Saturday, November 29, 2008
'FORE!
In recent years, the Christmas number one has been a foregone conclusion - it has to be whoever has just won the X-Factor.
Jimmy Tarbuck: off to a tee
Iggy Pop: the world's forgotten boy
Ronnie Corbett: straight down the middle
Bing Crosby: what a dude! Don't you wish golfers dressed like this ...
... rather than like this (Kenny Lynch)
However, this year there is going to be stiff competition from a charity record that's being recorded with an amazing array of talent.
A number of celebrity - sorry - CELEBRIDEE golfers are getting together to record a cover of a song. All of the profits will go to a charidee: to be specific, the Help A Snub Nosed Freckled Cockney Urchin charidee.
Everybody loves snub nosed cockney urchins, who are definitely cuter than old people or starving people in the developing world or wretchedly poor people whose homes have been lost due to floods or storms. After all, we've all wanted to pinch the cheek of a cockney urchin at some time or other, haven't we?
Anyway, the combined celebs will leave you dazzled with their starry ways. They are:
Jimmy Tarbuck: off to a tee
Iggy Pop: the world's forgotten boy
Ronnie Corbett: straight down the middle
Bing Crosby: what a dude! Don't you wish golfers dressed like this ...
... rather than like this (Kenny Lynch)
Alice Cooper: he wants to be elected
Bruce Forsyth: wood on the fairway
... as I said, what an array of talent! Bing, as you may have worked out for yourself, is going to croon from beyond the grave. This hasn't been attempted since Nat King Cole recorded that duet with his daughter, but you can always rely on Bing, can't you?
Anyway, the collabo is going to be a new version of the Arctic Monkeys hit I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor.
It'll be called I Bet You Look Good On The Golf Course.
So open your purses and buy or download this when it's released next week and all your money will go towards putting a smile on the face of a cockney urchin. That has to be worth shelling out for, doesn't it?
ALEX AND ALEXA - GET A ROOM! (Chosen headline on the London Lite gossip page approx. once every three weeks)
Labels: Arctic Monkeys, Bing Crosby, Bruce Forsyth, celebridees, charidee, cockney urchins, Judith O'Reilly, Tarby
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
REDS UNDER THE BED
This is a post dedicated to former Manchester United players who are now team coaches.
The loathsome Steve Bruce now looks like a dinner lady.
Steve Coppell is the gloomiest man in football. He has the permanently haunted quality of someone who has never recovered from a major disappointment in life. This is indeed the case. I can remember when he announced his early retirement from football on Match Of The Day due to an awful and persistent knee injury. He burst into tears. He is too sensitive for this world, let alone the world of team management. The Ian Curtis of the beautiful game, indeed.
The bearded Roy Keane now looks as if he should be hosting a Trevor And Simon's World Of The Strange-type TV programme. He should have an extensive wardrobe of black polo neck jumpers which he wears with a pentangle on a long silver chain around his neck. No doubt he's already getting morbidly obese women in kaftans who have frizzy hair coming up to him in pubs, telling him about the time they stayed at a boarding house in Devon and felt A STRANGE PRESENCE in the dining room, and that they felt that THEY'D BEEN THERE BEFORE, BUT THEY COULDN'T EXPLAIN WHYYYYYYYYY.
The loathsome Steve Bruce now looks like a dinner lady.
Steve Coppell is the gloomiest man in football. He has the permanently haunted quality of someone who has never recovered from a major disappointment in life. This is indeed the case. I can remember when he announced his early retirement from football on Match Of The Day due to an awful and persistent knee injury. He burst into tears. He is too sensitive for this world, let alone the world of team management. The Ian Curtis of the beautiful game, indeed.
The bearded Roy Keane now looks as if he should be hosting a Trevor And Simon's World Of The Strange-type TV programme. He should have an extensive wardrobe of black polo neck jumpers which he wears with a pentangle on a long silver chain around his neck. No doubt he's already getting morbidly obese women in kaftans who have frizzy hair coming up to him in pubs, telling him about the time they stayed at a boarding house in Devon and felt A STRANGE PRESENCE in the dining room, and that they felt that THEY'D BEEN THERE BEFORE, BUT THEY COULDN'T EXPLAIN WHYYYYYYYYY.
