good and proper. Let me explain..... over six months ago I visited Paris disguised as a traditional French Toupee Seller; you know the sort of thing, bicycle, beret, blue and white hooped shirt, a string of hair pieces slung over the shoulder. Upon arrival at the Elysee palace I managed to blag my way in to see M. Crackerjack, who being most impressed with my demonstration of the 'McNasty Garlic and Herb Special' (A ginger wig with built in offensive aroma generator) purchased one on the spot. What our French fiend did not know was that this particular model had been modified so that each day it automatically shed a few strands of nylon and most cunningly injected small amounts of the hormone oestrogeon into his scalp.

By the time of the G8 summit, and more importantly the Olympic vote, M. Shiraz's mop was looking distinctly bedraggled and (this is the clever part) his daily dose of female hormone had dried up. As any fool knows, particularly if they have lived with Mrs McNasty for any length of time, a sudden dip in the level of female hormones can cause that wonderful phenomena known as Pre Menstrual Tension or PMT. President Spartak obviously caught it really badly as he let himself down good and proper mouthing off about British Beef, Tory Bliar and awful British food. His outburst obviously convinced the International Olympic Committee that the French were not to be trusted, particulary rapidly balding ginger Frenchman who were apt to reach for the bread knife first and ask questions later.

If that's not worth a Quango chair I would like to know what is, in the meanwhile I shall continue to make preparations for the inevitable increase in orders for underarm hairpieces from female javelin throwers and shot putters.

Busy weekend

2005-07-05T14:46:00.000+01:00

What an excellent weekend, I am referring of course to the wonderful free Live 8 showcase gig and CD plugging event held in Hyde Park and at various other venues around the world. This was an excellent example and message from the rich and over priveleged to the rest of us that poverty is no longer acceptable. I am sure that as a result of increased sales arising out of their free publicity that they will continue to avoid this most unacceptable condition.

I was fortunate enough to be backstage attending to the needs of the famous and follically challenged; Lord Elton perhaps being the most notable dignatory availing himself of my services. As he will be the first to tell you Ginger wigs do have a mind of their own, particularly when they are on display to an audience of billions, so I made sure that I had lots of 'gaffa' tape and araldite to hand in order to ensure a performance free of the unpleasantness that can ensue when things become detached and start jumping across the stage of their own accord. (Such is the power of the rythmic boogie beats laid down by itinerant bass players and drummers.) (For your erudition this effect is know in the business as 'stage fright', due to the lasting psychological damage that witnessing such an event can have upon young and hithero innocent minds. )

The whole day went off without a hitch apart from a slight problem caused by the over trimming of a 'McNasty Wonderama' Pubic Wig by a nervous make up artist. Unfortunately this led to some nasty feedback during rehearsals but after some prompt attention Mrs Richie was able to deliver a most stunning performance completely unencumbranced by ginger snippings.

It was a pleasure to meet up with some of my old pals from the Coldstream Guards who were relaxing after 'warming up' the crowd. I noted with some satisfaction that they are still wearing the reliable 'McNasty SAM' Bearskins that I developed over fifteen years ago during a special secondment to Porton Down. (For the unitiated this headgear has a rotating top-piece that slides to one side in order to allow the launch of a miniature Surface to Air Missile which has proved very effective in deterring pigeons from mating in the vicinity of Buck House and embarassing Her Majesty. See Janes Hairpiece Weekly)

State of the nation!

2005-06-23T12:31:00.000+01:00

I have just returned to the United Kingdom from a sabbatical in the southern uplands of Peru where I was visiting Professor in Hirsute Studies and Toupee Base materials at Lima Polytechnic. During my enforced absence (necessitated by a bungled security service operation and the possibility of financial ruin) I was forced to re-evaluate my life and my approach to numerous issues that hitherto I had held dear.

Just before I left this great country during November 2001 I was unfortunate enough to attend a CBI luncheon during which I was subjected to an interesting address by Mr Tory Blair who assured delegates that winning the war against terrorism would be good for the economy. I remember hoping at the time that he was right since up until that point his decisions had cost me dear. In particular I recall that when he sacked the Randy Gnome from the foreign office I was doing a brisk trade in wispy ginger wigs and beard attachments. Immediately prior to the Gnome's departure I was fashioning some particularly hi-tech hairpieces with built in air conditioning and sweat guttering for a forthcoming trip to the fleshpots of Thailand. After Tory wielded his axe the order was mysteriously cancelled and I was left with surplus stock of both cranial and pubic varieties.

(Fortunately I heard from friends that Tory's side kick 'Mutley' Prescott was off on another of his freeloading junkets soon, so I ordered some Cherry Blossom and lard in order to diversify into hairpieces that might be more suitable for his purposes. (As a specialist in Ginger this is something that I vowed I would never do, but needs must when the devil drives!))

After Mr Bore's address I cornered him in the gents, he didn't seem too happy when I suggested that he contact me as soon as he catches Mr Oswald Bin Liner. I assured him that Mr Bin Liner was sure to benefit from a new facial wig and cranial attachment. 'After all' I pointed out to him, 'he looks a complete prat and look at the rise in popularity of Mr Gnome once he discovered the benefits of the super-atmospheric-pressure-difference-activity (wind) resistant adhesive system that I invented.' 'And of course', I shouted as I was led away, 'Strawberry Blond is most popular throughout the world, so Mr Bin Liner is guaranteed to win friends and influence people!' Tory was quite excited by this suggestion as evidenced by his red face and exaggerated hand waving, but I couldn't catch what he was saying because one of his nice assistants had me in an arm lock at the time.

I am sorry but I digress, I will get to the point; In the course of ‘doing my bit’ I have spent two years in exile and many thousands of US dollars on female Peruvian ‘therapists’. The object of my original secret mission has been captured and is held in a Baghdad jail; as evidenced by the recent photographs that clearly show the quality of the “McNasty Wild and Hairy” range of cranial and facial hairpieces complete with built in satellite location system. The UK economy is booming according to the spin doctors and so I have returned to my country in the hope of resuming my life and place in a society free of terror and hatred.

Imagine my dismay therefore when I discover that not only has Mr Bin Liner so far evaded capture (despite my efforts in Afghanistan) but that this great country of ours appears to be run along lines that bear remarkable parallels to those that I observed during 2002 when I was operating undercover ‘somewhere in the Persian gulf’. (ie run by a tyrant, lots of easily brainwashed fanatical supporters, hijacking the press and broadcasting, boring the electorate to death, parsimonious simpering, creative accounting, ignoring the wishes of the people (particularly students) and coming up with creative methods of ending bearded employees contracts of employment.). It seems to me that a society free of terror and hatred is no more than a pipe dream, particularly if one happens to work in broadcasting or the civil service.

I am currently re-considering my decision to return to Walsall, however business is booming at the “McNasty Wig and Hosiery Emporium” and my assistant Mr Josiah Quint informs me that we received an interesting enquiry yesterday from ‘a certain office’ in Whitehall regarding our new model the ‘McNasty Young, Virile and Matey’ which interestingly I designed whilst in Peru, it was inspired by my impromptu meeting back in 2001 with a young, apparently virile and (for a while at least) most affable Mr Tory Bore. I suspect that whoever is interested in purchasing a few Kevlar reinforced models wishes to regain some of their earlier youthful appeal, while at the same time protecting their increasingly exposed cranium.

Dougal Pontias McNasty

FFWCWMATM
(Founding fellow of the worshipful company of wig makers and toupee manufacturers.)