Bugle 216 – We’re having a baby!

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The Bugle audio newspaper for a visual world.

Hello, buglers, and welcome to issue 216 of the Bugle Audio Newspaper for a Visual World with me, Andy Doltzman, here in Kolkata, or and as they say in these parts shalom and happy Hanukkah to one and all and joining me live from his favourite city by the magic stroke witchcraft that is the telephone all the way from Los Angeles it's John Oliver.

Hello Andy, hello buglers and it is another ludicrous combination of locations this week with Andy in Calcutta, Chris in Hamburg, Ped in London, Paul in New York and me in LA.

It is not going to get any less feasible for us to do this Andy until one of us moves to the moon.

I'm currently talking to you from my hotel room, which is directly overlooking the Dolby Theatre, which now stages the Oscars every year, and where I presume I will be for the 2014 Oscars for my role in Smurfs 2.

What I might do, Andy, is just book this hotel room now in anticipation of that, because as we both know, it's a borderline statistical certainty that I'm going to be up for that.

It'll be a choice between John Oliver for Vanity Smurf, Brad Pitt for playing someone less handsome than himself, and Daniel Day-Lewis for playing Princess Anne in the upcoming biopic that everyone's excited about.

I'm actually looking out of my window right now, Andy, at Hollywood Boulevard, where people routinely dress up as cartoon characters and movie characters to pose for photos with tourists before basically mugging them.

And

I'm currently looking at Jack Sparrow, a SpongeBob and a very depressed looking Spider-Man whose costume doesn't button up properly at the back and who seems to be wearing underneath some kind kind of Metallica t-shirt.

Look, all I'm saying, Andy, is if I was the green goblin right now, I would try and take over the earth immediately because from my vantage point, Spider-Man is either drunk, about to burst into tears, or both.

And I will also say that for perhaps understandable reasons, Elmo seems to be keeping a low profile on Hollywood Boulevard at the moment.

It used to be there were at least three Elmos walking around at any one time, but in light of current news events, I think they're probably in the process of spraying themselves green and calling themselves curbed.

And John has the Spider-Man managed to lift anything massive because that's kind of his shtick isn't it?

The massive thing he's lifting Andy is the burden of his own sadness as he walks up and down.

So it is quite a feat of strength.

Hollywood.

A city of dreams.

So I've been having an absolute ball here in India, by which I mean my dress doesn't fit and my feet hurt from dancing.

Thanks again to all the Indian buglers who've come to my shows here.

Not all of the 1.1 billion Indian buglers have made it, but still very decent turnout.

So thanks very much for coming to those and especially also a huge thanks to the Indian cricket team for making England feel so extremely welcome.

As always a section of the bugle is going straight in the bin.

This week it's a how to turn a sausage back into a live pig section.

Tricky process to be honest.

We'll tell you how to do it in just 101 difficult steps.

May require mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a big pile of sausage meat and an audio DIY do's and don'ts guide part one where not to drill

oops that section in the bit

top story this week Bugle Royal special stop everything you're doing everybody on earth stop everything that you are doing we're having a baby Britain is having a baby

Andy

it would have been so easy to not do a bugle this week with our current geographical circumstances and it just may be that this bugle will sound a little worse than usual that you know I have to do it down a phone line but there was nothing that could possibly stop us when the news came out that Kate Middleton has a tiny person in her stomach it happened Andy you go away for one week, Andy, just one week and a princess gets pregnant.

Don't tell me that that is just coincidence.

Yeah, there is absolutely no other news in the world this week.

It's basically been like the week that the imminent birth of Jesus was leaked to the gospel hacks in Naught, BC.

And I cannot believe, John, that I have been 4,944 miles away from home on the greatest day in the history of the British nation since the invention of the sandwich.

What a day when all the nation's problems and all the cares of the world melted away at the news of the miracle child, the magic tot, who will surely bring a new Eden to all all remaining corners of our glorious empire, albeit that the only bits left of that empire are the Falkland Islands, Gibraltar, memory service station, and the M4 motorway, at least since we wrested control back from the Mexicans in a bloodthirsty guerrilla raid, and of course, England.

But these are great days, John.

Great days.

How's America reacted?

Well, you know, I mean, as far as I can see down there, Spider-Man has started punching the air, Andy, and he looks happier.

So the magic child is already working its little magic.

I mean, the fact is, it's all over the news here as well, because nothing else has happened this week or if it has it frankly doesn't matter because Kate Middleton is the proud owner of some fertilised eggs.

