It’s of no consequence, Sir.
On an unrelated note, Louise has asked if she can carry your bags.
A) no I did not
B) I didn’t enjoy being subjected to that image!
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Please feel free to smear anything with Marmite during your stay, except perhaps the undergarments that you put in the guest washing bin (Louse is scheduled to be working on skid-row this coming week).
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Originally posted by @Coxford_lou
B) I didn’t enjoy being subjected to that image!
Believe you me, Lou, you’re not the only one.
I’ve felt uncomfortable in my nether regions all day thanks to Bletch.
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Originally posted by @saintbletch
There’s lovely for you. Isn’t it?
[Emoticon used intentionally inappropriately in order to shame His papness into implementing world class emoticons]
Am working on it. Harder than you think; all sorts of licensing bollocks with some of them.
Fresh from victory in the Battle of Scotchland, His papship bids you please welcome Kingdom Come.
Your ever faithful bletch has often fixated on the words of the Lord’s prayer, and has long resisted retelling the old Sunday School joke about needing big hands to make a Kingdom Come. And I certainly don’t intend to retell it now.
Either way, a gentleman with disproportionately large hands and correspondingly low self-esteem, has joined our number. In another forum, when I was a younger butler and could still pinch a maid’s backside without risking dismissal - or worse a lecture on equality, I used to spar with a gentlemen of the same name.
We would debate the merits and demerits of an independent Scotchland, and in a quirk of art mirroring life, just as Scotchland stayed anchored to the United Kingdom, so pap’s life raft was cast adrift.
Amazingly, who should we now pull inside the boat to sit with us and cower from Richard Parker, but Kingdom Come.
Anyway, I urge you all to discuss haggis and the SNP with Kingdom Come; you’ll find him very knowledgeable. I’ve shown Sir into room 233 as it is literally * miles away from anyone, and will allow you to squeeze your bags without disturbing another guest.
You were member 81 to sign-up.
Bletch - Butler at pap Palace.
* Not literally.
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Thanks for the warm welcome. I’d only add that you know what they say about men with big hands, eh?
They’re forever saying “you know what they say about men with big hands” with a disconcerting look on their face.
I’m away to fondle my bags. Don’t worry if you hear unpleasant screeching floating up the hallway, that’s what it sounds like when it’s done right.
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Originally posted by @Kingdom-Come
Thanks for the warm welcome. I’d only add that you know what they say about men with big hands, eh? They’re forever saying “you know what they say about men with big hands” with a disconcerting look on their face. I’m away to fondle my bags. Don’t worry if you hear unpleasant screeching floating up the hallway, that’s what it sounds like when it’s done right.
Well Kingdom Come, welcome. I would have welcomed you before but bletch really does get upset. I fear he has access to the armoury, and he has already orchestrated two inquisitions in his time here. We’ve managed to talk him off the ledge when it comes to people posting on TSW. Indeed, he has gone back a couple of times himself.
Still, this is a gradual process. We’re dealing with one unthinkable at a time. For right now, I’m happy that he is no longer in inquistor mode, even if that means I have to delay welcoming new members until he runs the “Butler rule” over people.
Unless you have only one hand or are Stephen Hawking, please put your hand together for Rallyboy.
Rallyboy joins the forum with a reputation as being mildly obsessive. I personally had to go to look him up in The Other Place because I’d never seen him post.
Apparently, in the badlands of The Lounge in The Other Place lies a vast and sprawling hinterland where nothing nice grows. Legend has it that the same witch that put Saints into League One cast a spell on that place, and that if you were to visit it, but three times, you would be cursed and made to visit there daily and spew angry and bilious words about the colour blue and campanologists.
Unfortunately, upon his initial visit to this site Rallyboy spied the thread created by Halo, Fowllyd and other members of the 50+ clique, where they were debating the shock news that Portsmouth Council is to be run by a travel firm for the elderly. However, when Rallyboy tried to contribute to our Saga Takeover Pompey thread, something elemental occurred, time went backwards, and he hasn’t been seen since.
Anyway, we really should be honoured that he has decided to register, find no Pompey Takeover Saga thread, and then disappear again. Rallyboy, you are member number 84, and will be staying in room 110100 next to a nice gentleman that has reserved a rather grand suite for the whole year, but as yet failed to turn up - and his credit card has been declined. Perhaps you’ll meet Mr Westwood at breakfast one day. I heard he’s a very colourful character.