...
...
...
Labels: Ian Curtis, Manchester United, Roy Keane, Steve Bruce, Steve Coppell, Trevor And Simon
Friday, November 21, 2008
FILTHY FRIDAY
It was with a certain amount of interest (hem hem) that I read about the new Durex gel that claims to speed up and intensify female orgasm, and which has been *road tested* by blogging's own Girl With A One Track Mind.
I'd love to receive any feedback about your experiences with the products in the comments box, provided it's not too graphic.
As an elderly woman, I obviously haven't felt any vibrations in my undertow since the Co-op did away with blue stamps, so I'm encouraged by the positive results that Girl has experienced. Just a squirt of gel applied to the appropriate bits, a viewing of some boy on boy action (blimey, she must have some interesting neighbours!) and, apparently, she went from 0 - 250 miles per hour in 10 seconds!
Of course, I can't wait to get my hands on the appropriate product. I was delighted to find that marvellous high street establishment Wilko has already put its own version of the gel in the stores. Rather like its ultra strength hair gel, the sexee sexee product retails at 39p for a generous 1000 ml jar. I've not used it myself yet, because I'm waiting to get some "me time", ho ho.
Anyway, I'd encourage other female bloggers who are reading this to buy the Wilko product and road test it themselves!
To help you on your way to paradise, I'm posting a number of arousing pictures to look at after applying the product ...
I'd love to receive any feedback about your experiences with the products in the comments box, provided it's not too graphic.
Best of luck, ladies.
Labels: Co-op blue stamps, Girl With A One Track Mind, infomaniac, Marty Feldman, sexy gel
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
BIG UP YER CHEST
So, an oil tanker has been hijacked by pirates and is anchored off the coast of Somalia.
There's currently a news blackout regarding the fact that the "pirates" are really DJs from an early 1990's pirate radio station who have fallen through a time hole and are broadcasting DREEMZ FM over the ship's tannoy.
F*ck knows what the hostages must think of the announcements being made, let alone the music ...
"Big shout goin' out to all massive and crew! Swinnerton massive - hold tight! Lee, Kelly and Claire and all Doxey massive - hold tight! Keep it locked!"
There's currently a news blackout regarding the fact that the "pirates" are really DJs from an early 1990's pirate radio station who have fallen through a time hole and are broadcasting DREEMZ FM over the ship's tannoy.
F*ck knows what the hostages must think of the announcements being made, let alone the music ...
"Big shout goin' out to all massive and crew! Swinnerton massive - hold tight! Lee, Kelly and Claire and all Doxey massive - hold tight! Keep it locked!"
Labels: not post of the week, oil tankers, pirate radio, Swinnerton, time hole
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
ODE PECULIER
TWENTY FIVE IMAGINARY REAL ALES:
1. Grandad's Little Problem
2. Bin Juice
3. Rusty Bike Lock
4. Vernon Kay's Proclavities
5. Broken Foreskin
6. St. Vitus' Dance
7. Grand Wizard's Knob
8. Tittensor Reserve
9. The Cross Dressing Vicar
10. Hairy Crack
11. Elvish Presley
12. Old Maid's Perenium
13. Bangers And Mash
14. Firestarter
15. Bull's Balls
16. Queen Of The South
17. Congleton Swamp Mud
18. Flight Of The Oystercatcher
19. Herb Alpert's Backwash
20. A Plague Of Locusts
21. Vas Deferens
22. Uttoxeter Weasel
23. Puerto Rican Fence Climber
24. Bracken Underfoot
25. Toad's Craw
Labels: Herb Alpert, real ale, Uttoxeter, Vernon Kay
Sunday, November 16, 2008
I NEED TO GET DRUNK TO NUMB THE PAIN
Realdoc has asked us all to post something positive or amusing to counteract the news about the credit crunch, Patroclus giving up blogging and the death of the great Reg Varney. RIP, you pinch faced little Londoner (er, Reg, that is, rather than Patroclus).