She will now, as is tradition, curl up in a nest and Pippa Middleton will sit on her for the next seven months to assist the incubation, occasionally giving her food by regurgitating it into her mouth.

The Royal Family have some strange but deeply rooted traditions, Andy, as we both know.

The news came out when it emerged that Kate Middleton had been admitted to hospital earlier in the week, suffering from acute morning sickness.

Seconds later all the major news agencies were pulling their journalists from Cairo, Damascus and Afghanistan to send them to stand outside a hospital for no discernible reason whatsoever shouting at any doctor who walks past where's the baby we demand to see the baby release the baby right now as shaken doctors attempted to point out that the baby would not be born for at least another six months the journalists finally snapped screaming why the cover-up release the baby right now this is a conspiracy she's gonna try and smuggle that tot out inside her womb the the initial scans have shown a a small fetus with a full crown on its head so it is a genuine royal baby and what is most amazing John so soon after all the fuss about the topless pictures of Kate Middleton in European magazines a micro-king will soon be chowing down on those self-same sainted royal waplets that cause such an unclothed stir when when photographed, unmistakably protuberating from her ladyship's otherwise unblemished torso.

It just shows how quickly fortunes can change.

The hysteria was so intense that when Kate was finally released from hospital just yesterday, I was half expecting to see hordes of paparapti with X-ray machines and ultrasound equipment tackling her to the floor and rubbing gel on her stomach to try and get the first picture of the unborn golden child.

I don't think I've ever felt so sorry for a baby before it's even been born, Andy.

If I was that child, I would try and string this pregnancy out for as long as possible.

Because as soon as it sets foot outside that womb, it is stepping into a category five shitstorm.

And to mark the momentous moment, if indeed a moment can be momentous, but in this case, that now seems even doubly momentous, there will be special giant pewter casts of the Duchess's royal thoraciclets, enormous breast-shaped public sculptures filled with milk from the royal herd of cows, including her royal countess countess Ermintrude, the dowager lady cow Buttercup and the Duchess of Malmesbury, at whose giant pewter teats the public will be entitled to suckle for 12 months after the royal birth.

The birth which will secure British independence for at least another 1,000 years will also be marked in the following ways.

All babies born on the same day will have their happy coincidence marked with a free tattoo of Kate Middleton's face on their little faces, free of charge, paid for by proceeds from Prince Charles' biscuit cartel.

To show support for the Holy Princess, all British women of childbearing age will be forced to walk around with increasingly large cushions shoved up their tops and jumpers for the next six months, and to ceremonially vomit in sympathy every morning.

Plus, they will have to eat weird meals and snacks that the Duchess might be craving, such as gherkin and marmalade roulard, squid-flavoured ice cream with locust eggs sprinkled on top, and cottage pie made with a real cottage.

Crunchy but homely.

And also, all babies born within a week either side of the royal baby will be quarantined on the Sandringham Estate for 18 years to make sure none of the royal sperminants escaped during the Osmosing process and impregnabled an ordinary human British woman, which could cause a disputed succession, just like in the 18th century.

This poor, poor, rich baby, Andy, has no idea what it has got in store for it.

I really wouldn't be surprised if the first scan showed an image of the baby with its head in its hands.

It's not kidding.

It's slamming its head into the womb in frustration.

This really has been a spectacularly invasive week of turbo overreaction from Britain.

I don't know how the birth is really going to top this unless Cape Middleton literally gives birth on the balcony of Buckingham Palace and Prince William then immediately holds the baby up to the assembled crowd like Simba in the Lion King.

Just when you thought that Britain had reached its maximum level of hysteria, something pushed it over the top and that thing was a doctor remarking in an offhand way on TV that extreme morning sickness can sometimes be a sign of twins.

Holy shit, Britain's going to have twins, Andy.

I know that we don't know that for sure.

In fact, technically we don't know that at all.

But we're all expecting twins now, so anything less than her popping out two babies in quick succession is going to be a huge disappointment.

And if it is twins, which it definitely will be if Princess Kay gives a shit about this country, then it's going to throw up an interesting quandary regarding succession.

Because the gender bias of prioritising male heirs has now been overturned, meaning that whichever baby comes out first is the direct heir to the throne.

In the event of a C-section, it will of course be up to the doctor who comes out first.

So at that point, as is tradition, once more the doctor will be blindfolded and spun around several times.

