Once more unto the breach......

Somewhere in the darkest recesses of old Wolverhampton, the lights of a neon Budweiser sign flickered briefly, illuminating the outline of a man slouching on a stool at the bar in a dingy backstreet pub. He held a glass in one hand and a bottle of Whiskey in the other.

The air in the bar was stale and thick smoke hung in the room like freezing fog on a cold, February morning. A barmaid stood watching a mid-afternoon chat show on a wall mounted TV while she cleaned glasses with a damp rag. Several old drunks, sat crowded around a table in the corner of the room drinking their day away.

The man sitting at the bar coughed gruffly.

"Can I get you anything?" inquired the barmaid cautiously, taking his cough as a call for service.

"No!" retorted the man aggressively. "Just you can just mind your own business and leave me be."

"Sure, sure honey. I'm just doing my job, that's all" she replied apologetically.

The barmaid edged away and resumed cleaning glasses again while the man refilled his glass from the bottle of Whiskey and returned to his thoughts...

It had been months since it had all happened, but the memories were still firmly lodged in his mind. The sheer horror of everything that had taken place had almost been too much to bear at times.



They had told him that the mission was a complete success. They had honoured him and told him that he was a hero. They had told him that he'd made his country proud.



In fact, they had told him a lot of things, but they had never said that he wouldn't be able to sleep properly again and that night after night, he'd wake up screaming from the terrible visions that tormented him in his dreams.



Still, the Whiskey helped at least.





He gazed at the wall and stroked his unshaven chin. He had sworn that his soldiering days were over and that the quiet life was going to be the life for him. He didn't realise that this dream was about to be shattered.

With a loud crash, the door of the bar flung open, flooding the dingy room with natural light. The barmaid jumped and the old geezers in the corner rose from their apparent slumber. In the doorway, the silhouette of a man appeared.



"I'm looking for the one they call the Blade." he barked.

"That's me!" replied the man at bar, without looking up. "Who's asking?" he snarled.

The man in the doorway stepped forward. He was a young solider, smartly dressed in his formal military uniform.

"Sir, you have to come with me immediately" he commanded.

Major Richard Bladon tightened his grip around the Whiskey bottle.

"I ain't going anywhere son", he quipped. "My days of being ordered around are over".

"Major. You're going to come with me now"

The soldier placed his hand firmly on Major Bladon's right shoulder.

"Whether you like it or not!"



With a swift flurry of motion, Major Bladon suddenly smashed the Whiskey bottle over the bar with his left hand, removed the soldier's arm from his shoulder with his right, and with lightning speed, pinned the young soldier against the nearby wall and pressed the broken end of the bottle into his neck.

The barmaid screamed and one of the old drunks in the corner fell off his seat in shock.



"Like I said. I ain't going anywhere" he growled.

"Take your hands off him Blade! He's just a grunt" quipped a new voice from the door of the bar.



Major Bladon loosened his grip on the petrified young soldier and turned to address the bold figure now standing in the doorway. The young soldier slumped down onto the floor and breathed a sigh of relief.

"You look out of shape Metal! What's the matter? MOD got you pushing too many pencils?" mocked Major Bladon - instantly recognising his old associate.

"What can I say? It's been a quiet few months Blade, I'll give you that. But I can still mix it with the best of them. Anyway, you look like you've seen better days too!" retorted Major Paul 'the Metal' Dutton.

"I don't know what you mean. I'm feeling tip-top. Me and my friend Jack Daniels here are doing just fine!" spluttered Major Bladon, nodding towards the broken bottle by his side.



"Well you can say your farewells to Jack, because you've got to come with me! There's some old friends of yours waiting outside, and knowing them, they'll be getting pretty impatient by now!" warned Major Dutton.

"They're all here?" quizzed Major Bladon.

"Yep. All of them!"

Major Bladon sighed reluctantly. "Well I'd better not keep them waiting I suppose"

Major Dutton ushered his old friend towards the door.

As Major Bladon left, he placed a few crumpled bank notes on the bar and looked the frightened barmaid straight in the eye. "This is for the Whiskey....and the damage"



As he left, he nodded down towards the fallen soldier. "Oh, and somebody pick him up!"

Stepping outside onto the pavement, the sunlight was blinding and Major Bladon squinted as his eyesight adjusted to the new conditions.



A white Humvee screeched up in front of him and a tinted window rolled down to reveal a portly figure in the passenger seat. He nodded mockingly towards Major Bladon.



