Pith

Cameron sucking up to Aung San Suu Kyi in Burma

Horace Ponsonby-Cameron, the British prime-minister has just visited Burma, meeting with the country's own Mandela-like figure - Aung San Suu Kyi. Wishing to brown-nose and bolster his credentials as an international leader, Cameron's people thought it would be a great idea if he could visit Logland which mistakenly they thought was symbolic of  what might be achieved through improved Anglo-Burmese business relations. Somewhere along the line, one of Cameron's Old Etonians must have overlooked the letter "B", imagining that they would be visiting a jungle logging development and not a community of bloggers.

I was lying in bed in my humble native hut when Thuza came rushing back in from her morning shower.

"Sir Pudding! Sir Pudding! You must to get up! Big boat coming to wharf! More blogger come!"

I leapt out of bed, yanked on my lilac speedos and after keying the code into my security gates jogged barefoot along the sandy forest trail towards the Robert Brague Memorial Wharf which is at the north of the island. I passed the empty homes of Mountain Thyme, Arctic Fox, Brain Brian and Katherine. Dozens of servants were already down at the wharf but they parted like the Red Sea to let me through. Cameron's cabin cruiser was just docking. He leapt off the boat wearing a khaki jungle outfit and a safari pith helmet. Perhaps assuming I was some sort of manager of a logging company, he headed straight for me with his hand outstretched. Several photographers followed in his wake.

Now I can honestly say that I have never in my life shaken hands with a known Tory, let alone the leader of the Conservative Party so I just ignored Cameron's manicured paw. 

"Passport!" I said.

"What?" grinned Cameron. "What do you mean?"

"Passport!" I said. "This is a sovereign state - the newest in the world and we do not take kindly to alien invaders... so passport!"

"But do you know who I am?" grinned Cameron, turning for the approbation of his press pack.

"Do you know who I am?" I retorted.

"No!" said Cameron scanning my lilac speedos enviously.

"I'm Yorkshire Pudding - representing the people of Blogland and there's certain things we don't allow here! No drugs! No weapons! No French! No Reality TV and no frigging Tories! So get the hell out of here ye silver spoon slimeball!"

By now Blogland's menial workers were cheering and chanting my name. Cameron was yelling that there would be a blackout on news or pictures from Blogland and who the hell had forgotten the "B"? He clambered back into "The Saucy Rebekah", accidentally dropping his pith helmet and his whole party headed back to Rangoon as I taught our assembled servants Yorkshire's traditional two-fingered salute for departing unwanted visitors.

Don't take the pith!

Map

Formerly known as Lampi Island, the Blogland community dwellings were all constructed in the fertile north of the island. The southern tongue of the island is quite mountainous and the jungle there is almost impenetrable.You will be happy to know that I have arrived safely - greeted to a tumultuous welcome by the assembled servants. Together we stood outside the social club. I made a speech apologising for the non-appearance of other emigrants and then there was a rousing rendition of "Island of Dreams". Later, at Chez Nous, in order to fully orientate myself, I decided to draw the map above with some help from my personal assistant - Miss Thuza. Stars are twinkling above the Andaman Sea and I can hear night birds in the forest. The absence of vehicular noise pollution is palpable - so peaceful. Miss Thuza is plumping up my pillows. Just one single malt on the verandah and I shall retire for the night. It's been a long journey.

Phuket

Way down in the south east of Thailand my worst fears have come true. Not only did the British contingent fail to appear at Manchester Airport but it seems that the American and antipodean emigrants also failed to follow travel instructions. Even Senor Brian from Catalonia created a jokey excuse for his non-appearance.

I headed for the Royal Phuket Marina where two luxury boats were already waiting to whisk us across the Andaman Sea to our new land. There was a champagne reception in the boathouse where guests would have been invited to receive soothing Thai massages after their long flights to South East Asia. 

It's now near midnight Phuket time but still no one else has arrived so I have told Captain Joonpe to cancel the second boat. Again the sponsors won't be happy about this. So in half n hour or so, emigration to Blogland will begin but with only one lonesome traveller. I still feel excited but also a little sad.

Finally, I was going to get to meet legendary American blogger Robert Brague with whom I had been drawn in the first round of the arm wrestling competition. And there'd be Mountain Thyme and Libby, Rhodesy from Manchester and Johnny from Welsh Wales, Helen from Brisbane and Jan from Sunny California and everybody else. And we'd party on the social club terrace and drink copious amounts of Tetley's bitter and maybe I'd push Jenny in the pool just for fun and Mick would dive in to save her. Now all these dreams are evaporating into the tropical night.

Ah, here's Captain Joonpe. Seems like we'll be off real soon. See ya!

Flummoxed

? < That's how I thought I should title this blogpost and I think that some of my British visitors will know exactly why. Here I am sitting in Dubai's massive terminal building on my lonesome. Well - there's hundreds of other people here but NOT the travelling companions who should have been with me. 

I waited till the last possible moment at the main information desk in Terminal 1 at Manchester Airport but nobody else appeared - no Mick, no Earl John Gray with his poultry and dog baskets, no Shooting Parrots, no Dame Daphne, no Libby and not even the Countess of Wrexham - the lovely Jennyta. The nice lady at the information desk even put an announcement over the tannoy system in the other terminals.

At Dubai Airport

I feel like a spotty teenage boy left standing outside a cinema,waiting for his date to turn up and then gradually realising that he has been stood up - it was all just a sick joke. Why the hell did you guys string me along like this? What am I meant to say to the sponsors? It's all very embarrassing. Up at the front of business class on my Emirates flight here I was on my tod when I had expected I'd be getting to know my fellow bloggers. Oh woe is me!

