The True Story of B. Ollox and R. Soles.
Back in my days living in Torquay, on the English Riviera, I had a little mews cottage down there. Then. One day, I woke with my usual inspiration and made the decision to hang a sign outside that read: “B. Ollox and R. Soles.”
So. When it came round to council tax (as we know it now) for that time, the bill came back addressed the same way — to “B. Ollocks and R. Soles.” Nobody noticed until somebody eventually clocked it as a joke, and then the hassle started — the council’s own error, and one they never bothered to correct. Even after I’d moved on. To my best knowledge, anyway.
You see. Those were also my Monster Raving Loony Party days. When, my answer to the council finding discarded condoms on the beach was to build condominiums. For instance. You know, for when the swathe of summer tourists come. That one went down like a lead balloon too. Needless to say.
It would be true to say I wasn’t appreciated half as much in those days as I’m not now.
Still. Life goes on. Until it doesn’t.
Of course nowadays, we have a sort of more self-entitled warrior version of the Monster Raving Loony Party, called, by me, at least, the Monster Raving Green Party. They seem to like raves, and they are questionably green in the ecological sense, and most definitely green in the political sense of things.
I finally listened to this Polanski guy—David Poulton, the other day. Forty-three years old! You hear him speak and you realise his gonads are still playing hide-and-seek somewhere in his ribcage. Forty-three years on this planet, and his vocal cords are still waiting for puberty to send a formal invitation. Who’d have thought it. Anyway. It’s no great loss keeping him on mute. In fact. It’s more of a benefit. Especially for the hard of hearing, and deaf. One can imagine.
Anyway. It turns out I’m not alone in the observation area, and for different reasons. Dr Shahrar Ali — former deputy leader of the actual Green Party, the one with the rosettes rather than a sign I invented outside a mews cottage — recently stood up and said the quiet part out loud: that his old party has become, in his own words, “a danger to society.” Not to municipal drainage. Not to a beach full of discarded condoms. To society. Full stop. That’s quite the promotion from condominiums.
He didn’t stop there, either. Entryism, he called it — Islamist entryism, no less — riding in on a wave of new members drawn by leader Zack (Poulton) Polanski, debating Zionism at conference like it’s the raffle, and apparently courting specific voter demographics with the same subtlety I once brought to an exterior sign. Which is to say: none whatsoever. Notice that. Sit with it for a second.
Now. The funniest part, and there’s always a funniest part: Ali isn’t some outside crank lobbing grenades over the fence. He was deputy leader, who won a court case against his own party for unlawful discrimination over his gender-critical views, got expelled outright by 2024, and only then decided the place had gone properly doolally. Rather like discovering your own sign says something rude only after the council’s already billed you for it. You may find that thought staying with you longer than you expected.
As I stated earlier on. Life goes on. Until it doesn’t. And apparently, so does the Green Party — just not, according to one of its own former deputies, in quite the direction anybody who doesn’t appreciate a rave signed up for. A joke on a sign, a joke on a ballot paper. Different council, different era, same story, same nobody minding the shop. Some things you hang outside your own front door. Others get hung on you. So it would seem. B.Ollox.
Written by Bristol’s most prolific blogger.
The Almighty Gob — © 2026 John Langley aka www.thealmightygob.com