"Are you ready for it then Blade?" asked the man.

"Ready for what exactly, Boatman?" Major Bladon shouted back at his old comrade.

"I'll let him tell you" Major James 'Boatman' Mcfarland said as he pointed a thumb to an unseen figure behind him.

The back door of the Humvee opened and a short, bearded man in combat fatigues and aviator sunglasses stepped out onto the street.

Reaching into his pocket and putting his old cigar to his mouth, the one they all called 'The Beard' replied;



"For Operation Dry Roasted, Major Bladon! We're going back to war!"

TO BE CONTINUED

Operation Dry Roasted is scheduled for Late November/Early December 2011. Local weather conditions may result in an Alpine warfare situation, so thermal fatigues and arctic survival kits may be required.

The route is to still be determined and the infiltration date is yet to be confirmed.

Further information is highly classified and will be disseminated on a need to know basis.

Hang on to your hats people, it's going to be a bumpy ride.....


If you think that are made of the right stuff, click here to contact Operation HQ and you may be drafted in to join the veterans who form the core of the O.A.P (Occasional Afternoon Piss-heads) company on what is sure to be another heroic campaign. A full account of the previous tour - Operation Pork Scratching - has now been declassified and is available to the general public.


This post was written one day prior to Armistice Day in 2011 and is my tribute (albeit a rather odd one!) to all the men and women who have laid down their lives in the name of this country. I truly appreciate everything they have done for us and I will raise my glass to them all.

Vomit inducing television

There have been some truly atrocious bits of guff that have passed for popular entertainment over the years. For some unfathomable reason it has always seemed to be the prime-time "lights, camera, action" cabaret style crap, with its over familiar, somewhat vacuous looking presenters that has been most cherished by the nation of telly lovers.

However,the last ten years have proven to be the true renaissance of telly turd. Thanks to the dawning of easily accessible multi channel programming, there is now a much greater variety of shite on the box than ever before.

It seems that our collective appetite for audio-visual tripe is more insatiable than ever before, and as such a barrel-load of new crap is relentlessly delivered to our living rooms every day.



I felt compelled to write this after the appearance of one of the worst TV programmes ever to be commissioned - Red or Black.

Red or Black is yet another steaming pile of turd conceived in the brain of TV's version of the Anti-Christ, Simon Cowell. The show gave its contestants the opportunity to win a cool £million through a process no more complex than tossing a coin. It was of course, needlessly jazzed up with the familiar tomfoolery of Geordie midgets Ant and Dec and a procession of 'popular' entertainers plugging their respective wares between tasks.



My main problem with this show is that is promoted the idea that you can make your fortune on the whim of complete chance - and this is exactly the message that it conveys to the viewer. There is absolutely no level of ability required at all. I am not exaggerating when I say that a laboratory rat has as much chance of bagging the million in this show as any of the contestants who actually participate.

The completely lack of any skill requirement makes winning 'Deal or No Deal' seem like the game-show equivalent of writing an equation to explain the complete workings of the entire universe.

Red or Black is by no means the only example of the widespread cack that occupies our goggle boxes.

Here are my picks for the cream of the crap:

X-Factor



I must confess to actually enjoying this programme, but my bias does not detract from the fact that it really is appallingly bad television. X-Factor would be more appropriately titled 'four wankers destroy your dreams'.

In each series, the complete nutters and the tone deaf are easily weeded out by the self-professed overlords of the music industry quite early on in the process. However, in the later stages we see the hopes of genuinely talented people crushed in favour of the promotion of others who are perceived by the panel of smarmy fuckers to offer a greater level of entertainment for the telly nation to absorb - like this Brazilian nut-job (who quite coincidentally was once my boss at a double glazing firm):



Of course, the 'dream crushing' antics of these so-called judges are exactly what some people enjoy watching. It is a sad human trait that we are able to find amusement in the complete breakdown of others. Simon Cowell has clearly recognised this condition, and has therefore made his millions profiting from the misery and despair of others (much like Robert Mugabe in a sense)

Take Me Out



I cannot confess to watching this one regularly, mainly because it offends me so much that I want to punch Patrick McGuinness in the balls (repeatedly).

Look more closely at this ghastly affair, and it appears that the producers have been inspired by the manifesto of the Third Reich. Namely that anyone falling short of Aryan-like physical superiority should be removed from the general populous and henceforth be refused the right to breed.

