Wednesday, February 28, 2007


Tender touch

Hello kiddies,

I'm back from my short medical break. It h'rt. It h'rt bad. Thanks for all the get well messages and comments, I really... oh wait! I didn't get any. Thanks a bungle (sic).

Part of my convalescence was spent watching the Oscars which were awfully good, weren't they?

No. They were rubbish.

See you later.

Friday, February 16, 2007



I'm off to get a bit of work done; couple of things need snipping, a few more need lifting and one either needs removing entirely or at the very least pushing in. Have lovely time and wish me luck.



Look at this scum-bag:

It's the most illegal book in the UK. By reading it you shall be aiding and abetting law-breakers. Do not buy it.

Don't do it. And don't look at this.


Hurrah & huzzah!

I implore and urge you all to take a look here. In said article Geoffrey Levy talks about the statue of Lady Thatcher that is to be unveiled in the House of Commons next week.

It is a monumental piece of writing by a man bravely ignoring all emperical evidence to instead concentrate on how this fabulous woman stirred his loins. He writes,

"She stood, proud and uncompromising, over this country for eleven glorious years; her natural radiance filling the hearts of all that heard her voice, saw her face or felt her soft, sweet touch."

Actually, he doesn't write that, but you feel that he should.

I have talked at length about my work for the Government over the years, here for instance. Whilst Lady Thatcher never quite did it for me (I was quite unmoved by those ankles so beloved of Alan Clarke) I always had a soft spot for Dennis. I'd see him at drinks parties at No.10 wobbling around behind Lady T and would get the warmest feeling down in my nethers. He was so friendly and we had so much in common, particularly our attitude to the ethnic minorities, that it was as much as I could do to try it on right there. I didn't; I knew Bill Deedes had his claws well in there, and one doesn't mess with Fleet Street if one can help it.

Anyway, God bless you Lady T. Here's to another eighty-one years.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007


A decent Bush

This is from 'The Smoking Gun', I believe:

"FEBRUARY 13--Government officials have rejected a Florida man's bid to trademark the term "Obama bin Laden," ruling that the conflation of the names of a U.S. Senator and the world's leading terrorist was "scandalous" and wrongly suggested a connection between the politician and the mass murderer. In a February 6 decision, U.S. Patent and Trademark Office attorney Karen K. Bush informed applicant Alexandre Batlle of her decision not to register the trademark."

Now, there's a great deal going on in here. What's the betting that were you to investigate Mr. Batlle's background one would find official connections to a political group or another (you can't rule out any interested parties, if you get my drift). My interest, though, is in the comments on Bin Laden.

The description of him as "the world's leading terrorist" is a joy; is there some league table of terror that has him just holding off a Colombian for the number one spot? The other thing is the "mass murderer" description; I'm not sure that this has been proven. We have been told he was responsible for September the 11th, he may have even claimed to be responsible for September the 11th, but that doesn't make him responsible for September the 11th.

God made September the 11th and I'm looking forward to this years September the 11th a great deal.

Monday, February 12, 2007



It is Winter time,
Snow,ice and rain lash Britain,
Trains don't run on time.

My prostate is large,
It halts my urination,
And disturbs my sleep.

A blow-job is fun,
But can be a risky thing,
If you wear dentures.

I am an old man,
My eyes are weak and feeble,
But I still like tits.

Evil infidels,
Shall be beheaded he says,
On you tube dot com.

I'm a pretentious
And wanky middle-class prick,
But I'm also bored.

Sunday, February 11, 2007


He's gone and done it again

Dear Jonathan Ross,

Just so you know:

Worst. Baftas. Ever. Stay off the TV, mate. Stick to radio.

If I'm having trouble understanding what he's saying, what hope has Penelope Cruz got?

Last King of Scotland? Give me a break! What a crock of shite.

