I Am Not Called Iain

The streets of Bangor are ominously quiet this evening. The stench of public humiliation mixes with the sweet fragrance of female hormones gone awry. In many a home tonight, the ladies of the town lament my non-appearance at the Green Dragon Tavern. I sit here, waiting for the phone to ring. I’m sure there are powerful forces watching me work.

It would appear that the Chipster may have offended his famous namesake, Mr. Iain Dale (no relation). Now the world of Welsh exotic dancing is in turmoil and Gabby is crying in the corner of the room. She thinks this will have a bearing on her application to stay in the country. I just fear that I'll have to flog my collection of valuable thongs on eBay to fight a court case. What am I to do? Are the any lawyers out there who could tell me if I have a leg to stand on? And no, madam, *that* is not a leg. I am only a man in a thong. A big loveable man in a thong who never meant to hurt anybody.

Gabby, bless her little East European heart, says she’ll help smuggle me into Romania next time she goes there on tour with his sister, but I don’t know if I want to leave my wonderful Wales. Have you seen the quality of Romanian thongs? I’d rather rot in an English prison.

Looking at the design of my blog and that of Mr. Dale’s famous site, I was shocked to see some similarities. Coincidence follows me around so much. First there was this bloody facial resemblance I have to He Who Must Not Be Named, and now this! I’ve spoken to the cheap little bastard who built my webpage and he now admits that he was inspired by Britain’s top blogger. Knowing that I’m the country’s top Lib Dem stripper, he thought it a good idea to pay homage to a Tory blogger. What did he call it? Cross pollination? I could smell whisky on his breath. And he calls himself a Welshman!

I’ll have to sleep on this tonight. In the words of Julie Andrews: tomorrow’s just a thong away. Thanks for the support from those that emailed me. I’d just like to assure everybody that I’m no Iain Dale. Nor am I a sock puppet. And I am most certainly not somebody called Glyn Davies.

You can guess as long as you like but I am the real Crispen ‘Chip’ Dale. I just don't know for how much longer...

Thong on!