The following excerpt from the show just about sums up this particular shit-fest. Listen very closely to the last few seconds of the clip to hear this total arse refer to himself in the third person - a trait usually reserved for only the highest calibre of tosser:



I have never seen anyone short of supermodel quality get even close to winning this show. It is yet another sad indictment of TV land that the viewer is encouraged to believe that we should all look like these white toothed, perma-tanned morons.


The Weakest Link



I will start by congratulating the Weakest Link. It seems that the contestants appear to be a fairly normal cross section of society. There's usually a good mix of student types, single moms, middle aged men in shit jobs and the occasional quirky nutter. However, that is where my praise stops.

You see, this mish-mash of ordinary joes loses all credibility when you realise that they have willingly volunteered for a quiz show that involves them being lambasted and ridiculed by a vicious old bint for 30minutes.



It is also one of the few quiz shows in mainstream telly where the prize money is so pitiful, you'd get a better return by sticking a grand on Man Utd to beat Hereford at Old Trafford.

Here's my advice to any potential contestants: If you want to earn a few quid for being repeatedly berated by an anorexic, acid-tongued witch, go and get a job in a Boots cosmetics department.

Big Brother



The grand-daddy of reality shows is arguably the king of crap TV. It is perhaps the one programme that has been most responsible for kick-starting a decade of Televisual garbage.

The format was simple. Stick a dozen people in a house together for twelve weeks and impose a fascist regime on them which will deny them access to any information from the outside world, govern their daily activities and restrict their access to a steady food supply. Oh, and give the viewers unfettered 24 hour access to the goings-on in the house.

As it had never been tried before, the first series was actually rather good, concentrating on the psychological effects of this artificial environment on the individual housemates.

I must admit to being utterly gripped by the highlight story of Series 1, involving Nasty Nick; a particularly underhand chap with a penchant for smuggling pencils. The final ousting of this bastard made for very nail-biting, albeit rather cringe-worthy TV:



Unfortunately, every series that followed was terrible. It seemed that with every passing year the contestants became more and more unhinged and were far lesser reflection of the society that they were supposedly representing. In a mere few years, the civilised disputes of previous series had descended into the full on ape-like carnage seen in the famous season 5 ruckus:



The problem was that as the first few winners had become reasonably famous because of their appearance on BB, it served to inspire all manner of fame-hungry deviants to crawl out from under their discarded paving slabs and queue up for a stab at getting their own five minutes of fame.

This primordial soup of UK reality TV also managed to spawn an offspring that still haunts us today - the 'celebrity' reality TV show - which is identical in format to regular reality TV but is populated with even bigger bastards.

Living with....**INSERT USELESS CELEBRITY TOSSPOT HERE**



'Living with' programmes are easily the worst type of 'celebrity-reality' shows around. Examples of such are as follows:

• The Osbornes
• Keeping up with the Kardashians
• Kerry and Me
• Katie

These semi-staged productions involve a cameraman following the every waking (and sometimes sleeping) movement of the eponymous celebrities. Every last thought flickering through the Swiss cheese-esque minds of the protagonists is detailed and scrutinised to the nth degree, whether it concerns their often erratic love-lives or is merely about their decision to buy a new horse-box.



Worse still, they are usually commentated over with all the pomp and gusto you might expect in a Dickens narrative, thus re-enforcing the apparent importance of these brain-dead muppets to the viewing public.

In the early days, these kind of programmes would at least follow people who held some semblence of actual fame (i.e. Ozzy Osborne, Hulk Hogan etc), but have now become self-fulfilling fame prophecies for jaded z-listers. I say this because like some sort of mindbending existential paradox, 'the celebrity' actually becomes famous in the first place because of their programme (i.e. Kerry Katona, Jordan etc).



In fact, the power of celebrity reality TV shows is so great that it has managed to reincarnate the fortunes of Kerry Katona so many times that she has become the celebrity equivalent of Nosferatu (note to those inclined to permanently kill off her career - try a wooden stake and some holy water next time)

Personally, I'd just prefer it if they made a reality TV programme about the chap that fixes watches on my local market stall. At least he does something productive and probably has something interesting to talk about.


The Only Way Is Essex (TOWIE)



"Shhaaattttt appppp!!!!!!"