Oh, and actors: Please stop leaving the script. Simon Pegg is a comedian. Ricky Gervais is a comedian. Damien Lewis, you are a ginger bollocks who landed on his feet. Don't write your own stuff. If you could write your own material you'd be what is known as a "writer". They're the fuckers who work on the same thing for three years so that you can turn up having read the script once and say, "My character wouldn't say this." Pricks.

I'm halfway through these things but I wonder, is anyone actually going to collect their award. Wow! It's so well respected that not even the special effects people could be arsed to pull themselves away from their Playstation 3.

God, this country is embarrassing.



"Yo! Whas happening 'Merica?"

Those were the first words I uttered when I guest hosted Saturday Night Live for the first time. I had had some success with a review I had put on in New York entitled 'Writers block'. It featured me on stage for an hour and a half (with an interval) staring at the back of a cereal box. Occasionally I would stand and walk to the sink in the apartment set, then return to the breakfast table and look at the cereal box again.

Lorne Michaels, the head honcho of SNL (as we call it) came to the show one evening and asked me to be on his programme (program in the States). I immediately said no because it was sub-standard slop. He told me what they paid and I changed my mind.

The filming of the show went smoothly enough considering I had not had the time, nor the inclination, to rehearse. Dana Carvey put me at my ease almost instantaneously. Such a nice... er... person (I never did work out whether Dana was a boy's or a girl's name). The evening of our show was also the debut of a certain Ben Stiller who wowed the audience with a grumpy, egocentric, over-acted character which he went on to use in almost every film he's been in.

After the recording I got a great many offers from Hollywood for various cameos and bit-parts, but I turned them all down. That one taste of the big time was enough for me; I returned to England the next day to face the charges.

Now, where's that cereal box?

Friday, February 09, 2007


Who's third?

Anna Nicole

Ian Richardson


Please let it be Dermot Murnaghan.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007



Having been weigh-laid with a touch of cat AIDS this week I have found myself prisoner to the rolling twenty-four hour news channels. I'd rather be in Abu Ghraib. The quality of the presentation on these murals of mediocrity is second to everything with misspelt captions, miscued VT and mysteriously employed presenters. How does Kay Burley justify the inordinant amount of money she inevitably earns for her sub-standard performance of a lunchtime? Is the skating tiring her out?

The biggest problem for these channels though is the lack of news, or rather the lack of news they can turn into a three-act mystery. A young man's murder in Peckham becomes a morality tale for our time (how else to explain the entirely unrelated Damilola Taylor murder mention on ITV), the spate of letterbombs a detective story to be solved. Not to belittle the stress that the victims of these attacks have been put through but I've shat and affected more people than these bangers have so far; why such wall-to-wall coverage?

There are more important stories occuring not least THE NEVER-ENDING AND ALWAYS TERRIFYING WAR IN IRAQ! Yesterday we had an Iranian diplomat kidnapped by what looks like Iraqi soldiers. This has the potential to begin a series of tit-for-tat events that could lead to the widening of the war to encompass the entire Persian Gulf. Anyone interested? Are they fupp!

Tomorrow it'll be delayed trains and England friendlies. I'm bored already.

Damn you, cat AIDS!

Friday, February 02, 2007


The Beatles

I cannot overstate my love for The Beatles. I adore The Beatles. I love The Beatles. They are everything a band should be. Musically, they were untouchable; visually, they were unimpeachable (although I think two of them have probably seen better days). They did everything right from the Hamburg-echoing hiss and clutter of 'Please please me' through to the sonic sunshine of 'Abbey Road' this was a group who, in my dimming eye, deserved every word of praise issued at them.

Listen to records again. go on, I'll wait.

What did you hear?
"The Beatles," you say "I've heard it.". Well yes, you heard The Beatles the same way that you've heard them a million times before. I want you to listen in a different way.

A much younger(ahem) friend remembers being a child in the 1980's and hearing George Harrison's 'Cloud Nine' album. He asked his dad about Harrison and the parent told him he had been in The Beatles. My friend says it struck him like a thunderbolt that The Beatles had been people; not some all conquering monster sent by God as "The best band in the World", but a group of young men with some musical instruments. Nothing more. No special advantage. No special privilege. They were four "shit-kickers" (Thanks Ringo) who worked hard and struck it lucky.

