Pete Doherty's ankle bone

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“The ankle bone that started it all.”

“The ankle bone formerly known as Prince.”

~ Kevin Eldon

“The evil mastermind behind the Conservative party and 70's architecture.”

~ Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)
Just out of frame, the ankle bone lurks, waiting for his chance at fame

Pete Doherty's ankle bone was the inspiration behind Vic and Bob and countless other Northern surreal-comedy duos. He had a brief career in politics, before following the standard public-school career path and making a stand in indie pop, but was perhaps best known for his collaboration with Chris Morris in their cult TV sketch show, Pete Doherty and Two Packets of Crisps.

Early life[edit | edit source]

Born in the year 1979, Pete Doherty's ankle bone was a happy child, living in Northumberland, with a doting family that spoiled him rotten. Although different from other children due to certain physical and anatomical anomalies, other kids chose not to find that as an issue, and no-one ever dared to even mention his disfiguring facial birthmark. A police investigation into children disappearing in his neighbourhood is thought to have established a correlation between children who muttered something under their breath whilst he was in the vicinity and children who were then found decomposing in a ditch several months later after a prolonged TV search campaign. It was at this point Pete's ankle bone's father became Chief of Police. After an extensive period of sweeping reform up and down the department, the investigation was forgotten about. There were no survivors.

Pete's ankle bone performance at school was average in most subjects, but he displayed a distinct innate talent for computers and programming. Due to this, and some creative web-searching, he was able to establish a reputation at school as "the one with all the dirty photos of Princess Di". He was asked by the headmaster to give an apology to the entire school for souring the building's facade with the same pictures, but shifted the blame over to the tabloids, stating that "If it weren't for the tireless efforts of photographers with telephoto lenses, none of this could have happened.".

Little is known about the ankle bone's later teenage years, as no school records survived the great Records Purge of the late 90's.

Career in politics[edit | edit source]

The first recorded appearance of the ankle bone was on graduating from Cambridge University, with a Masters in both PPE and one of the pointless subjects, Drama or something, not a proper subject - like English. Or Being an Effete, Upper-class Tory Ponce. Now, that's a real man's subject.

Life under Margaret[edit | edit source]

Using his family connections, he managed to secure a Saturday job as Chancellor of the Exchequer under Margaret "Died at the Ritz" Thatcher, now in her seventh term. Britain appeared to be teetering on the edge of war with Military-Industrial Complex #6, due to the Prime Overlord claiming she had left her necklace in Ronald Reagan's pants drawer, thus owning the entire country.

One day, shortly after the forgotten traitor was publicly executed, he was walking down Downing Street, when he heard a strangled cry come from Number 10. Investigating, he saw the door was slightly ajar. Walking inside, he could see a maid sobbing at the bottom of the stairs. He asked why she was crying. "Well, sir", she said, blinking back tears, "this morning, when I finally worked up enough courage to kill her and put the demon possessing her out of his misery, the hammer slipped and I completely mashed her face. I was going to have her head mounted above the mantelpiece at my Swiss hunting lodge, but that's gone out the window now."

The ankle bone sat for a minute composing himself. He couldn't believe it. It was awful. He wouldn't be able to compete in the fight to the death over who got to take over the role. Chancellors had been banned from taking part ever since the Oracles had forecast the Brown government. He was out of a job.

The great racist schism of the 21st century[edit | edit source]

Looking rather pleased with himself, a young Farage has just killed his first foreigner

After Nigel Farage rose, stained with gore and body fluid, from the piles of flesh and waste in the Houses of Parliament, Britain went through a series of radical, barking mad racist reforms.

After all British, white, privileged, unemployed, Christian, straight people had been armed with a rifle - a Lee Enfield, mind, not an awful foreign gun - they were instructed to kill everyone who was not exactly like them on sight. This brought down the population of the country down from 60 million, to two, back up to 30 million, and then stabilising at around 10 million or so.

