Monday, December 05, 2005


Christmas Day, 2005. Gary Bartlett, the organist off of Take That, has spent the morning shooting pheasant in the grounds of his 2 gazillion acre stately home with pals Gary Neville and Stan "The Jairmans, The Jairmans" Boardman.

It is 2 o'clock and several generations of the Bartletts are sat in the Main Dining Room on the seventh floor at Bartlett Hall tucking into the very formal Bartlett Christmas Dinner. The mock mediaeval oak table is 93 feet long. Servants run around ceaselessly, and the scullery and kitchens are a hive of activity, but that will not concern us here.

Voices are heard around the table.

Gary: "I had a phone call from Littlemark yesterday trying to tap me for ten quid so he can stand his round on new year's eve. It's getting really embarrassing."

(everyone ignores him as the vegetables are passed round).

Gary: "Mmm, bagsy me the sage and onion stuffing!"

Mrs Barlett (a former Take That dancer): Not for you, Gary. Remember, you've got that tour coming up in a few months. How are you going to fit into that lycra crop top and co-ordinating shorts?"

Marje, Gary's old mum: "Ey up lass, leave the lad alone! He's always been a big bonnie lad. He always had second helpings when he were at home!"

Mrs B.: "No, don't encourage him. He has only just got into those 42 inch waistband formal Christmas trousers. We're going to have to be ruthless I'm afraid".

2.35 pm

Gary: "Mmm. That pudding looks lovely. Bagsy me first for the brandy butter!"

Mrs B.: Not for you Gary. Here, have this apple instead."

3.05 pm

Gary: "The Queen is starting to look her age. Can you pass us that box of Celebrations our mum?"

Mrs B.: "Not for you Gary."


Gary: "...some nuts?"

Mrs B.: "NO"

7.00 pm

Gary: "Christ. Not the Vicar of bloody Dibley. Is that pork pie?

(Mrs B. scowls)


"... some of that pickled cauliflower?"

Take That tour Britain in April 2006.

Tuesday update: phew! All those italics! What WAS I thinking?

absolute bloody fucking genius. (some swears for your mum there)

in gary's house there is a radio in every room. each radio has it's own staff member assigned, and their only duty is to immediately click the radio off should any of that nasty robbie williams' songs come on. they all wear one-man-band outfits so that they can stamp and clang and drown out any notes that might inadvertently slip out before the radio goes off.

you know it's true.
Ye Gods. That must be the fastest first comment ever on this blog.

I really hope all that stuff is true about the Barlett staff. They will have their work cut out if the radio is set on Heart FM.
Eat up, Gary lad.

Let me see the wonder of all of you.
Re-light my Christmas pudding.
back (fat) for good.

All I chew each night, Milk Tray.
Or could it be Black Magic?
Evertyhing changes brandy butter you.
Hem hem, should should the one who couldn't sing change his name to Jason Satsuma in keeping with the season?
"Thath jutht thtaking the pith."

just us today, then.
They generally do all seem to be deserting me, but then I am an annoying tit.
noooo!! you're one of my all-time favouritist blogs!
Why, thank you. Likewise!

I do hope you've not been having one of those pre-Chrishmash worksh lunchesh though. Hic.
There'th too much taking the pith out of people with thpeech problemth around here.
i agwee.
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