Romanians Love Dimbleby

Budget day is a much revered time in the Dale household. It’s why I’ve locked myself away in the bedroom. Gabby is out there right now, watching the BBC’s coverage and lusting over David Dimbleby. She has certain feelings towards that man which aren’t totally legal. You might scoff but she keeps a picture of him in her handbag and I swear I’ve overheard conversations she’s had with her cousins where they discuss mini vans, electrical tape, and bottles of chloroform. They usually end with her advising them to rewatch The King of Comedy.

To be honest, I can’t see the appeal. In the budget, that is... not David Dimbleby. Heaven knows the man’s a magnet irrespective of your gender. However, stripping hasn’t provided me much of a mind for figures. If I’m totally honest, my interest in politics is somewhat limited. I read very few political blogs and none that deal with local politics. Belisha beacons outside Bangor’s high school and the date of this year’s church raffle aren’t things that interest me. I’m damn sure they aren’t going to fill you with the good feelings either, so I spare you the details here at Chipster Central. If it isn’t thong related, I try to spare you the details.

The same goes for economics. I care not a jot where you put the decimal point, nor how many units you carry over. Don’t speak to me of trends, of curves, of accumulated interest because my own interest will immediately decline into the red. There’s a 99% chance, + or – my not giving a damn, that I’m political eunuch. Which perhaps explains why I pin the Lib Dem colours to my door. It’s a vote for not having to vote.

Gabby is quite different. She still has that East European love with capitalism and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do to earn a few pounds. She’s still a bit touchy about the BBC rejecting her application to go on The Apprentice and has written many letters of appeal to Dimbleby.

None of this is originally what I came into the bedroom to blog about but that will have to wait for another time. Gabby’s screaming at the television in vulgar Romanian. It seems that they’ve gone over to Westminster and Dimbleby’s gone from the screen.