MISSIN' OUT another week last week, world, no report an' people sayin'
Hum! It de day o' de jackal, Field-Ammiral Idi Amin o' de RAF finally bin plugged by de opposition, dis spellin ' de end o ' de road for de famous Punch magazine, gonna be circulation men jumpin' off ledges all over Fleet Street,
but, no, once again I bouncin' back like de proverbial mad penny. De fact is, last week we bin runnin' aroun' like nobody's business down Parliament House on account of wot bin happenin' in England wid de board o' directors o' de world famous Uglow Company. No doubt you bin readin' in de Film Fun financial pages an' elsewhere about how Uglow, de multi-pound tradin' company wot linkin' Uganda raw materials wid Hounslow brains an' money, bin havin' trouble wid de well-known whizz-kid Maurice 'Weeny' Morris: it all comin' to light at de AGM, where de eight board memmers findin' out dat de famous ex-GLC sanitory inspector J.P. Foskett, who bin taken on as a consultant on account of his unique knowledge of Uganda where he got a cousin wot bin sendin' reg'lar letters home, has bin given de boot. Formerly pullin' down a salary o' fourteen poun' a week, less stoppages, he now bin paid off wid a golden handshake rumoured to be in double figures; trouble is, it bin arranged for dis salary to be paid into a account in de Solomon Islands, on account of a clerical error; ain't no tax concessions in de Solomon Islands, an' when de unfortunate J.P. Foskett turnin' up at de bank to collect his large ones, he bin et by head-hunters.
When Maurice 'Weeny' Morris findin' out about this, he goin' down de boardroom above de premises of R. Collinson (Wet Fish) Ltd. an' start layin' out his fellow-directors wid a brick wrapped up in a sock. First thing anyone know, R Collinson callin' a copper on account of plaster fallin' on his haddocks, an' de whole thing in de hands o' de court.
Dis causin' immeasurable confusion in Kampala, on account of if Weeny end up doin' porridge, Uglow gonna put a new man in Uganda wot got no idea of high finance and likely to start askin' about de new Rovers an' de gole beds an' why de Finance Seckertary livin' on a boat wid Miss Lake Victoria an' her two sisters etcetera. Most of all, he gonna start askin' questions concernin' de name M. Morris what croppin' up on de bottom o' cheques goin' through a nummer o' high-class accounts.
So natcherly we bin a bit tied up last week, wot wid de bonfires and de diggin' an' also havin' to chain up large nummers o' bank clerks, accountants, etcetera, in de Exchequer basement, not to mention attendin' one or two funerals wot comin' on unexpected.
All dis on top o' nationalisin' every other British firm in de place.
Main thing is, we relyin' on de wonderful people of England in de hour o' need, partickerly de wonderful Uglow shareholders, wot natcherly disturbed by de goings-on an' likely to do something daft if dey ain't careful, such as goin' round to Weeny's 35-bedroom Mayfair registered office or de twelve-thousand-acre company grouse-moor an' castle, an' nailin' him to de fence. Wot I appealin' is: don't do it, wonderful English shareholders beloved throughout de emergent continent ! we all of us needs Maurice 'Weeny' Morris.
Which is why he de only thing standin' between you an' nationalisation. Because nobody understandin' Africa like him.
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