I am incapable of being positive or amusing at any time, but I've tried my best.
Here is a picture of the very invigorating Aidan Gillen. Grrr.
... and here is the late great Reg in more positive and amusing times. Try to remember him this way.
I am incapable of being positive or amusing at any time, but I've tried my best.
Here is a picture of the very invigorating Aidan Gillen. Grrr.
... and here is the late great Reg in more positive and amusing times. Try to remember him this way.
Labels: Aidan Gillen - grrr, drunk blogging, Patroclus, positive vibes, positivity, Realdoc, Reg Varney
Thursday, November 13, 2008
OH JUNE!
First up, I'd like to issue an apology to Arabella. According to Geoff, my response to her comment on the previous post was probably viewed by her as "sarcastic and patronising". Whoops! That certainly wasn't the intention. As I've always imagined Arabella as the sort of bird who would wear immaculate red lippy and a 40's style floral frock even if she's going to the garden centre, the last thing I would want to do is upset her, and therefore look completely uncool ...
Anyway, as Bonfire Night is over with, we're officially hurtling on the free fall towards Christmas. Time to consider a hit single from a Christmas past ...
From the film Way Out West, The Trail Of The Lonesome Pine by Laurel And Hardy was a big hit in Britain in 1975.
It was also the subject of what is known as a "send up" that year on my local early evening news magazine TV programme, Midlands Today.
Midlands Today cast a long shadow over the earlier years of my life with its monochrome drabness. The overbearing memory of its 1970's coverage was of industrial correspondent Peter Colbourne and his terrifying Flying V eyebrows grimly announcing yet another round of redundancies at Coventry's Jaguar plant.
So it came as something of a surprise when Midlands Today decided to let its hair down on that momentous Christmas show in the mid 1970's with the Laurel And Hardy skit. The times - they were a changin'. As Adam Buxton's dad would tell you, PUNK ROCK was just around the corner. Joe Strummer was going to deliver us all from the three day week and unburied bodies piling up in the streets. So was Midlands Today.
Main presenter - burly Tom Coyne - was in the Oliver Hardy role. Skinny little David Stevens (the news reporter) was Stan Laurel. The only suitable modern physical equivalent to the pair would be Phillll "Gogol Bordello" Jupitus and Simon Amstell.
I don't think there was an appearance by Peter Colbourne and his flaring eyebrows, unless he was one of the barmen.
I haven't even bothered to look up this gem on YouTube. On YouTube, you can't even find a full, unexpurgated version of Paul Shane's You've Lost That Loving Feeling (from Pebble Mill At One - another Midlands TV show). That was the greatest live vocal performance of the past century. What hope then for Tom and David and their Trail Of The Lonesome Pine?
No, the approximation of Laurel And Hardy must be the stuff of legend instead, talked about in hushed tones by, er, me and no one else.
Still, that's part of what blogging is about - keeping a record of the seemingly tiny, insignificant ripples in the great ocean we call life.
Tom and David: gone but never forgotten.
Keep the faith.
Anyway, as Bonfire Night is over with, we're officially hurtling on the free fall towards Christmas. Time to consider a hit single from a Christmas past ...
From the film Way Out West, The Trail Of The Lonesome Pine by Laurel And Hardy was a big hit in Britain in 1975.
It was also the subject of what is known as a "send up" that year on my local early evening news magazine TV programme, Midlands Today.
Midlands Today cast a long shadow over the earlier years of my life with its monochrome drabness. The overbearing memory of its 1970's coverage was of industrial correspondent Peter Colbourne and his terrifying Flying V eyebrows grimly announcing yet another round of redundancies at Coventry's Jaguar plant.
So it came as something of a surprise when Midlands Today decided to let its hair down on that momentous Christmas show in the mid 1970's with the Laurel And Hardy skit. The times - they were a changin'. As Adam Buxton's dad would tell you, PUNK ROCK was just around the corner. Joe Strummer was going to deliver us all from the three day week and unburied bodies piling up in the streets. So was Midlands Today.
