Blog: Chris Mitchell
I was really pissed off yesterday. After a nice bowl of Fruit and Fibre, I was settling down to do some work, looking forward to going for a bicycle ride with Laup and generally unwinding in time for the weekend, when there was a knock at the door.
Expecting it to be Laup, I opened the door and shouted "come on in, big boy", so imagine my surprise when three bureaucrats walked into my house. The fact that Friday is my nude day made it rather awkward, too.
When I asked what they wanted, they claimed that they were from Manchester City Council and handed me a legal document, which turned out to be a Compulsory Purchase Order for my conservatory. They claimed they had a court order allowing them to seize my conservatory, stating that they were going to pay me £3,000 in compensation.
That's all well and good, except I paid more than twice that for my conservatory. I initially refused to take the document, pointing out that since they were from Manchester I didn't see that they had any claim on properties in Bristol, but the man who gave me the document pointed out that Manchester City Council's jurisdiction spreads far and wide. "If it goes as far as Bangladesh and Eritrea, it certainly extends to Bristol" he said, adding "beware the tentacles of Manchester City Council", to which the other two men replied "/me sniggers".
I wasn't entirely sure why they needed my conservatory, but apparently they wanted it to turn it into a community centre for Eritrean Lesbians. I told him that we didn't have many in Bristol, but he assured me that he would be bussing them in from Manchester.
But the really ironic part was when I read the small print, and discovered that the conservatory was also to be declared a "Nuclear Free Zone". I've been using my conservatory for the last six years to process nuclear waste and convert it into high-grade plutonium which I then use to make nuclear warheads. This has been a lucrative little business, and my customers include the governments of Iran and North Korea, a rather amusing little Arabic chap called Ali who has friends in Iraq, and another chap who lives in a cave in Afghanistan whose name escapes me. But my biggest customer by far is none other than Manchester City Council, who use the warheads to target the scum in their midst who put their rubbish out too early.
I didn't bother telling the bureaucrats that little gem, and I'd love to see the look on their faces once they twig - hoisted by their own petard. That'll learn 'em
Manchester City Council