Wherever the birth does eventually take place and the ermine-lined womb finally produces its hallowed produce, it will be broadcast on giant T V screens in all public parks and town squares throughout the empire with the Duchess's agonised screams drowned out by the dulcet singing of King's College Choir.

Although personally John, I think this is a great opportunity for one of the great pranks of all time for Kate Middleton to emerge from hospital with a little cuddly toy saying to the press corps, not even pregnant,

you should see the look on your faces.

So how then was this royal baby conceived?

As John suggested, these things go back in tradition for hundreds, if not thousands of years.

We all know, of course, that these glorious royal blessings not happen in the conventional way that us mere mortals have to put up with the grubby intercaustal frubblings of a Prongle and a Madame Asette.

No, royal babies are produced in a far more dignified manner, as you would very much expect.

Prince William is, of course, the current proud bearer of the Majesticals.

the royal nads, the original Krowl jewels, the nutlets handed down from generation to generation since Henry V captured them on the battlefield of Agincourt in 1415.

William took the majesticles in their velveteen presentational scrotillium to the crypt in Westminster Abbey, where they were warmed to optimum fertilisation temperature on the royal embers that had been kept aflame for just this purpose ever since a still-smouldering Virgin Joan of Arc was brought back from Rouen to help the then-King Henry VI conceive.

The majesticles were then transported in a donkey-drawn carriage, still attached to the Prince by locks of hair from the mane of the unicorn Henry VIII rode at his coronation, to the Embryonis vault in Windsor Castle, where the Lord Royal Gonadier extracted the royal spermament.

The spermament was then, in accordance with tradition, placed in a George Foreman grille given to the Queen by the former World Heavyweight champion last year, to replace the defunct previous royal skillet, which had been the receptacle for all royal concepciones since the early 17th century.

Experts say it never really recovered from being used on a weekly basis by all of Charles II's mistresses.

The grille was plugged in and set to a low-heat setting.

The Duchess, meanwhile, held the ceremonial womb of Wessex behind a screen, whereupon the Archbishop of Canterbury sang the ancient madrigal Touch Me, Touch Me, I Wanna Feel Your Body, covered of course in a 1980s style by Her Excellency Samantha Fox, the Countess of Nantwich.

The now fully ready spermant duly osmosed through the screen into the womb, which the Duchess then roosted on like a chicken for 40 days and 40 nights to ensure a successful royal babification.

That, John, is how the future of our nation was secured.

All we have to do now is wait.

Well, and I think that Kay Middleton should play that.

everything you just said through headphones and place them on her stomach so the child can be soothed with that level of wave upon wave of bullshit.

The impact of the royal baby has of course been felt around the world.

Here in India the government passed legislation allowing Western supermarkets to march into Indian cities in a tribute to their former royal family involving encouraging a more acceptable form of commercial imperialism.

Furthermore also in India I went to a restaurant last night John with an Indian friend and we ordered something called a Kiri kebab that the waiter had told us was from a cow.

So we both assumed it was just some standard bit of beef.

I ate it.

It was absolutely, unremittingly disgusting.

My Indian friend then received a text message from his own Indian friend letting him know that Kiri Kebab is in fact Udder.

That's right, John.

I unwittingly ate a cow's whap just days after it became public.

There will soon be a British prince or princess suckling on a human whap back home.

That's you know, that cannot be put down to coincidence, John.

Oh my god.

Well, you can't un-eat that, Andy.

That is something that's happened now.

I cannot un-eat that Udder, which I believe was a song by Perry Como in the 1950s.

Apparently, one of the side effects of this extreme nausea is constant heavy retching.

And I'm sure that Kate Middleton delivered a very ladylike retching anyway, Andy, an extremely dainty retching, like the retching of a fluttering butterfly.

And when she left the hospital yesterday, she nodded when asked by reporters if she was feeling better, although it must have been very tempting to nod and then flip an elegant bird in a majestic single-digit royal salute.

The BBC Royal correspondent, Louisa Baldini, said the Duchess seems tentative and less energetic than usual.

Well, of course she was less fing energetic.

She's just been throwing up the contents of her stomach for the last 96 hours.

You'd be less energetic too if you'd just gone on a high-profile, four-day vomiting spree, only to be welcomed across the finish line by the entire world's media, you fing moron.

take that baldini and then go and get a proper job

so what does the future greatest baby in the history of the universe have to look forward to well he she or it will be third in line to the throne and will be hounded tirelessly by the dregs of journalism from their first breath to their last and the whole world is not wasting any time in getting excited from my window actually right now andy I think I can see someone dressed up as the fetus on Hollywood Boulevard and is taking photos with tourists.

