NIPS

What we tend to do is ask local shop holders who we have consulted to display one of our NIPS checked certificates.

We’re back with another revamp, taking the Neighbourhood Inspectorate of Product Standards into the 21st century. The old NIPS certificate isn’t up to much, but then you’d expect that for a couple of mental Northerners fucking about on telly in 1990. The brainchild of Mr Dennis and Reeves’s nemesis Graham Lister, NIPS is essentially just an excercise in needless bureaucracy, designed by its creators to appear important. Which they do for a bit. Then have a fight.

There’s also an obvious nipple gag in there, which – if we’re honest – hasn’t really stood the test of time in particularly convincing fashion, but you can’t have everything. It’s more about the delivery more than anything. And we’re always on the side of Bob Mortimer. Always.

Like Monty Python, you don’t get things like this on television so much these days, sadly. If you’re here reading this I suppose I can’t blame you for Michael McIntyre and Mrs Brown’s Boys. But one day somebody needs to be held accountable for this horrible dystopian comedy future. One day.