I've really saved the best/worst till last here. The latest mutation of the self-fulfilling celebrity reality show is the monstrosity known as 'The Only Way is Essex'

This car crash of a programme takes the form of a reality TV show, but is actually a stage directed dramatisation where the lines between reality and fiction are completely blurred.

The actors (and I use the term loosely) are so gormless and are so entrenched in their insulated world of spray tan, boob jobs and vajazzles that I'm not even sure theyare aware of what's real anymore. It's a bit like the Matrix for wankers.

Oh, and it recently won a fucking BAFTA! What has happened to this country?

There are other versions of this type of programme that have been emerging:

Jersey Shore - American wankers
Geordie Shore - Geordie wankers
Made In Chelsea - Posh (possibly inbred) wankers

However, it is TOWIE that steals the crown for possessing a cast of the most accomplished twats known to mankind. Some of them are literally so dense that light cannot escape from their gravitational pull.



Depressingly, judging by the outfits and spray tans sported by many teenagers these days, it seems that this programme is really starting influence our nation's youth.

So a warning to all of you; If these people become the benchmark for the aspirations of future generations, then we can forget about recovering from our current economic slump, because our nation will be lucky to be in possession of a comprehensible form of spoken language by the next decade.

Free yourselves!!!!

Now please don't think I'm criticising anyone for watching these programmes. I have already admitted watching some of them too. The trouble is that our natural impulses and baser instincts make us particularly susceptible to being hypnotised by this sort of tat. But we really do need to start weaning ourselves off this shite before our brains permanently turn to mush!

Just heed the words of the Roman Poet Juvenal (circa 100A.D). Truly a man ahead of his time:

Already long ago, from when we sold our vote to no man, the people have abdicated in our duties; for the People who once upon a time handed out military command, high civil office, legions — everything, now restrains itself and anxiously hopes for just two things: Bread and Circuses (and possibly 'What Katie did next').

The UK riots: What would you do?

Many of us have been shocked by the recent days' events that have swept across the country. My own fair(ish) city of Wolverhampton came under attack from mindless thugs. Shop windows were smashed, peoples livelihoods put in jeopardy and many law abiding folks across my city have literally been scared for their safety and the safety of their family and friends.

Whatever the underlying sentiment of the nation may be in these troubled times, there can be no doubt that these were acts of wanton lawlessness, and need to be dealt with in a suitable fashion.

So I ask you, what would be your response to deal with these idiots?

Simply read the following and select the one option that you most agree with from the following list of possible riot control solutions and another from the list of how to deal with the aftermath. Add the two numbers together to get your score and see which political leader you are most akin to.

Possible riot control solutions:

1) Local community leaders are sent into rioting hot-spots with pamphlets about career and education opportunities and information about art competitions in a bid to dissuade youths from further looting.



2) Greater police presence in city centres, including more police community support officers who will be drafted in to chase off those pesky youths by means of their high spec mountain bikes and loud voices.




3) Issue the police with greater operating freedom, a wider variety of non-lethal weapons and reduce the burden of procedure and paperwork.



4) Allow the public the right to defend themselves and their properties using 'all reasonable measures' with little (if any) recourse to prosecution for their actions.



5) Full riot control procedures to be implemented without any fear of reprisal for Police Officers. Water cannons, rubber bullets and tear gas to be used as standard crowd displacement measures.



6) Issue the police with heavy-duty assault kit, including high calibre handguns and Kevlar body armour - with free reign to 'utilise where necessary'.



7) Send in the army - equipped with fully automatic rifles, fragmentation grenades, armoured vehicles and air support.



8) Implement a temporary nighttime curfew in city centres. A shoot on sight policy applies to anyone caught breaking the curfew.



9) Hire mercenary death squads from the Congo and instruct them to use any means necessary to subdue the rioters. All human rights violations will be ignored.



10) Nightly flyovers from b-52 bombers dispersing biological/chemical weapons on city centres.



Dealing with the aftermath:

1) Provide weekly therapy sessions and anger management counselling for the disaffected youths who have been arrested during the riots.



2) Set up more youth clubs to encourage young people to engage in positive activities such as sport, fitness activity and community projects.



3) Youths that are arrested for looting should be sentenced to participate in monitored community service/neighbourhood renewal programmes and encouraged to learn a practical trade through local education schemes.



4) Anyone convicted of looting should be sent to a minimum security prison where they have access to well equipped cells, sports facilities, healthy diets and education programmes.




