More strange posters have been appearing all over the city. This is but one example:

Obviously this could be part of a Healthy Eating campaign. But where does this PLONK character fit into the equation?

I have been making extensive enquiries, but nobody seems to know exactly who he is, and lots of the information I have received has been contradictory in nature. Some claim that he is a local businessman who is trying to break into politics. Others claim that he runs a local cult whose practices include eating nothing but lentils and pulses, bathing seven times a day, and worship of mystical numbers and PLONK. The most outlandish story is that he is the son of a Mexican peon who skipped bail in Mexico several years ago for stealing some carrots from a powerful landowner and came to England to hide out and assume a new identity.

I am going to have to dig a little deeper and see if I can unravel this mystery.

I must admit that I have become rather intrigued because I keep seeing the poster shown below plastered all over buildings in the city.

Just who is this Plonk character? What is he about? What are his policies? Can we trust him?

I have asked several people, and they appear to be as ignorant as I am. Who is this “PLONK” character, and what exactly is he up to?

If you have any ideas or knowledge, please let us know….

Earlier this evening I popped out to buy a jar of coffee from the corner shop. Upon entering the shop, who did I see standing in the queue? None other than ex-Big Brother fruit-loop Jade Goody and several other Z-List Celebrities who were engaged in a very loud and continuous stream of twit-talk.

I soon noticed that they were giving me icy stares. Maybe I am just too unimportant to be in a corner shop frequented by such luminaries. Suddenly I yelled “HEY JADE!!!” before I picked up a Pot Noodle and threw it at her head.

I then calmly walked out the shop and went home.

Last night I dreamt that the next President of the United States of America will be Mr Mungbean Johnson.

I could dismiss this as the by-product of an overworked mind, but I have been thinking about this all day. The name Mungbean Johnson is somehow familiar, and I am sure that I have heard this name several times before. Just who is this mysterious person? Just who is Mungbean Johnson? Answers on a postcard please…

I recently watched a television programme entitled “When Fish Can Kill!!!î I was expecting to spend an hour watching individuals being savaged by piranhas and sharks, but was disappointed when all I saw was a procession of boring individuals who sat moaning about their experiences of suffering food poisoning or contracting e-coli after visiting their local chip shop! However, it did bring back memories of my childhood when my friend Tarquin and I found a barrel of stale whelks on a beach. We rolled the barrel home and tucked in heartily, only to spend the next two days lying in bed and vomiting our guts out! Such happy days! Also, I can’t seem to get the tune “e-coli” by Throbbing Gristle out of my head…

However, I am looking forward to watching the new series of “Poodle Attack!” on Channel 4. If you remember the last series, one soppy-looking poodle was transformed into vicious and slobbering guard dog, whilst another, who was a point of ridicule by neighbours and local children, soon became the terror the estate! This series promises to go even further, so watch out for “Poodle Attack!”

Being a famous Child Barrister, I hear lots of complaints from my clients on a daily basis.

You may assume that the most common complaints relate to the unfairness of the Legal System or the size of my fees.

However, you may be surprised to hear the most common compliant I hear (and I must hear this at least once a week) is how the cartoon Scooby Doo went downhill after the introduction of Scrappy Doo.

“That dog is very irritating,” my clients will complain. “Why did they ever introduce him. What were they thinking of?” Sometimes they will launch off into a further rant about the latest incarnation of Scooby Doo, comparing it unfavourably to classic “Scooby” that they watched when they were kids.

Well, as they are paying me for my time, I don’t really care. They can talk about whatever they want to… Let me at him !!!

All readers of horseMEAT are probably aware by now that 1 November is “National Top-Hat Day”.

We have been rather disappointed in recent years about the lack of attention given to this important and symbolic day, and the absence of Top-Hat wearing gentlemen on Britain’s streets.