Listen to those albums again.

Hear it? What. The footsteps on the floor of studio 2. The air-conditioner buzzing in the background. Missed notes. Forgotten chords. The same as any other band, The Beatles stumbled and staggered and got up and played again. These were four boys in ordinary rooms with six-string guitars and tea towels over their drumskins. Yes, they had musical ability (more than they are often given credit for). But listen to how they changed, how they progressed. That's the sound of education and improvement. Of people looking around and taking things in (sometimes inhaling) and letting it shape the way they think.

As I say, I love The Beatles. I could go on for hours about their use of chords, McCartney's positive post-'Revolver' leadership of the group or Ringo's tom-tom fills on 'A Day in the life' but this isn't a musicology essay. This is about how you approach this band; next time you put on 'Rubber soul' and hear 'In my life' look over at the acoustic guitar in the corner of your room and try to imagine how much hard work went into writing that beautiful song. Imagine what it took to stop being lauded for ten minutes to come up with 'Drive my car'.

As I say, I love The Beatles. If you don't, then you don't but do yourself a favour and spend three and a half minutes with 'hey Bulldog' before dismissing them completely:


Only an embedded video from You Tube!

This is good:


Read all about it!

Funny headline on NewsBiscuit! Internet in shock!

"Italian waiter with normal sized pepper mill disappoints hen party."

It's not amazing but compared to the usual crud that kicks about on their it ain't bad. There was a story to go with it but obviously I didn't read that.

The stuff on there is just so often sub-standard; it's a strange amalgam of the socio-political, the twee and the absurd which doesn't quite work. Look at this from today's front page:

"Turin shroud dyed pink in washing machine bungle.

The Turin Shroud, believed by many to be the last veil of Jesus Christ, has been accidentally thrown in a washing machine by a contract cleaner at the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist in Turin. Worse news was to follow when the sacred relic was discovered to have been died pink by an errant red T-shirt.

The mistake was noticed half way through the economy spin cycle after a cardinal raised the alarm that the shroud had gone missing.
‘I just couldn’t believe it” said cleaner Rosa-Maria Delarosa. ‘The bishop himself came running in and asked where the shroud was. You should have seen their faces when I explained. It was like something you see in one of those prank shows. I half expected a TV crew to pop out any minute. Sadly they didn’t."

There's no real joke there. Nothing. The 'dying your clothes pink' is as old as I am and ceased to be funny in as I became pubic. The idea that someone put the shroud in the wash is silly, but that doesn't mean it's funny. Surely there would be more material if the image had been washed away rather than the whole thing dyed pink. It's unfair to pick on one story but this is about the standard on the site.

What's that? Sour grapes? Don't be silly. I don't care that they didn't publish my articles that I put in...


Thursday, February 01, 2007


There is a God...

...and he's a gag-writer:


Finish this sentence: 28 days...

Good title that.


Cos this is about the Home Office, and in particular that useless bald turncoat tracksuit-wearing cock-head John Reid, wanting to extend the 28 day detention without charge period for those arrested under terrorist laws. It would be laughable, were it not so fucking terrifying, that at exactly the same moment this jack-booted, authoritarian prick is trying to remove the rights of those arrested but not charged, No.10 is issuing statements backing Ruth Turner and pointing out that she hasn't been charged and should be given the benefit of the doubt.

Double standards. Neigh!

The Prime Minister's spokesman said this:

"Given the continuing trend and experience over the last year, [the home secretary] now believes it is worth trying once again to convince parliament and the nation that going further would be a useful tool in the counter-terror effort."

The continuing trend is one of a sub-par set of middle-stream ministers throwing legislation at a problem and hoping to shoo it away and that's been going on for ten years at least.

Next episode: More jokes about penises.

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