Bletch - butler at pap Palace.
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It would otherwise be considered hyperbolic to welcome a visitor to these rooms in the following way, but I’m sure that once you understand who has joined, you will agree that we owe this all to him.
Please welcome unionhotel - or papsdad as he shall henceforth be known.
Mr Hotel, without the progeny of your loins I would be nothing more than a word-bore in an unwanted backwater of a dying football forum. Your semen-made-solid plucked me out of anonymity, put me in this long-tailed suit, sent me to the Gordon Jackson Memorial Butler School, taught me binary and allowed me to welcome the guests to his house.
I’m sure there are many questions that we each have of you, but chief most in my mind is “When did you realise that pap was, umm, special?”
Did he show signs of precociousness at a young age?
Did you have an especially hard time with the twin childhood myths of the tooth fairy and Santa Claus?
I can imagine that upon hearing of their rumoured existence, he would have written a letter * to David Icke, waited up all night, taken the wings off your back, pulled off your white beard, and told you some fact about thermite that you didn’t already know.
Please spill the beans.
unionhotel commutes to this place from the Isle of Man* where he is domiciled for tax reasons. papsdad, is member number 102, and will be residing in room 11 next door to his son and heir, so that His papship can be brought under a modicum of control, and so that He might admonish his father for withholding tax contributions to this great nation of ours.
Bletch - Butler at pap Palance.
*Before the Internet.
P.S. Mr. Hotel, does the Union Hotel have a round bar? I’ve visited the IoM twice for the TT races, and the Union Hotel name rings a bell. I may just be confusing two places, but I once went to a hotel/bar that had a rounded bar. I once brought Keith Huewen a drink there, for which he was duty-bound to listen to me explaining why a mate of mine was going to win the Lightweight race the next day. He came third in the end.
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Thank you for your kind words.
The world is a scary place, I felt safe inside the PTS, the only place where I really exist in physical form, but I stumbled onto other threads where many strange beasts roam, seeking arguments with themselves.
Their mental issues are legion, their thoughts often driven by personal angst, sexual problems or the deluded obsession that Glenn Hoddle should have returned on several occasions, despite the fact that he has failed at EVERY job since Saints.
Many are experts in knee-jerk reactions, I do love the posters who leap first and then get the facts later.
Wave your hankies boys, wave your hankies!
Oh no, you can’t, you gave up your season ticket when the car parking changed!..,…
Tis the way of the world.
Anyway, I have registered here, mainly as a brand-protection exercise, we cannot have user names being abused. #copyright
And I can prove it is me - I claimed the use of the term Nutjob after my fellow threadists were labelled as such by a funny old character on the other side - and I can write in paragraphs that are quite short.
And machine-gun style.
A lot.
I have also licenced the terms sister-botherer and heather-peddling toothless simpleton.
You will still see me back over in PTS, but I have a style that doesn’t include personal attacks so perhaps the brave new world will prosper.
Now go find me an outlet for my ranting, I have survived thus far on three rants a day but have lost over a year of my life in FF’s thread to end all threads…
COYR
RB
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We at Sotonians.com would like to welcome Firead, our newest member. You’re the fucking balls, mate.
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With all the respect that I can muster and a little more than you deserve…that’s pretty amateur Fatso, Sir.
No room number, no details of who Firead is staying next to, no suggestion of who Firead was in a previous life, no member number…No, No, No!
I’ve shared my room booking spreadsheet with Flyd Owl so he can supply some of these details, but until he straps himself into the saddle tonight/tomorrow, I suppose I should welcome Firead properly.
We at Sotonians.com would like to welcome Firead, our newest member. You’re the fucking balls, mate. You are member #106 and will be staying in room 1101 with Fatso, whilst your own room 110100 is being readied. Don’t know who you were in a previous forum-life. Sir.
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I’m doing you a favour seeing as your appointment seems to have let you down. You should be grateful.
I was going to put our guest in the leather clad Fritzl Suite of Tourettes Towers whilst he/she awaited his/her permanent abode. But my boutique services are not required.
Back to advertising on mumsnet. 
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On the way down to the breakfast room this morning I managed to grab this shot of Bletch and Lou in the hallway.
