Sun ed barred from Rockall boozer

Battling Rebekah Wade in lifetime ban

by Albert Square

UK tabloid editor Rebekah Wade was last week barred from Rockall's liveliest pub — the Fighting Dog and Pikey — after a "bit of bother" involving flying fists, expletives and hapless hubby Ross Kemp sparko in the carpark.

Rebekah Wade: Fruit machine Landlord Vince, pulling the morning's first pint of Olde Wifebeater as a team of Brazilian cleaners wrestled with the aftermath of the carnage, told The Rockall Times: "Well, I suppose it was a silly row really which got out of hand, but to be honest I've had belligerent tabloid editors up to here. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like the Sun as much as the next man, especially when you've got to spend half an hour on the khazi expelling a particularly vicious chicken madras through your burning ringpiece, but I reckon it's a bit rich banging on about lawless Britain and Asbo-dodging teenagers high on alcopops and Crazy Frog ringtones happyslapping some decorated war hero's terrier before attaching it to an illegal Chinese firework and blowing the poor little bugger up when you yourself are not adverse to a touch of the old fisticuffs."

"And don't get him started on Eastenders," offered snug regular Arthur "Chalky" Black, pulling up a stool and attacking with relish a bottle of Hasselwood Rock Heritage Pale Ale and a packet of Olde Capt'n Trumpy's Guillemot and Herring Crisps.

"And don't get me started on Eastenders," thundered Vince while sweeping shattered glass from the blood-spattered bar. "Ross Kemp is ok in my book after signing a copy of Ross Kemp's Top 100 Tips for Better Sneering manual for the church roof raffle, but bloody hell it took 20 coppers to subdue Elaine Lordan after she lost the final of the charity shove-ha'penny contest to Jessie Wallace. They'd put away two bottles of premium Britannia Fighting Sherry between 'em — the locals still talk about the 'Crikey in the Pikey' — and then Dean Gaffney..."

"Yeah, Gaffney weighed in with a pool cue and it was goodnight Vienna," chipped in a spotty youth clutching a fistful of pound coins. "Oi, where's the bloody fruitie?"

"Out on the patio. Wade tried to hit Kemp with it, missed and it went straight through the public bar window," explained Vince. "Anyway, so Gaffney's piling in with the pool cue and Wallace is shouting 'I'm your bloody mother,' or somesuch gibberish and me the Old Bill manage to wrestle the three of 'em outside only to find Gillian Taylforth with her mouth round her other half's piece in some Landrover parked next to the kiddies' play area. The mind boggles."

At this point sheep farmer Davey Leveret — fresh from a three-day, EU-sponsored Brussels conference on maximising ovine lactation with the aid of a big European cheque — walked gingerly through the remains of the door in search of his usual pre-lunch livener.

"Jesus, Vince, what happened here? Tabloid editor I suppose?" he remarked.

"Got it in one. Never get this trouble with the broadsheets," confirmed Vince.

"What about the Guardian? Didn't you bar the whole lot of 'em earlier this year?" offered Chalky.

"Yeah, but that was because they get on my fuc*king tits," explained Vince, picking up the TV remote control to indicate that the matter was now closed.

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Sun ed barred from Rockall boozer

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