However, we were heartened by David Cameron’s rousing speech at the Conservative Party conference in which he declared:

“For too long we have been witnessing a decline in moral standards and a lack of respect for authority in this country. A perfect example is the decline in the wearing of Top Hats. I dare to think what Winston Churchill would have thought if he were alive today…(pause, whilst audience cheers). Before this morally bankrupt Labour Government came to power in 1997, every child wore a Top Hat as part of its school uniform. This encouraged discipline in our schools and respect for ones elders…(pause)… However, the decision in 1997 to let schoolchildren decide for themselves whether or not to wear a Top Hat has been an absolute disaster for this country. From that point onwards, we have seen a rapid decline into a society plagued by guns, drugs and knife crime… And what is the reason? I think this can be directly linked to the decline in the wearing of Top Hats in this country… (audience cheers wildly, and David Cameron puts on a Top Hat)… When we win the next election, every man and boy over the age of five will be forced to wear a Top Hat when attending school, their place of work or place of worship. We will lead by example and foster a level of respect and discipline that has been lacking in this country for too long… I challenge Gordon Brown to wear a Top Hat on the first of November and announce to the British people that he is proud to do so!!!” (Audience breaks into ever-wilder applause, then combusts into combined spontaneous orgasm).

Therefore, dust down your Top Hats, and get ready to wear them with pride on 1 November.

What if your children complain about having to wear Top Hats? horseMEAT Enterprises will shortly be launching a range of tie-dye psychedelic Top Hats, Denim Coated Top Hats and even Leather Top Hats. Get them while stocks last !!!

I’m sure that most people have watched movies such as Toy Story or Small Soldiers where the whole plot revolves around children’s toys springing to life when the humans are not about and getting into various scrapes.

I guess certain people will remember programs such as Bagpuss, which followed the same principle.

However, as entertaining as all this may be, at the end of the day it is just fiction. A nice entertaining film or story. But have you ever considered what toys REALLY get up when you turn your back.

Well, I have never given this a moments thought… until yesterday. Due to burglary at one of the local offices of horseMEAT Enterprises where a significant amount of equipment was stolen, some of the security staff were spending the day flicking through CCTV footage in order to look for evidence. Early in the afternoon I received a phone call and was told “Humph! You’ve got to get over here and see this!!!”

I speeded over there, fully expecting them to present me with incriminating evidence that would pinpoint to the thieves. However, when I entered the Security Control Room, all I could hear was raucous laughter. Once my presence was noted, the Chief Security Officer said “Look at this Mr Bumphry. You won’t believe your eyes!”

And he was good to his word. Here are a couple of stills from the Video Footage.

Soft Toys FORNICATING in my business premises!!! That was truly the last thing I had expected to see…

As I may be leaving the United Kingdom for a considerable amount of time, I needed to give some thought to the problem of whom I can trust to oversee my legal affairs whilst I am away.

Some of my affairs are of so delicate a nature that I decided not to entrust them to my usual lawyers (and certainly not to the growing band of “Child Barristers” who seem to be setting up in practice). Instead I hit upon the novel idea of appointing a “Parrot of Attorney”.

My reasons are simple:

• Money. It is more cost effective to feed a Parrot than to retain an expensive lawyer who needs to maintain an expensive office and staff.
• Plus the fact that I can’t be contradicted by a Parrot.

Earlier in the day I visited an exotic Pet Shop and bought a splendid African Parrot whom I named “Roderick”. Therefore, should anybody require any decisions to be made or legal papers signed in my absence, they need to visit Roderick. A squawk or a footprint on a document should suffice.

It occurred to me today that I have never owned a pair of shoes that contains any pockets.

When you consider that most items of clothing can be bought with pockets, why not shoes? It would make practical sense to create extra storage space within your footwear.

Therefore, I sewed a couple of pockets to the outside of my patent leather brogues and proudly marched off down the street whilst thinking to myself “God! You are clever. Why has nobody ever thought of this before…”

I must admit that I rarely watch television these days, not overtly due to lack of time, but mainly due to the poor quality of most programmes.

Instead, I watch this.

It’s better than Eastenders….

Apologies for the lack of activity on horseMEAT over recent weeks. This is simply due to the fact that our contributors have been extremely busy with other matters.

Our editor and chief contributor, Nigel Bookbinder has been rather downcast after failing to get his new periodical, “Le Noveaue Moderne Edwardian” off the ground. As you may recall from previous posts, Nigel broke his ties with “Le Moderne Edwardian” after they decided that instead of covering aspects of retro-Edwardian culture, they would take on a more modern angle and cover topics such as Japanese Noise music and Alternative Arts.