Lord Pap knows I’m not one to stir but there was definely a frisson between the two. I was wondering if anyone else had noticed a somewhat tell-tale stain on Bletch’s trousers…anyone know what’s going on?
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Er, ahem! (I hope that’s suitably butlerish - Mr Bletch didn’t have time to pass on all his massive knowledge).
Good afternoon, ladies, gentleman and Your papship. As you know, I’m standing in for Mr Bletch for a few days; he’s left me a list of those in need of welcoming, and I’ll certainly be getting on with that later. There’s quite a backlog built up, as Mr Bletch has been very busy with Miss Louise on important and confidential matters recently, so he simply hasn’t had the time. He didn’t tell me how he got the black eye, but knowing Mr Bletch I’m sure it was sustained in the line of duty and in an honourable, noble fashion.
Anyway, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank Mr Bletch and His papship for giving me this opportunity to hone my butlering skills. It’s been a few years since I passed through butler training camp (at least I think it was a butler training camp - its name sounded quite a lot like ‘butler’, and there were lots of trainees in smart red coats, so it must have been).
As I’m sure you can all imagine, working for Mr Bletch is a real privilege. He really is the most wonderful, warm and thoughtful man. On no fewer than three occasions in the past month he’s allowed me to leave the sub-sub-basement where I normally have to stay and visit the floor above! His generosity really knows no bounds. And, once I’d cleaned up the glowing stuff in the sub-basement, he even let me take a jar of it back to my room. It makes a lovely reading light, and would be quite the conversation piece if anyone ever came to my humble room. I won’t hear a word said against Mr Bletch, and that’s the facts of the matter.
And as for His papship - well, words just fail me sometimes. He truly is a prince among men. I think we all know of his generosity in giving us this place, but I thought I should tell you a story which shows just what a kind-hearted and sensitive man he really is. I know I might embarrass him by telling it (he’s a very humble and modest man too), but I thought you should all know it just the same.
A few years ago, one of the under-gardeners hurt himself while pruning the deadly nightshade (His papship loves to surround himself with beautiful things). We never found out exactly what he’d done or what his injury was, but as soon as His papship realised the chap was in pain, he sent immediately for the gamekeeper, Sarnia, who dispatched the poor chap forthwith. His papship can’t bear to see even the lowliest creature suffering. What a marvellous man His papship is!
That’s all I have time to say now, as my other duties call. But I’ll be back later to make a start on the list that Mr Bletch has left for me.
Fowllyd (under-sub-under-footman and stand-in butler)
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Originally posted by @Fowllyd
Good afternoon, ladies, gentleman and Your papship.
Acknowledging the fact that there is only one true gentleman on this site is an excellent start, Fowllyd!
Love Halo,
Proud holder of the Gentleman Badge.
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Butler Bletchley, thank you so much for your very generous welcome and the words contained therein.
Paul, I mean Pap, has always been a special child. I could see this from the way he spewed forth from his mother’s nether regions. Ugly wouldn’t describe him. He looked like a spider monkey and I could see straight away that there was a certain look of ‘Damian’ about him. I immediately set about arranging blood tests to determine parentage. Sadly, there was no doubt he was mine.
Undaunted, for that is the family trait, I immediately began his initiation into Sainthood and his first encounter with the Saints was on the glorious day after Southampton had won the FA cup. He sat and shat on my shoulders outside the Civic Centre, for that was also to become a family trait.
As sometimes happens in families, divorces occur and we both lost touch for several years and by chance I was working at the school he went to. He’d, happily, turned out quite normal apart from the small moustache he was sporting directly under his nose. I must confess his hair-style was quite strange as well and the fringe, being swept over his left eye reminded me of someone, but I just couldn’t think of who.
Anyhow, undeterred by this strange lad I did my fatherly bit, took him to football matches, took him on holiday, watched him grow and then the biggest milestone…university and Liverpool. It didn’t take him long to get sexual experience. Within two days he phoned me to say, “Dad, I had sex for the first time last night!” Hesitantly I replied “Did you mate? How was it?” He said in hushed tones, “It was alright but I’ve got a really sore arse now”
And there you have it, a star was born. Precocious? Never. Intelligent, always. Conspiracy theorist. Perhaps. Idealist. Definitely.
PS The Union Hotel is in Castletown. It doesn’t have a round bar per se but the bar does go round the pub if you get my drift.
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