In perhaps the craziest move, in a cornucopia of creepiness, a forensic artist has even engineered images of the yet-to-be-born child with projected likenesses for both a three-year-old boy and a three-year-old girl.

And I've seen them both, Andy, and to be honest, they both look like Michael Jackson.

I don't know what that means.

Yeah, I mean, there are tough times ahead, of course, for the Solemrio,

but it has, as I said, inspired amazing things around the world.

Former Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi has given indications that he will run for office again next year.

Now, John, this just shows the wondrous inspiration Kate Middleton and her divine womb have had on the world, John.

She's shown that anything is possible.

If she can bear a child, just like ordinary mortal women, then truly we can all do anything.

And Berlusconi has seen this.

And he's thought two things.

One, if she can do that, I can run for office again, despite having been convicted of various crimes.

And two, Kate Middleton, oh yeah, I've got a better chance if I'm back in a politics.

The butterfly effect of this magic baby effect in the news spread even further.

This week, a team of former NASA executives launched a private venture to send two people to the moon for $1.4 billion.

And you can't say that that definitely wasn't inspired by this baby, Andy.

In fact, I think the baby should come straight out with a cheque for 1.4 billion and have its first words be, Take me to the finging moon.

This has been done to let the happy royal coupling have their special primogenital moment in the privacy of the moon, John.

This is the only way they can get away from the press by flying to the moon for the birth.

I mean, it is suggested in various uh parenting books as well, a moon birth takes a lot of pressure off the body, makes it easier to shove the baby out.

But one thing is clear, Andy, and that is that this child is going to have a lot on its golden shoulders as its birth very well could save the economy in Britain.

The Centre for Retail Research said that in 2011 £199 million

was spent on royal wedding souvenirs and that a baby could prove almost, if not more, popular.

In fact less than 24 hours after the pregnancy was announced, a Staffordshire pottery firm said it was already starting work on a commemorative mug, which is pretty impressive when the baby currently resembles a kind of blurry tadpole.

And the firm, this pottery firm, started producing blue, red, and white mugs, which apparently just say a royal baby in 2013.

And they started doing that on Tuesday morning.

And they're also releasing some companion mugs saying, who gives a shit about Syria?

And on the other side, it's Royal Baby Time.

She went on to say, the owner of this firm said, people want family heirlooms and I'm sure there's also a massive export market, particularly in America.

See America, supply and demand.

You want our pottery shit?

We will give you our pottery shit.

Finally, Andy, the final magic baby influence story was that apparently coffee chain Starbucks agreed to pay more UK corporation tax.

And, I mean, there's only one reason why they would all of a sudden do that, Andy.

They fear the baby.

They fear that baby exacting its special kind of tiny justice.

And they backed the f down before that baby took them the f out.

Bugle logo design competition news now and the competition is now closed.

We will be analysing and judging the entries this week and announcing the winner on next week's Bugle 217.

The prize is going to be £300 in Her Majesty's Royal Baby Faced Cash plus a signed print of your winning entry if you win and it will be signed by Elvis Presley and any other celebrity of your choice, as long as it's me and John.

And I will PP it for Elvis if you want that as well.

So, we'll be announcing the winner next week.

No time for emails because, well, as we suggested, the sound quality on this recording probably isn't great.

There's been a lot of honking of car horns from the street outside.

Any of you who've been to India will know they love the honk.

They have horns on all vehicles here and they believe that God gave us horns so we could honk.

And I think the maximum that I've heard since I got here two and a bit weeks ago, John, without a honk is 3.8 seconds.

That is as long as you can go without hearing something honk.

It's a kind of beautiful jazz, almost a kind of Morse code of national pride.

We'll be back next week with Bugle 217, the results of the competition.

Do keep your emails coming in to info at thebuglepodcast.com.

Check out our SoundCloud page, soundcloud.com slash the hyphen bugle.

And we'll be back next week when I'll be back in Blighty, closer to the holy royal baby.

John, I believe I may be cured of all current and future diseases just by being within 20 miles of the royal fetus.

These are truly historic times.

So praise be to all the lords in the known universe for blessing Britain Britain with this holy child.

Until next week, farewell.

Bye!

Hi buglers, it's producer Chris here.

I just wanted to very quickly tell you about my new podcast, Mildly Informed, which is in podcast feeds and YouTube right now.

Quite simply, it's a show where me and my friend Richie review literally anything.

So please come join us wherever you get your podcasts right now.