I think Pascal is a poor hen-pecked sod who's forced to pose for ludicrous shots by his horrible wife who'll write any old woman-bashing shite for a bit of attention and a nice bung from Mr Dacre.

I suspect next month we'll be treated to a piece on how it's perfectly OK for men to use prostitutes when women are on their period, and why the odd black eye just shows how much he loves you, or something equally preposterous.

Also, unless his name is "Pascal Brick", I note he didn't make her take his name.

They're not married.

I am ashamed to know that.

Of course they aren't married - he is so intimidated by her beauty that he's worried she'd laugh in his face if he ever asked her.

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"Now get those trousers off before someone dies!"

Pascal rather reminds me of the Citroen van driving maniac who murders the family in the French horror film Haute Tension (Switchblade Romance in the UK). It's not that he looks the same, it's just something about him... maybe the guns, 'tache, army fatigues, and the thousand yard stare.

He reminds me of one of the Cajuns in 'Southern Comfort'.

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Ten seconds... the pain begins.

Fifteen seconds... you can't breathe.

Twenty seconds... you give up and turn off the Jeremy Vine show.

I saw one of these bofs (for that is how I call them) in action in a small restaurant in Normandy. A young couple came in, leaving their big touring motorbike outside. They sat down and ordered and then the Bof collared them. He went and sat at their table and talked motorbikes at them until they left. He just went on and on and they were far too polite to tell him to fuck off. So they had a quick pizza and left.
Typical of the breed.

Also to be seen in desert fatigues with assorted guns and bottles of eau de vie out shooting anything that moves, which fortunately includes a dozen or so other bofs each year, as well as cats and dogs, cows, crows and signs.

Coincidentally, ask any Scot what the word 'plook' (pluke? plouk? it doesn't get written down much) means and they'll tell you it means a pimple. As in 'a face full ae plooks'. Seems appropriate.

Delingpole's outgunned in either round.

Heimdal's Frilly Drawers! What happens when he gets punched on the top lip? It'd work like a cheesegrater...

Plook or plouk. I found a Scots Dictionary in a second-hand bookshop recently.

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Sick Left-wing Zealot.

In the absence of marriage, I shall update my wager: he'll have left her and be engaged to someone else within a year, and we'll all have to endure the "oh noes, mah looks r teh fadez! I r a lonely spinster" articles and ensuing backlash

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Please note: this badger is up to date with her vaccinations. She did not give your cows TB, and as such anyone attempting to kill her will be tied to a chair naked, covered in jam and positioned over a nest of very angry ants.

Being a spinster, of course, being the worst fate that could possibly befall anyone. OMG! No man! Might as well just commit suicide now, since your life is pointless.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/artic ... z1zY5uWCBx

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Sick Left-wing Zealot.

Move along folks, nothing to see here...