5) Those found guilty of involvement in rioting should be sent to a maximum security prison where they are fed on a subsistence level diet and are routinely forced to undertake gruelling physical labour programmes.




6) Prior to incarceration for their crimes, those convicted of acts of public disturbance are subject to spend half a day in public stocks and members of the public are encouraged to pelt them with rotten fruit and vegetables.



7) Convicted Rioters are sent to an undisclosed, unregulated medical facility to undergo 'behavioural re-programming' before being reintroduced into society.




8) Those found guilty of rioting and other public disturbance acts are surgically castrated to avoid their further breeding.



9) Those found guilty of rioting and other public disturbance acts are publicly executed. Events are televised and spectators encouraged.




10) Suspected Rioters and looters are rounded up, made to wear identification, forced into ghetto like areas and stripped of all possessions. Eventually these groups are counted, organised into smaller groups and sent by national rail to newly formed 'working camps'. Many are never seen again.



So, given your score, if you were in charge, which historical leader might you most be likened to?

0 - 4 - Mahatma Gandhi



You strongly believe that it is deep, underlying social problems that cause people to act irrationally. You believe that violence is not an effective solution to societies' problems.




5- 8 - Nelson Mandela




You desire to see peace, prosperity and equality for all, but you are more than willing to openly demonstrate your anger through the use of measured force when this is challenged.







9-12 - Barack Obama




You want a calm, orderly and well disciplined society but will happily resort to a strict regime of heavy handed policing to ensure this.




13-15 - Margaret Thatcher

You see any kind of social malcontent as a scrounger and/or a 'good-for-nothing' and will use all reasonable measures (and some dubious ones) at your disposal to ensure that they conform to your standards. The use of hard and fast military force would be acceptable if it restores the status-quo.




16-18 - Colonel Qaddafi


You see all those who do not share your views as scum who are beneath you and pose a threat to your way of life. Without reason, they should be be crushed using unyielding, relentless and more often, lethal force. Collateral damage is to be expected and should not be considered to be an issue.



18-20 - Adolf Hitler



Anyone who does not meet with your strict criteria of behaviour is a pointless burden on society, and is no doubt a result of poor breeding and other abnormal genetic factors. A final solution is required to eradicate these people from the face of the planet.




On a final note

All joking aside, I have been appalled by what I have seen and truly cannot believe that this kind of thing could have been allowed to happen. Whatever the economic problems and the political backdrop of the situation, nothing good ever comes from this sort of reckless behaviour. The need for decisive and intelligent action is crucial, as is the need for us to restore a sense of pride, dignity and unity in our society.

Many have called for drastic solutions for dealing with these recent outbursts of violence , but we should remember that it is all too easy to overreact and follow the lead of people with very distorted ideas about how the world should be.

It is a curse of humanity that we don't easily learn from our mistakes, but if we use our heads, if we stand up and make our views known in a passionate but informed manner then maybe we can start addressing the real issues.

Look after yourselves and take care of each other.

An alternative Maths lesson

For me, maths lessons at school were always a complete and utter chore. Despite some early promise during my secondary school years, my 'career' in the field of mathematical study ended upon receiving a C grade GCSE.

The problem was that beyond learning the basic functions that would allow me to function in society, I could never really see the point of it all. Algebra, equations and statistical analysis all seemed like an incredible waste of my time, which was otherwise, more usefully spent playing football badly, smoking in secluded corners and/or drinking luminous alcoholic beverages.

Roll forward 15 years, and my brain has finally cottoned on to the fact that maths is really quite helpful. It's incredibly useful for things like gambling, playing pub quiz machines and working out group restaurant bills. I suddenly feel that I really should have paid more attention in school - and not just copied the answers from my more studious acquaintances.

However, "it's never too late to learn" as they say, so I've been considering how I can more frequently apply robust mathematical formula to everyday life.

So, with this in mind, I started to think about some highly important questions that could be answered through the application of maths and one stood out from the rest.......

How much do you get paid during your working life for shitting?



Defecation is an unavoidable part of life. Most of us need to engage in this task at least once a day. For many, the visit to the porcelain throne occurs during working hours and as a result, is on company time.

As no sensible business could rightly outlaw shitting during working hours without confronting the human rights implications that would ensue, one can only assume that countless £millions are spent every year by businesses nationwide in order that their employees can facilitate this most natural of bodily functions.

On this basis, I shall proceed by using an average British person (we'll call them Dave) as an example case - salary figures used in the 'Dave test case' are the current national averages as reported in the Office of National Statistics' AHSE report 2010.