Main presenter - burly Tom Coyne - was in the Oliver Hardy role. Skinny little David Stevens (the news reporter) was Stan Laurel. The only suitable modern physical equivalent to the pair would be Phillll "Gogol Bordello" Jupitus and Simon Amstell.
I don't think there was an appearance by Peter Colbourne and his flaring eyebrows, unless he was one of the barmen.
I haven't even bothered to look up this gem on YouTube. On YouTube, you can't even find a full, unexpurgated version of Paul Shane's You've Lost That Loving Feeling (from Pebble Mill At One - another Midlands TV show). That was the greatest live vocal performance of the past century. What hope then for Tom and David and their Trail Of The Lonesome Pine?
No, the approximation of Laurel And Hardy must be the stuff of legend instead, talked about in hushed tones by, er, me and no one else.
Still, that's part of what blogging is about - keeping a record of the seemingly tiny, insignificant ripples in the great ocean we call life.
Tom and David: gone but never forgotten.
Keep the faith.
Labels: Arabella, David Stevens, Laurel And Hardy, Peter Colbourne, tiny insignificant ripples in the great ocean we call life, Tom Coyne
Monday, November 03, 2008
THE BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS OF VIRGINIA
I nicked the idea for this post from Annie Slammers.
She informed us that teachers are apparently going to be forced to provide SEX education for primary school children. This is of course only right: teachers should be founts of all human knowledge and should be replacement parents as well as acknowledging the fact that they are always wrong and are entirely responsible if every child in Britain doesn't end up at Harvard or Oxford.
In the real world (ie., among human beings rather than politicians or shady members of think tanks) children learn about Where Babies Come From in a very random way, I would guess. Has it ever been any different?
At around the age of five I asked my mother why I ended up being born, and where I came from. She told me that I grew from a seed.
For the next couple of years I assumed I had been bought from a garden centre. I couldn't be bothered to ask any more questions.
I didn't find out the real and awful facts until I was about eight. A Ladybird book (The Perfectly Hideous Human Body And Its Many Malfunctions) gave me an idea of the miracle of birth and vaguely insinuated that some sort of ghastly change would take place in my mind and body within the next few years. I wasn't too frightened though - not yet, at any rate.
One of my friends probably considered herself more worldly wise than the rest of us. She asked me if I had heard about SEX and told me that a woman had a vajeena and a man had a pennis, but beyond that she was pretty vague, and couldn't tell us why this was important or relevant to SEX. A lot of sniggering was involved, though.
In the real world (ie., among human beings rather than politicians or shady members of think tanks) children learn about Where Babies Come From in a very random way, I would guess. Has it ever been any different?
At around the age of five I asked my mother why I ended up being born, and where I came from. She told me that I grew from a seed.
For the next couple of years I assumed I had been bought from a garden centre. I couldn't be bothered to ask any more questions.
I didn't find out the real and awful facts until I was about eight. A Ladybird book (The Perfectly Hideous Human Body And Its Many Malfunctions) gave me an idea of the miracle of birth and vaguely insinuated that some sort of ghastly change would take place in my mind and body within the next few years. I wasn't too frightened though - not yet, at any rate.
One of my friends probably considered herself more worldly wise than the rest of us. She asked me if I had heard about SEX and told me that a woman had a vajeena and a man had a pennis, but beyond that she was pretty vague, and couldn't tell us why this was important or relevant to SEX. A lot of sniggering was involved, though.
Every girl in my class had a massive and obsessive crush on Marc Bolan, but I'm not sure if any of them knew if he had a pennis or not and, if so, what he would be able to do with it.
We had a couple of *SEX education* lessons tagged on to a weekly class with a health visitor who wore long orange false nails and pretentious reading glasses on a chain. The first of the SEX education lessons described the way wasps created a new generation of wasps. The next class told us how babies grew inside a laydeee.
After that, we were on our own. I casually mentioned after the second class to my mother that I knew what periods were, but it was okay, as I wasn't planning to start mine until I was fifteen because they sounded horrible and painful.
My mother decided there and then to tell me the truth and nothing but the truth.