Depressed by the lack of interest in his spin-off publication, Nigel has spent the last six weeks attending a porridge-making course. In fact, I met him the other day and was served up a choice of porridges, including chocolate, yoghurt and black bean flavoured oat dishes. He proclaimed that he has reached a point where he may just turn his back on the literary scene and open up a restaurant dedicated to serving different kinds of porridge.

I sincerely hope that he comes to his senses and forgets about this mad idea.

As for our other main contributor, Humphrey J. Bumphrey, he has been languishing in a Thai prison after getting into a spot of trouble. He called me last week on a very bad line, mentioning something about “Offences with Tea Towels” and then went off into a long-rambling conversation about how he has ended up sharing a cell with eighties children TV star Timmy Mallet. He wouldn’t explain how he ended up in a cell with Mallet, but the whole business smells rather fishy to me.

Anyway, he asked me to make some calls on his behalf, which I duly did. I expect his family will spring him or buy his way out, and he will be back in circulation in no time at all.

Our resident child genius, Paul Holt (the famous “Child Barrister”) has been busy acting as the defence barrister in some high profile cases, including the notorious “Cod Liver Oil VAT Fraud” and “Parallax” trials.

All in all, I plan to get all these people together very shortly and remind them to get back to the most important business of all - posting new content to horseMEAT!!!

And what have I been doing you may ask? Well, as my wife has vanished for the last two weeks and seems to have been running up huge bills on a credit card, I’ve been sitting in a dark room drinking cheap cider and wondering where it all went wrong…

Today, being the second Wednesday of the month is the date for the monthly horsemeat editorial meeting, held at Nigel Bookbinder’s apartment.

On the pavement outside Nigel’s block, I noticed Humphrey J. Bumphrey sitting on the side of the pavement, dropping small objects down the drain. I walked over and stood right next to him, but he was completely oblivious to my presence.

“Ahumm! What are you doing Humphrey?” I asked.

He suddenly jerked up and muttered, “Oh, it’s you Clive!I was…just throwing money down the drain?”

“Money down the drain?”

“Yes, I’ve been throwing money down the drain.”

“Why on earth are you doing that?”

“Because all my life people have been accusing me of ‘throwing money down the drain’. When I was a boy my father constantly shouted at me for ‘throwing money down the drain’, and when I was putting all that white powder up my nose, everyone was telling me that I was ‘throwing money down the drain’. Therefore, I thought I’d give it a go for real.”

“How much money have you thrown down the drain?”

“Oh. About four hundred pounds!”

“How does it feel?”

“Quite boring actually!”

At that point Humph stood up, and we strolled up to Nigel’s place for the editorial meeting. However, upon reaching front door of his apartment we were deafened by a dreadful noise emanating from the inside. We banged repeatedly on the door (nobody was bothering to come and open it) before we realised that the door was unlocked and we could enter anyway.

Upon entering my main lounge, we were met by a deafening wall of sound, and were amazed to see Nigel dancing slowly around the room, along with the young Holt brothers (Paul and Barrington) and the famous American actor, Michael J. Trampoline.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I shouted at the dancing lunatics.
“AH CLIVE!” Nigel bellowed at the top of his voice “YOUNG PAUL HOLT HAS INTRODUCED ME TO THE DELIGHTS OF JAPANESE NOISE MUSIC. ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC SONIC SOUND SCULPTURES. WE ARE LISTENING TO A CD BY MERZBOW… I MUST WRITE A PIECE ABOUT THIS FOR ‘LE NOUVEAU MODERNE EDWARDIAN’… COME AND JOIN IN!!!”

Needless to say, nothing of any importance was discussed this morning. In fact, I have wasted half a day to no purpose, and all I received in return was a painful ringing sensation in my ear.

After the recent chaotic meeting between Nigel Bookbinder and Paul Holt (the famous twelve-year old Child Barrister), I decided to arrange a new meeting in the hope that a meeting of two such great minds would spark off a lively debate.

However, I was quite surprised when Paul turned up with his ten-year old brother, Barrington Holt.

“Doing a spot a baby-sitting Paul?” I joked.

“Not all,” replied Paul. “Barrington may be young, but he is a qualified Doctor and specializes as a Plastic Surgeon. Apparently he has a brilliant reputation. But as he can only operate out of school hours, he is very much in demand!”

“Well Well! Such a talented family!”