The ankle bone, having achieved glory during the schism by single-handedly killing the entire Muslim population of Luton, was appointed as head of vigilante group EDL ( A group devoted to killing the atheist resistance in Snowdon) and given the secondary title MP for Northumberland. However, these halcyon days were not to last for long.

The Sun, purveyor of condoms to the masses, had set up its new office in Northumberland, and whilst nosily looking through old police folders, underneath a folder titled "Child disappearances in Northumberland", they found the ankle bone's tax folder.

In a drawn-out and messy public trial, the ankle bone was found guilty of not dodging tax. He was cast out of the government, and, as a final act of punishment, his archaic, racist ideals were stripped from him as he left Whitehall.

Indie pop: A light in the darkness[edit | edit source]

This was a dark time in the ankle bone's life. Never had he felt so down. He lived for six months on the streets and other distinguishing features of Northumberland county, eating scraps that onlookers threw at him. Then, one day, a passer-by didn't impulsively kick him as they walked by. He looked up. Little did he know it, but his work partner for the next seven years was staring at him, in a mildly revolted fashion.

What the meeting may have looked like for the ankle bone. Clearly, by this point, Pete had already begun to become dependent on his illegal highs.

The ankle bone and Pete Doherty struck up a fast friendship, and friends of the pair around this period have said they were inseparable. Joined at the hip, or foot. Whichever. They didn't care.

They both discovered a mutual love for music, and guitars, and on-off relationships with the famous model, drugs. They formed a band out of their garage, called The Libertines, and achieved modest global success. Songs by the band include "Carrots", "I wish I was black so I could say the N-word", and "Help me! This is a cry for help! I'm slowly developing an addiction! Please someone notice so I can stop my life going off the rails!".

After their success, fans of the band were shocked when some surprising news hit the headlines. Pete had developed a crippling addiction to Kate Moss. The band split up, and Pete was sent off to rehab. Looking back on his past in a recent UKTV biopic, the ankle bone stated "This was the lowest ebb for Pete. He spent eighty-six years in rehab, only to be found huffing Moss in my garage, weeping quietly to himself and staring at a picture of his last girlfriend. She had a funny name. Something like Ketamine, or Crack. Always sounded a bit rude, Crack."

After Pete was discovered in the bone's garage, the ankle bone decided the only way to stop Pete from harming himself was by completely removing his brain and placing it in a sterilised jar, electrocuting it whenever his thoughts wandered over to Kate.

The band got back together and did a reunion tour, but the loss of both one of the guitarists and a competent singer (Freddy Mercury had died the previous summer) had driven away fans. The band split up again, this time permanently. The last time the ankle bone saw him, he was eating squirrels in a pub car park somewhere in Darkest Surrey.

Television Comedy[edit | edit source]

Disappointed by the failure of everything he had done in his life, the ankle bone climbed to the roof of the BBC building in Nigel Farage City (Formerly London). He jumped off the edge and fell twenty storeys to his death.

On the way down, he passed Chris Morris sitting outside the Chair's office, nervously clutching a script. Using his monkey paw's last wish, he hovered outside the open window. He called out to Chris, and asked him why he was there. Chris said he was handing in a proposal for a new series called History of British Beer Distillation Vol. 6, but he thought it missed that extra something that his previous series had. The ankle bone thought for a minute, then said "How about you call it "Pete Doherty and Two Packets of Crisps"?", then chucked his monkey's paw away and smeared the pavement with his hot, thick blood.

Now, I'm sure you're all familiar with what happened next. Chris thought the suggestion was amazing, so he renamed the script. The chair loved it, and greenlit the show with a budget of a million pounds. Chris was delighted, but then his face darkened. His helper was now dead. Tomorrow's kebab. He said yes to the offer, but only if Pete Doherty's ankle bone was named as head writer.

And Pete Doherty and Two Packets of Crisps is now entering its twenty-third season. There is a theme park, there are T-shirts, Chris Morris is now a Russian oil baron and a Sheikh. All thanks to the ankle bone. God bless.