And here is the man of the moment. Meet Dave:



Dave works in an office as a sales manager for a company that produces rubber mallets. He works 38.4 hours per week for which he is compensated to the tune of £474.24 - a princely annual gross salary of £24660.48.

The length of Dave's average working week is 5 days, usually Monday - Friday . He generally gets weekends off, which is nice for him, as Dave and his wife Sheila have plenty of free time in which to pursue their joint hobby of collecting, organising and photographing famous people's toenail clippings.



Dave began working for the UK's finest rubber mallet distributors at the age of 21 after attaining a first class degree in Bio-Chemical Engineering from Oxford University. He expects to retire at the pensionable age of 66.

Dave's offices are based near a shopping complex which plays host to a wide variety of fine lunchtime food retail outfits - including Subway, KFC, Greggs, McDonalds and a charming little continental restaurant called Abra-kebabra.



Such an accessible diversity of nourishment generally leads Dave to enjoy a rather hearty feast during his lunch hour. As a result of this midday gorging session, on a daily basis at approximately 14:35hrs, Dave's rumbling stomach informs him that he must 'curl one off' with immediate effect.

With his 'imminent arrivals due', Dave rises from his desk with his i-phone and/or laptop in hand, stealthily retreats from his office and heads for the gentleman's restroom on the floor above him ('never shit on your own doorstep' logic applies here).

Upon entering the cubicle of choice, Dave proceeds to start up the 'Angry Birds' app on his i-phone, loads the BBC Sport page on his laptop and then settles in for his daily dump.



At approximately 14:45hrs, with his personal best score on 'Angry Birds' surpassed and with all the kids succesfully dropped off at the pool, Dave emerges from the cubicle, washes his hands thoroughly and returns to his desk.

With all the facts at your disposal, I pose the following maths question to you:

Q: Assuming Dave has his one crap a day, how much is he paid - his current salary never changes - for shitting during his working life (you don't need to account for variables such as holiday/sick time absences - that'd just be silly)?

IF FOR SOME ODD REASON, YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO SOLVE THIS PROBLEM, DON'T READ ON UNTIL YOU HAVE WRITTEN DOWN YOUR ANSWER:

A: A whopping great £24,082.50

Here's the formula:

l = Life time shit pay - Dave's was the aforementioned £24,082.50

r = retirement age - 66 for our rubber mallet selling turd burglar
f = age at start of working life - 21 was the age young Dave began his shitting odyssey
a = average days worked per week - 5 gruelling days flogging inflatables to carnies.
h = hourly salary - A respectable £12.35 for the bio-chemist graduate
u = Usual shitting time - A concise ten minutes on the white seat for our man.

Incidentally, Dave receives £2.06 for every shit he takes at work.

So to put it all together:

l = ((r-f)*(a*52))*((h/60)*u))

The bigger picture

To put this into further context, over the course of his working life, Dave's shitting habits would buy him the following:

• A one night stay in the Hugh Hefner Sky Villa, Palm Beach Casino Resort, Las Vegas - the world's second most expensive hotel room:

• A 2002 Aston Martin DB7 V12 Vantage 2dr Coupe:

• A caravan in Hull

• The chartering of a private jet to take Dave and Sheila from Birmingham to Barcelona (where they might attempt to coax Lionel Messi into donating a toenail for their collection).

The even bigger Picture

So, assuming the average British person takes a ten minute shit at work every day, Monday to Friday, then on a yearly basis, they are remunerated to the sum of £535.16.


Now before Gideon Osborne and his cronies get enraged by this scandalous waste of productivity, they should remember that thanks to the wonders of income tax, the government gets approximately 22% of this 'shitting money' - or an average of £117.74 per year for every employed person in the UK. On the current UK working population estimates of 29'800'000, this would create total average annual tax revenues of:

£3,508,652,000

Yep, you read it right - three billion, five hundred and eight million, six hundred and fifty two thousand pounds sterling - all generated from people having a crap.

Inevitably, this sizable sum will be used to build schools, develop hospitals, improve public services and more likely, further line the pockets of incredibly wealthy people.

Either way, this is money that will be absorbed into the Great British economic machine. So to conclude, next time sometime moans that this country is built on a foundation of shit, you can tell them that in part, they are dead right.

Remember, you're not just shitting for yourself, you're shitting for the future of our nation!