At this point, Nigel exploded from his chair and started spluttering “You seriously expect me to believe this Humphrey? You bring me a twelve year-old Barrister, which I find hard enough to swallow, but then drag along another child who claims to be a Plastic Surgeon? Is this some sort of elaborate hoax Humphrey!!!”

He paused for breath then continued “Are you trying to pull some sort of scam on me again? Present these brilliant children to me, whom you have probably dragged off the streets? What next? Suggest I give them a scholarship whilst you pocket the proceeds? JUST TELL ME THE TRUTH HUMPHREY!!!”

Ordinary children would have been scared witless. But not the Holt brothers. Barrington was the first to respond:

“Sir. Whilst I can understand your concerns, I simply have to state that your suspicions are completely groundless. I am a genuine medical doctor. If you have ever watched the popular 1990’s American Television program ‘Dougie Howser M.D.’, you will understand that it is perfectly feasible to become a child doctor, although it is not a frequent occurence.”

“But aren’t you too…small…to operate on people?” asked Nigel.

Paul broke in and replied “Barrington often has to stand on a stool to reach the operating table, but apart from that, he has no problems. Although he does get quite excitable after he has been performing breast implants all evening…”

“Shut up Paul!” demanded Barrington.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” shouted Paul and swiftly whacked Barrington across the back of the head.

This sent young Barrington into an absolute rage, and within seconds Paul and Barrington were throwing punches, colliding into furniture and causing absolute pandemonium. Nigel stood shrieking whilst his expensive antiques and paintings came crashing down to the floor.

Although I enjoyed Nigel’s absolute panic, things were getting a little out of hand, so I stopped the fighting by dragging the boys to their feet by their shirt collars.

“GET THOSE LITTLE…. BEASTS… OUT OF MY APARTMENT!” screamed Nigel, as his face turned red, then purple.

I shuffled the boys out as quickly as possible, and sent them home in a taxi. Perhaps I shouldn’t be too harsh. For all their genius, they are still young, and need to let off a little steam now and again…

I have been so impressed with the efforts of our young Child Barrister associate (Paul Holt) that I decided to engineer a meeting between Paul, Nigel Bookbinder and myself.

I gave Nigel a call and pleaded “Nigel, let’s put this tea-towel business behind us. I promise to stay well away from Tea-Towels in the future…” (NB: This was a complete fabrication. I have absolutely no intention of doing this).

Yesterday morning, Paul and I met up at Nigel’s apartment for a meeting with the great literary critic himself. “Ah Humphrey,” Nigel boomed in his usual tone of fruity bonhomie, “so this is the famous Child Barrister I have heard so much about.”

Sitting in an armchair was Basil Snootly, one of Nigel’s old chums. “Let me introduce you to Basil, young Paul. He has the distinction of being the only man in London to own a pet armadillo. Every morning you can see him walking that armadillo on a lead through Hyde Park.” And this was no lie. There was an armadillo fast asleep in the corner of the room.

“Ah Humphrey,” announced Basil, as if waking from a trance. “Do you remember the Great Stink of 1954?”

“Can’t say I do Basil. A bit before my time” I replied.

Nigel had a dreamy look in his eyes and pronounced “The Great Stink of 54! Who could forget it. The whole town stank for months on end. It was as if we were living in an open sewer. Quite repulsive as I recall. Made me want to vomit literally every morning. My father would have none of it, of course. He would stride into the room and shout ‘What What! Stop behaving like an effeminate invert Nigel. Think of the centuries of Bookbinder blood running through your veins. Am I going to have to make you wear a dress before you come to your senses?’ He would take off his belt and give me a sound thrashing. Ah! Those were happy days. Dear Papa! He always knew what to do for the best…”

Basil broke in and opined “The funny thing is that to this day, nobody knows what caused the ‘Great Stink’. There are lots of theories, but it has never been proved definitively. Personally I blame it on the dead pigeons that had been rotting in the sewers for years.”

At this point young Paul came up and whispered in my ear “What exactly are we meant to be doing here? I do have to be in Court in an hour’s time…and what are they talking about?”

“Err….I’m not really sure any more…” I replied. I had totally forgotten the purpose of the meeting as I became more and more absorbed in Nigel and Basil’s stream of verbal drivel…