Well all I can say is it's your loss! You'll not be laughing when the sponsors send round their debt collectors - Knuckles and Beefy. No. you won't be laughing then!

Anyway, I'm sure the other emigrants from foreign countries like the USA, New Zealand, Australia and Catalonia won't have chickened out. They'll be waiting for me in Phuket and we'll travel on to Blogland without you cowardy custards! And we'll build a world of our own...

Farewell

Perhaps it's only when you are about to leave something, somewhere or someone that you start to appreciate what is about to be part of your past. Yorkshire - my Yorkshire. Shall I never see your rolling wolds again, your quiet rivers moving perpetually to the vast silted mouth of The Humber - a word that in ancient English simply meant "river". Shall I never see your ancient villages with their medieval stone churches beneath towering sycamore and beech where rooks caw to greet the day? Oh Yorkshire, when I am gone please think of me some times, my sweet, sweet motherland. Home to Captain Cook and Emily Bronte, J.B.Priestley and Ted Hughes, David Hockney and Arthur Scargill, Saint John of Beverley, William Wilberforce, Barbara Hepworth, Henry Brearley and Paul Daniels. Though I am gone you shall liveth for evermore in my mortal heart.

And I shall miss our weather, our unpredictable weather with blue and grey skies, sunshine and snow,  that Forrest Gump chocolate box quality. And I shall miss steak pies from Sean's, "Eastenders", fish and chip specials from "Three Steps" and long walks in The Peak District with camera in hand and the banter in our local and visits to Hull to watch my beloved Tigers. Vegetables growing in our garden. There is plenty that I shall miss.

However, there's plenty I shall be glad to leave behind. The careerism of professional politicians with their weasel words. Reality TV shows and "talent shows" and Simon Cowell and Jordan (aka Katie Price) and "The Sun" newspaper and people rushing their lives away and tattoos. And I won't miss our monstrous supermarkets and our crowded motorways or graffiti or litter or clusters of people standing outside public buildings like lepers under clouds of blue grey tobacco smoke. Nor shall I miss taxi drivers or potholes in the road, drivers on mobile phones, dog dirt on verges or unsolicited calls from money hungry call centres. No I won't miss any of that.

Please don't think I'm having second thoughts. Just pensive that's all. We are the new pilgrims aboard a metaphorical "Mayflower" - bound for a new life in a new world - Blogland - where all of our dreams will surely come true and we can live in peace like our new national anthem says - "far far away from the mad rushing crowd."

I might not get to blog again until I reach Blogland though there may be some spare time when several of us are in transit at Dubai Airport - one of the world's great new crossroads. All human life passes through there. I trust that all emigrants are ready to go and that  private arrangements have been made to get you to your previously nominated international airport. As I said before - tickets will be available at the main information desk. All you need is your passport and luggage. I'm so looking forward to meeting everybody on Thursday when we'll assemble round the social club pool for nibbles, informal drinks and the very start of our new life together in Blogland. Afterwards, there's the arm wrestling tournament which should be a load of fun.

Blogland

Suitcase

Oh lordy lordy, I can't wait for Wednesday to come! Normally I fill my suitcase at the last possible minute but hey - this time long term  emigration to Blogland means I'm being a bit more sensible and have even drawn up a list. I trust that other bloggers are doing the same.

• Seven pairs of underpants
• Sandals with seven pairs of white ankle socks
• Flip flops
• My cuddly toy tiger - Waggy (can't sleep without him)
• Guitar with spare strings and electric tuner.
• Framed photograph of the Yorkshire Wolds.
• Framed photograph of Shirley and the kids.
• Six boxes of instant Yorkshire pudding mix
• Lilac Speedos
• Sports Relief Shorts (2 pairs)
• Camera
• Knotted handkerchief
• Sun glasses
• Laptop
• Ball point pen and A4 notepad
• Seven "Yorkshire Pudding" T-shirts in various colours.
• Linen suit, formal shirt and tie
• Fluffy bath  towel
• "Superman" beach towel
• Watch
• Toilet bag including razor blades and large bottle of "Brut" aftershave.
• "The Koran"
• "Robinson Crusoe", "Swiss Family Robinson", "Coral Island".
• Penknife
• Beauchat Marlin Carbone 95cm spear gun
• "After sun" lotion

It's like that line in John Denver's "Leaving on a Jet Plane"... "All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go..."

Shining

Departure Day grows ever closer. Born in 1927, Harry Belafonte captures something of the mood of anticipation currently running through the blogging community:-

Today I visited "Matalan" where I picked up some lilac "Speedos" and a couple of pairs of  leftover "Sports Relief" shorts - a bargain at only £2.50 a pair. There were piles of them.

A Hollywood film production company has contacted me and plans for "Blogland - The Movie" are now well under way. Thanks to Earl Gray for hatching this idea. A film crew will join us in Blogland some time in mid-June but most of the steamy love scenes will be filmed in Hawaii. I think the film crew are just coming to capture scenic shots that can then be edited in to the final product. Leslie Nielsen was going to be signed up to play Mr Brague but sadly we discovered that Leslie passed away in 2010 so the producers have managed to tempt Robert Redford out of retirement instead.

How film profits will be used in the end depends upon the assembled Bloggish people. I think one or two emigrants imagine that I will be some kind of leader but please understand that I have only ever wanted to be a facilitator. I would like to think that Blogland won't actually need a leader in the usual sense of the word. Besides, I'll be too busy playing beach volleyball, wrestling on the sand, drinking Tetley's bitter in the social club or kayaking beyond the reef to have any time left over to be a leader. Don't you think leaders are massively overrated anyway?