At conference end

As we all know by now the Biffers have decided not to hold any more annual conferences. Fuhrer Golding made the momentous announcement during his New Year message to the party faithful, both of whom were clearly very pleased to hear the news. We tracked them down to a seedy pub in Swanley where they were only too happy to give us their opinions (so long as we paid for the kebabs and foreign lager). Both seemed rather relieved…

“At least we won’t have to keep changing clothes and wigs for photo opportunities to make it look like there’s more than just the two of us.”
(Biffy Nomates 2016)

Biffy wasn’t alone in this. His mate ‘Snorty’ was equally pleased. He took time out from his busy snorting schedule to offer up these wise words…

“It hurts my hands holding so many bloody flags at events an’ all. I know we need to bump up the numbers but gripping so many bloody bamboo poles between your fingers really chafes after a while.”

(Steelo “Snorty” Bovverboot 2016)

BF scrapping future national conferences

The Biffers weren’t immediately enthralled by the alternative prospect of a camping holiday in Lincolnshire.

“We know that real soldiers camp out and everything” Explained Biffy “But we’re really only any good at fighting terrorists on the iPad.”

“I’m a bit uncomfortable about spiders” Agreed Snorty.

Sensing their discomfort our reporters thought it might be nice to offer them a bit of reassurance – a slim sliver of hope to cling to as they sought for a route out of their mounting despair.

“There’ll be a beer tent.”
Snorty and Biffy brightened up instantly.
“It’s a piss up at the outdoor!”
“It’ll be like a festival – like Donnington or Glastonbury”
“Or Milwall.”

Biffy shot Snorty a ‘look’ as if to say “Shhhh!” before explaining that Biffers are all very respectable and not at all involved in violence – especially not violence related to team-based recreational activities. Our reporter pretended to be convinced and moved the conversation on to more welcome topics like race hatred, white supremacy and Snorty’s deep-seated longing for another Kristalnacht.

“Oh not that again!” Exclaimed Biffy. “It’s all you ever talk about. Kristanacht this, Kristalnacht that…”

Momentarily quieted by his friend’s interjection, Snorty looked cowed, even sheepish. He glanced around the bar to see if anyone had heard. His haunted expression showing all the hallmarks of a man used to being ridiculed for his ridiculous Nazism.

“Snorty wants to be Golding!” Whispered Biffy, conspiratorially.
It became clear that Snorty had indeed modelled his belief system on the dweebish Fuhrer, Folding Golding. And he was made the object of ridicule by those around him just as often as his hero, with or without the knotted hankie on his head.

Another trip to the bar in search of even more foreign lager for the boys later and the conversation moved back to the prospect of a Lincolnshire field with a beer tent and a bunch of keyboard warriors. As the only two paid up Biffers who don’t have a leadership position the boys apologised but said they really couldn’t confirm or deny the proposed location (although Snorty was confident that the Lincolnshire showground should be a front-runner). They knew why the conference had morphed into a grotesque parody of the Queen’s garden party even if not where it would be held.

“Why is that then?” Inquired our reporter.

“Coz a do in a hotel costs too much when nobody turns up.”
As if by way of emphasis, Snorty punctuated his statement with a large draught of cheap central European lager – brewed by next year’s immigrants, no doubt.

“Face it” Offered Biffy. “Golding’s our leader but he’s still a tosser and nothing says sad Nazi wannabe like an empty function room.”

We could only agree.

Hobnob anyone?

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