We had a couple of *SEX education* lessons tagged on to a weekly class with a health visitor who wore long orange false nails and pretentious reading glasses on a chain. The first of the SEX education lessons described the way wasps created a new generation of wasps. The next class told us how babies grew inside a laydeee.
After that, we were on our own. I casually mentioned after the second class to my mother that I knew what periods were, but it was okay, as I wasn't planning to start mine until I was fifteen because they sounded horrible and painful.
My mother decided there and then to tell me the truth and nothing but the truth.
Why I wouldn't have any say in when my periods start and yes, they were absolutely horrible.
How I SHOULD NOT GET PREGNANT AT ANY COST UNLESS I WAS MARRIED OR MY PARENTS WOULD BLOODY WELL MURDER ME, AFTER THEY HAD DISOWNED ME.
How people make babies by ... shudder ... GETTING NAKED TOGETHER.
The whole thing upset me so much that I cried for two and a half hours.
A couple of years later, I chanced upon a book my parents had called Love Without Fear, written by one Dr Eustace Chesser. My dad had told me that this book was considered "controversial" at the time of its publication because the author advised (married) couples to use contraceptives.
Still, it gave me an informed view of SEX compared to everything I'd heard or read before. Indeed, I wasn't afraid or frightened of SEX now - it just sounded boring. Well, the bits of the book I could understand, at any rate.
I'm sure that Mr (Mrs?) Chesser suggested that the best SEXUAL position was "half seated, supine therewithal". How many (married) couples followed this advice?
Masturbation could apparently be avoided by following a low salt diet and by not using "the old fashioned type of sewing machine".
A woman, apparently, wants to be "taken on her wedding night."
"Even a woman who wears a shoulder baring gown at a party will be afraid of being seen naked by her husband for the first time."
"To the virgin bride, the erect male penis will seem ENORMOUS!."
Okay, cancel the bit about not being frightened any more.
My secondary school decided not to give us any further SEX education until we were shown a fairly uninformative film when we were thirteen.
The whole thing upset me so much that I cried for two and a half hours.
A couple of years later, I chanced upon a book my parents had called Love Without Fear, written by one Dr Eustace Chesser. My dad had told me that this book was considered "controversial" at the time of its publication because the author advised (married) couples to use contraceptives.
Still, it gave me an informed view of SEX compared to everything I'd heard or read before. Indeed, I wasn't afraid or frightened of SEX now - it just sounded boring. Well, the bits of the book I could understand, at any rate.
I'm sure that Mr (Mrs?) Chesser suggested that the best SEXUAL position was "half seated, supine therewithal". How many (married) couples followed this advice?
Masturbation could apparently be avoided by following a low salt diet and by not using "the old fashioned type of sewing machine".
A woman, apparently, wants to be "taken on her wedding night."
"Even a woman who wears a shoulder baring gown at a party will be afraid of being seen naked by her husband for the first time."
"To the virgin bride, the erect male penis will seem ENORMOUS!."
Okay, cancel the bit about not being frightened any more.
My secondary school decided not to give us any further SEX education until we were shown a fairly uninformative film when we were thirteen.
Everyone in our year was gathered in the assembly hall. I was pretty blase about the whole thing, but there still seemed to be a few kids who were shocked by the grisly truth.
One kid started crying. On seeing a sketchy but clinical diagram of a pennis being inserted into a vajeena, two kids fainted.
The people who work for government think tanks should really take this approach. Want to reduce teenage pregnancies? Look at the way it worked in the 1970's. Those films put kids off SEX for a few years at least.
If they managed to get hold of a copy of The Joy Of SEX - or, indeed, Love Without Fear, it would put them off SEX for life.
Result!
One kid started crying. On seeing a sketchy but clinical diagram of a pennis being inserted into a vajeena, two kids fainted.
The people who work for government think tanks should really take this approach. Want to reduce teenage pregnancies? Look at the way it worked in the 1970's. Those films put kids off SEX for a few years at least.
If they managed to get hold of a copy of The Joy Of SEX - or, indeed, Love Without Fear, it would put them off SEX for life.
Result!
Labels: Dr Eustace Chesser, fear, sex education, teachers having to be replacement parents
